Chapter Forty-One (Patreon)

Nicholas did not know what to make of his eldest son. Alexander had always been a smart child. He had taught himself to read, excelled in his lessons, and proven himself capable of leadership. He was, on paper, the very picture of an ideal Russian heir.

Yet Alexander had always been possessed of strange interests and stranger ideas. From his first foundry to his current post as Governor of Eastern Siberia, Alexander had committed himself to a most bizarre set of employment practices. There were rumors that he implemented eight-hour workdays and five-day work-weeks. Nesselrode had confirmed the presence of foreigners in Irkutsk and Busan. What could foreigners bring that Russia did not have in her vast and wondrous lands? Why was Alexander bringing them in? Had Nicholas not shown him the proper way to do things?

And this tolerance, it was intolerable! The Jews were not being converted. The Asiatics were being allowed their queer practices. Orthodoxy was to be orthodox, not syncretic!

Yet at the same time Nicholas could not deny that his son had succeeded in a great deal. After two hundred years of effort, Siberia was at long last settled. A stunning amount of mines had been opened, repaying every ruble Nicholas had ordered the treasury to loan his son. Railways had been built not only in Siberia and the new Far East, but across the entirety of the empire. They possessed telegraphs the equal of any in the world, capable of carrying a message from Saint Petersburg to Busan and receiving a response the same day.

The door opened. Nicholas withheld a sigh. It seemed the time for idle thoughts was at a end. “Alexander,” he greeted. “Sit down.”

“Father,” his son replied, and obeyed.

For a moment they said nothing. They sat opposite each other in luxurious armchairs, beneath the blue ceiling with its gold decoration. Between them and to Nicholas’ right was the fireplace, gently burning away at the logs.

“Congratulations,” Nicholas said, deciding to start the conversation easily. “Your son is a wonder.”

Alexander looked at him strangely. “He is a few months old. He does very little, and looks less. He is a healthy lad, and I have hopes for him, but it is too early to tell.”

It was Nicholas’ turn to stare. How could a man so generous to the common people be so cold to his own blood? “I have no doubt he will prove to be a good and worthy heir,” Nicholas settled on saying. “If he is not led astray.”

“Astray?”

For a moment Nicholas wished he indulged in vice. A cigar or a drink seemed an almost comforting prospect, yet far from worth the weight of sin they would carry. “There are concerns,” Nicholas said. “Regarding some of your programmes.”

“Is this about my speech?”

Nicholas frowned. “What speech?”

“The one I gave today, at the Palace Square,” Alexander explained. “I gave a similar one at Red Square in Moscow.”

Nicholas blinked. “Whyever did you give a speech?”

“The public had gathered for me. I did not desire to waste the opportunity.”

Nicholas felt a chill running down his spine. “What,” he began, keeping his voice level, “did you speak of?”

Alexander paused. His hands twitched, as if reaching for something. Nicholas hoped he had not taken up smoking in Irkutsk. It was a filthy habit. “It is difficult to explain,” his son began. “I am still working upon many of the details.”

“Then give me the summary.” Nicholas’ voice left no room for denial. Alexander may be his son, but Nicholas was the Tsar, the Autocrat and Emperor of all Russia.

“I have been working on a new ideology,” Alexander said. “A set of ideas that are Russian at their core. Based upon Russian culture and knowledge, not foreign importations.”

Nicholas leaned forward, intrigued.

“Liberalism is a weakness,” Alexander continued. “It claims to reform on behalf of the people, yet benefits only those who already possess advantages. It exchanges and aristocracy of honor for one of commerce, and prizes individuality above all else. There is no conception of common good in Liberalism, only self-interest.”

Nicholas nodded. His son had his eyes open, it seemed.

“Yet Nationalism is just as much a danger,” Alexander continued. “Nationalism believes in a common good, but limits itself to a single people, as defined by the smallest, most minute section of that group. The Slavophiles may view all Slavs as one nationality and argue for uniting them under our rule–a concept I must admit I support–but it is clearly evident that not all Slavs view themselves as part of the same nation. Poles are a Slavic people, yet regularly revolt against us. So too are the White Russians and the Little Russians, yet their academics claim inseparable differences in language and culture. This is to say nothing of the non-Slavic peoples who make up our Empire; who are dominant the moment one crosses east of the Volga. An embrace of Nationalism–an idea, we must remember, that came first from the bloody fires of the French Revolution–would see our Empire dismembered. Finland, Poland, the Baltics, White Russia, Little Russia, the Caucuses, and everything east of the Volga would announce themselves independent by nature of their nationalisms.”

“I–” Nicholas paused. Was Nationalism truly such a danger? He had certainly seen the risks of Polish Nationalism, that most troublesome of ideas that had killed his brother. Yet Russian Nationalism seemed a powerful force to garner supporters of his autocracy, and Finnish Nationalism was most useful as a tool against those who longed for a return to Swedish rule. To say nothing of Nationalism’s use in the Balkans. Yet if Russia could use Nationalism against the Ottomans, who was to say the the British or French could not use Nationalism against Russia? “If you do not favor Liberalism or Nationalism, what is it you propose?”

“Something new, and yet very old. I call it Collective Purpose. It is the notion that the entire Empire, from the lowest serf to the Emperor himself, should work towards a single goal. It is the idea that though the Empire is made of many nations and many languages, it is a single Empire that governs with a singular Purpose.” His son’s eyes were gleaming, though Nicholas knew not if it was with madness or genius. “One Empire,” Alexander repeated, “embodied by one man. One Purpose, decided upon by an autocrat. The Autocrat. An ultimate ruler of the Empire, not only by the will of God but by the will of the People as well. Any who oppose your direction are enemies of the public good and can be deposed and disposed of. Father. There are only two powers in Russia that limit our family’s total rule: the common people and the nobility. By engaging in the Common Purpose and using it to improve the lives of the common people, we can not only win them to our side, we can use them to remove any chance of a noble insurrection.”

