Methamphetamine or Vitamin? (3)

In 1897, the Russian Empire’s projected to hit a record-breaking 10% growth, despite its hefty size.

It’s not just Russia—Europe’s basking in peacetime prosperity.

Western European nations are growing 2% to 5% annually.

Since the Franco-Prussian War, with no major wars between powers, Europe’s seen remarkable yearly progress.

In the 21st century, peace and growth sound obvious, but in the 19th century, sustained prosperity was rare.

The French call it Belle Époque.

Later dubbed a second Renaissance, this era’s growth centers on Britain, France, Belgium, Germany, and Austria-Hungary.

Watching this, Nikolai felt jealous, even leading the growth race.

More precisely:

“We’re peaking this year, but they’ve got 17 more years of this?” I muttered.

Not matching Western Europe’s pace is one thing, but trailing Italy? That stung Nikolai.

“The cause is too damn clear. Food prices crash, and the empire’s screwed,” I thought.

In 1885, the Serbia-Bulgaria war sparked tensions between Austria-Hungary and Russia.

Germany refused to renew the Reinsurance Treaty with Russia.

So, Russia, reliant on Germany for food exports, had to diversify.

One buyer down.

“Tch, if only food sales could’ve hitched us to their growth,” I sighed.

Germany cut imports, food prices dropped, production rose—Russia’s economy took a hit.

Can’t let grain rot in warehouses, so new buyers were sought.

The target: Britain, the world’s biggest food importer.

“Minister Giers, any progress?” I asked.

“They don’t fully trust us yet. They like the price but keep dodging, wanting gradual import deals,” Giers replied.

“Suspicious bastards,” I said.

You’d think the Great Game soured Russia-Britain ties. True enough.

An invisible power struggle’s always simmered between them.

But I’m different.

Domestically and internationally, Nikolai’s no hardliner like his father.

No navy obsession, no absolute power grab.

He proved it externally: abandoning the Bosphorus and Dardanelles.

Giving up Black Sea access, ceding influence over the Ottomans, scrapping southward expansion—Britain wins the Great Game.

Couldn’t win that fight anyway. Just a money pit.

Moderates like Witte love it; hawks in the military grumbled about surrender, but Nikolai ignored both.

“It’s a good deal for them. Victory vibes plus cheap food stabilize prices,” I said.

“We’ll push for more,” Giers said.

“Good,” I replied.

A stark contrast to the last two Tsars—a moderate Tsar.

“Russia’s going east!” they shout. I’m flipping their expectations, focusing inward and minimizing external friction.

Even internal clashes aren’t with imperial power—just squabbles among underlings.

Great Game? Forfeited.

Polish oppression? Scrapped.

Southward policy? Done.

Navy buildup? Paused.

Six-year conscription? Shortened.

In 1897, at peak national strength, the empire’s visibly contracting.

Yet still:

“Another land reform bill failed. Count Dashkov, how many votes this year?” I asked.

“Nineteen attempts, none passed the majority or met Your Majesty’s conditions,” Dashkov said.

No reform bill with Duma majority and Senate approval reached Nikolai’s desk.

“Our Duma’s too hyped on land taxes to bother with reform,” I said.

“The land tax makes reform majorities harder,” Dashkov noted.

The Duma, drunk on taxing eternal nobles, got hooked on proposing laws without fulfilling their role.

Time for a balance patch.

The Duma’s gone wild. Who created this disgusting decision-making body nobles hate?

“At this point, isn’t the Tsar not just ignoring but backing it?” one noble fumed.

“No nobles, no empire! This’ll ruin us!” another raged.

“If public sentiment decides laws, what’s the point of university learning? The Duma assumes every citizen’s an expert!” a third vented.

Most military and bureaucrats are nobles; even educated intellectuals are mostly noble-born.

Touching their estates—the bedrock of noble society?

The Duma, a mere advisory body, humiliating them—nobles’ rage slowly turned to the Tsar.

“The Moscow Nobility Assembly wants to meet Your Majesty in St. Petersburg,” a report said.

“It’s barely been 30 years since nobles paid regular taxes, and with yearly increases, unrest is no surprise,” another added.

“They’d rather pay Peter the Great’s soul tax! They’ll pay for dead ancestors if the land tax’s scrapped!” a third exclaimed.

Nobles and clergy paying regular taxes started only 26 years ago, under Alexander II’s chronic deficits.

Back then, a Tsar’s word could crush a great house overnight, so nobles paid quietly.

But this land tax isn’t a one-off—it’s endless losses for owning land. Nobles can’t stomach it.

My solution? Simple.

“Count Dashkov, tell the Senate’s legal interpreters: nobles paying land taxes get voting rights like bourgeois,” I said.