“And a popular insurrection?” Nicholas asked. “Would the dangers of that not be multiplied by giving the commoners more power?”

“We aren’t giving them more power,” Alexander replied. “We are making their lives better, and securing their power for our own. So long as the common people believe that we work on their behalf, they will never want to oppose us.”

Nicholas stared at his son. It sounded like madness. But so had Saint Petersburg when its construction was first propose. Resisting Napoleon had sounded like madness until they won.

“You may try this in Siberia,” Nicholas decided. “You will not give any further speeches west of the Urals unless I say otherwise. In 1850 you will return, and report upon the results of this ‘Collective Purpose.’”

“By your word,” Alexander agreed, and Nicholas felt some of the stress drain out of him.

“Would you like some tea?” Nicholas asked.

Alexander blinked. “Yes.”

Nicholas rang for the servants. “Oolong, medium-strong,” he ordered. “Milk and lemon.”

The servant turned to Alexander. “Jeju Black, strong,” his son ordered. “Lemon, one slice.” The servant nodded and left.

“Jeju?” Nicholas asked.

“A small island off the Korean coast,” Alexander explained.

“It is ours?”

“It is.”

Nicholas hummed. Tea, grown in Russia. It was a strange thing to have, but the potentials were immense. If the nobility could be weaned of the Chinese product . . . “You own the farms?”

“They are like Mirs in that the state is the only one allowed to buy the crop, and that the state must buy the crop.”

Nicholas leaned forward. “How much can they produce?”

Alexander grimaced slightly. “Not enough for the entire Empire. But we are expanding them, and Jeju is not the only place in Korea capable of growing tea.”

“I will have one of my ministers set up contact with yours,” Nicholas decided as the servant returned, carrying their tea on a silver platter. He reached over, picking up the delicate china. He took a sip, savoring the floral taste. The servant left, closing the door behind her.

“Your siblings are getting older,” Nicholas began. “Olga is nearly the age you were when you wed.”

“You wish to discuss their marriages?”

“I do,” Nicholas agreed.

“Do you still hold your reservations regarding the Catholics?”

Nicholas hesitated. “I would not wish to see a devout Catholic remain long in Russia,” he settled on saying. “I do not trust them. Nor would I wish for my daughters to marry a truly devout Catholic. Yet I trust religious men more than those who lean towards atheism, and thereby I mistrust all Catholics to at least a certain extent.”

Alexander nodded. “The two realms I see as most important to align with us are not Catholic,” he began.

“Oh?”

“First is Sweden-Norway,” his son explained. “Should we ever find ourselves at war with Britain, France, or Prussia those two countries benevolent neutrality will be essential to ensuring our continued trade relations, Sweden-Norway most of all. I would recommend building railways that connect Saint Petersburg and Helsinki to Stockholm and Oslo as part of a marriage pact.”

“You would wed your sisters to a lawyer’s great-grandchildren?” Nicholas asked incredulously. “They are barely royals! Bernadotte fought for Napoleon.”

“And fought against him,” Alexander replied. “They may be recent royalty, but they are popular and well-positioned. Prince Charles is only a year older than Alexandra and his younger brother shares her love of music.”

Nicholas grimaced. He misliked the notion, but his son was not wrong. A marriage to the heir of Sweden-Norway would see the entire Scandinavian Peninsula united by blood and with Sweden-Norway’s recent neutrality and long coastline Russian grain exports would be impossible to fully blockade, ensuring a source of revenue in wartime.

“I presume the other nation is Denmark?”

“Yes,” Alexander agreed.

“There is a problem there,” Nicholas noted. “The closest unwed relative is a second cousin.”

“The King will have no more children, and the heir has yet to produce his own.”

“He has also just married,” Nicholas said. “Let us move on. What do you think of Württemberg?”

“I have heard he is a homosexual.”

Nicholas paled. “Really?”

Alexander nodded.

“I would rather a match with a Catholic,” Nicholas muttered.

“In that case, I would propose Pedro II of Brazil.”

“Brazil?” Nicholas asked. “That place makes the Mexicans appear modern.”

“But it has a monarchy, vast fertile lands, and untapped mineral deposits,” Alexander replied. “It would be a significant investment, not unlike Siberia, but one that could present us with an ally in the southern Atlantic.”

“Neither the British nor the Americans would take kindly to us moving there,” Nicholas noted.

“The Americans are fixated upon Texas and Mexico, and the British will always be opposed to our expansion.”

“They did not oppose your moves in the East.”

His son grit his teeth, and Nicholas knew he’d won.

“They will not support you against the Ottomans,” Alexander said.

“They will not bleed for the Turk. Not unless we anger them first, and I will not do so.”

“A marriage with Brazil would not anger them.”

“But investment would, and a marriage to Brazil without investment is worthless.”

“That leaves only the Germans and Italians, unless you have forgiven Louis-Philippe?”

Nicholas glared. No, he had not forgiven that Orleans slime.

“Hanover or Sardinia, then Bavaria, Saxony, and Nassau,” Alexander listed off. “Prince George or Prince Victor Emmanuel for Alexandra, Princess Hildegard for Konstantin, Princess Elisabeth for Nicholas, and Princess Helena for Michael.”

“You assume Prince Charles of Sweden for Olga.”

“That would be my proposal.”

Nicholas nodded thoughtfully. “I will reach out. Your suggestions are not without merit, but I will not consign Michael to a ducal match while his siblings get royals. Brazil is not worthy of a Romanov living there, but perhaps one of their daughters may be brought here, to see what a true empire looks like.”