“You mean…” Dashkov started.

“Let traditional nobles fight in the Duma. Why come to me?” I said.

Contribute to progress with taxes, get voting rights—classic Russian election tradition.

Stolypin’s 1905 agrarian reform failed but gained traction in 1907 by pulling nobles into the Duma.

So, fight in the Duma. Don’t whine to me.

I’m too busy for you.

“The Peasant Land Bank’s max lending capacity this year is 1.8 billion rubles, nearly all its reserves,” a bureaucrat reported.

The empire’s largest bank holds massive cash.

“Not enough to overhaul the empire’s land. Next,” I said.

“Many regions lack urbanization. No jobs for crowds. Peasants turning urban workers will flood far from home,” another said.

“Population distribution collapses?” I asked.

“Expect public safety issues, worker rights abuses, urban housing spikes, and job shortages,” he replied.

Planned cities avoid this, but history shows slums thrive in big cities.

“Obvious. Next,” I said.

“The Land Survey Committee: of 140 million desyatinas, 115 million are communally owned,” another reported.

“Direct surveys take time, but mir data’s quick. The rest?” I asked.

“Some self-employed farmers and great nobles,” he said.

“Nobles own little but stand out without self-employed farmers,” I noted.

“Self-employed farmers cluster in the western empire, with high yields—” he began.

“They dodged the 1891 famine. Land wealth gave them stamina,” I cut in.

“Yes. Only loan amounts rose; almost no starvation,” he confirmed.

Mir die collectively. Rarely collapse, but when they do, tens of thousands perish.

Self-employed farmers, oddly, survive solo. Likely their double yields.

“Including small rural units, 1.5 million collective farms exist; 20,000 major mir drive the empire’s agriculture,” he added.

“20,000 mir…” I muttered.

The numbers, even on paper, are dizzying.

Reports pile up, proving the task’s difficulty.

I’m not alone—bureaucrats at the meeting looked grim.

“Witte, what’s your take? Can we foster self-employed farmers?” I asked.

“Even the backward Ottomans did it 30 years ago. It’s the price of dumping local governance on mir,” Witte said.

“Sounds fatalistic,” I remarked.

“Just inevitable,” Witte replied.

No one here denies the need. But Witte cautiously added:

“Your Majesty, external peace is secured, but internal prep is lacking. Land surveys aren’t done—don’t we need more time?” he asked.

“This year’s the last chance,” I said.

“Local bureaucrats are scarce, corruption’s rampant. Dismantling mir will spark chaos we can’t control. And the Duma? They’ll oppose unless they lead reform,” Witte warned.

“I know your concerns,” I said.

Damn administration. I know our bureaucrats are a third of Britain’s per capita, worse in provinces.

The Peasant Land Bank’s flush, but ten times that wouldn’t flip the empire’s land.

Fostering self-employed farmers means dismantling mir. We’ll claim it frees peasants, but they might see it as losing their safety net.

The Duma will pin the blame on me.

Witte fears rushed reforms handing the Duma control.

But this year, at the empire’s peak, is our only shot.

“We can’t overhaul the nation. No money or administration for that,” I said.

“Then wait. Let the Duma curse nobles owning 5% of land while we prep,” Witte urged.

“So, we’ll do it regionally,” I said.

Prep’s lacking, but it’s now or never. My conclusion: sequential mir dismantling by region.

“Half-ass it, and we’ll fail to break mir. Smash them region by region? That’s different,” I said.

Post-harvest, start land redistribution immediately. Prep by stirring things up.

“Ignore the Duma bickering over free distribution or partial seizures. Call it a trial—neither side can fully oppose or support,” I added.

They’ll watch for results. Meanwhile, we crush one region yearly.

Unspoken, but:

Where mir are dismantled, locals become my base.

Didn’t you say no imperial power grab?

Witte, it’s a byproduct. Not intentional.

Land ownership fuels human obsession. An emperor granting it? They’ll back me, harvests or not.

I can’t stand this communist-style agriculture anymore.

With the treasury overflowing and discontent low, this year’s the chance.

The Land Survey Committee’s regional approach was my only path from the start.

Bureaucrats, calculating feasibility, held back objections.

“Prove it works, and we push harder. Even no immediate results, it’s just one region—less risk,” I said.

“You never expected anything from the Duma, did you?” Witte asked.

“Two years was enough,” I replied.

“This was planned for years—” Witte started.

“No, a misunderstanding,” I cut in.

My softer tone showed he was half-convinced.

“Everyone knows the Duma’s produced nothing. So, with Finance Minister Witte leading, we’ll try a pilot reform,” I said.

“…” Skeptical looks.

They don’t buy it, but that’s the official excuse.

“Work together to smash the mir,” I urged.

Leave no trace.