A vision of state capitalism

 Valentin stood weakly at a train station in a county of Saratov Province, waiting for a train heading south.

 He was not alone; many others with similarly grim appearances stood silently, waiting like the walking dead.

 Valentin, a farmer from Saratov Province, had abandoned his ancestral lands in search of the rumored bountiful harvests in the Caucasus region.

 Saratov Province, located in the southeastern part of Russia along the lower reaches of the Volga River and bordering the Caspian Sea, is divided by the Volga River into two parts. The province is generally flat, with Tsaritsyn located within it.

 In 1891, Saratov Province suffered severe cold and drought.

 The vast plains lacked any natural barriers to shield against the scorching southern winds in summer and the frigid eastern winds in winter. When extreme weather struck, the farmers of Saratov Province were plunged into desperation.

 Valentin was the fourth child in his family, with his father raising six sons and three daughters in total.

 Large families like Valentin's were common in Russian rural areas. Poor sanitary conditions led to one of the highest mortality rates in Europe, resulting in very high birth rates in the countryside.

 Like other counties in Saratov Province, Valentin's family was part of a larger clan. His grandfather had five sons, each with at least five descendants.

 This patriarchal extended family was part of a village commune, known as a "mir," which also means "world" in Russian.

 For Valentin, his brothers, and their forebears, the village commune was their world and their collective identity.

 This collective was a unique social organization in Russia, originating from primitive tribal communes, and served as a tool for the Russian Empire to bind peasants to military service, labor duties, and taxation.

 Land in the commune was collectively owned and periodically redistributed among its members based on the number of males in each household.

 Valentin's family's land was divided into long strips, with another plot located a kilometer away—a common scenario in the commune, which prioritized fairness over efficiency.

 Farming such fragmented land was difficult without proper livestock, leaving Valentin to till the soil with a wooden plow and human labor.

 In 1891, Valentin's rye harvest was only half of what it usually was—a catastrophic drop.

 This situation was unprecedented for Valentin.

 Rye was the staple food for Valentin and almost everyone in the commune. In a normal year, 90% of the rye harvest would be consumed by the family.

 "We'll have to endure this year,"

 The atmosphere in the commune was grim. The esteemed elders gathered but came up with no solutions, each with a downcast expression.

 The commune did not allow anyone to move freely or flee as refugees.

 Even if a peasant wanted to leave the commune, several challenging conditions had to be met.

 First, the peasant had to clear all debts and taxes owed, a difficult task given their widespread poverty and frequent tax arrears.

 Second, leaving the commune meant one less laborer for the household. Taxes and labor duties were assessed per household, so fewer members meant a heavier burden for those remaining. It also meant receiving less land in the next redistribution, almost the only economic resource for the peasants.

 Finally, to leave or seek employment outside the commune, a member needed a passport issued by the commune's authorities. The local administrative officers had the power to determine the passport's validity period, typically only six months, with a maximum of three years.

 Without a passport, a peasant could not leave the area. If they had a record of tax arrears, local judicial officers could revoke the passport and force them to return.

 Therefore, faced with unprecedented crop failure, the commune could only despairingly ration their supplies, endure hunger, and await relief.

 "If worse comes to worst, we'll ask the village priest to write to the eldest son in the city; he has some savings,"

 Valentin's father, Boris, shared this slightly hopeful news during a family meal.

 Boris's eldest son was in the city, having managed to obtain a passport from the village elders after much pleading.

 Farmers disliked leaving home; dying in one's homeland was seen as a blessing. However, abject poverty forced them to accept change.

 Working in the city was becoming an accepted reality for peasants, though obtaining a passport was difficult.

 Fortunately, Boris managed to secure one, and his eldest son went to the city. The remaining brothers shared the tax burden, and sometimes during the busy farming season, the eldest would return to help with the labor, keeping Boris's family from starving.

 Thus, Valentin's extended family began their grueling endurance.

 Initially, they ate thin porridge made of rye and other grains, but as time passed, the portions grew smaller, and they started eating "bread."

 "Hunger bread," was made from straw, leaves, bark, acorns, a few potatoes, and some flour.

 The yellowish "hunger bread" was bitter and astringent, but in the face of starvation, there was no choice.

 This continued until January 1892, when there was nothing left to eat.

 The desperate commune slaughtered their valuable draught animals.

 After that, it was a countdown to death.

 The most malnourished developed wrinkled skin and aged faces, then bloated bodies and emaciated limbs.

 Boris could no longer hold on. Valentin still remembered his father muttering about his eldest son coming to save them as he took his last breath.

 Next, others in the commune succumbed. Those lying still, barely breathing, could last another week. By the end of February, half the population had perished.

 Valentin was also starving but still had some strength. Among Boris's sons, only he survived to see a change in their fortunes.

 The local government of Saratov Province managed to gather some relief supplies, but they were insufficient for the widespread famine. Therefore, they had to exclude able-bodied men aged 18-55 and children under 2 from aid.

 Valentin, unfortunately, fell outside the aid criteria and could only survive on the meager food shared by those receiving aid.

 With the province unable to alleviate the disaster, the slow-acting government finally allowed peasants to migrate to other provinces for sustenance.

 Thus, Valentin began his long journey south to escape the famine.

 When Nikolai proposed to personally inspect the rural areas affected by the disaster, it was no surprise that Empress Maria opposed him.

 "Nikki, you should go to Paris soon… to fulfill your marriage agreement," Maria complained about Nikolai's lack of attention to this significant life event.

 "The people need us. Even if we have limited resources and cannot aid everyone, we must show them that we are making efforts," Nikolai insisted. He did not demand everyone's support but sought to use Alexander III's favored notion of "love" to achieve his goals.

 When the Crown Prince turned his gaze to Alexander III, the towering "giant" appeared deep in thought. "If we lose the public's trust in our policies," Alexander III slowly nodded and said to Nikolai, "it will all be over."

 Once the Tsar made up his mind, everyone had to follow his vision.

 "I didn't expect it to be you," Nikolai was surprised to see a familiar face. He was selecting a small entourage for the inspection trip and did not expect the Tsar to appoint one of his youngest ministers as his deputy.

 Sergei Witte.

 "Yes, Your Highness," Witte bowed. He was now seated in Nikolai's office, informing the Crown Prince of the Tsar's decision. Being entrusted with a task by the Tsar was enough to show Witte's importance in Alexander III's eyes. Considering the complexity and time-consuming nature of the task, it was more of a heavy responsibility than a privilege.

 "How is the railway progressing?" Witte's increasing prominence in the Tsar's eyes was closely related to a significant project: the construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway.

 Not only the Tsar, but many others were also captivated by the grand prospects of this monumental project. "The Siberian Railway might face a temporary funding shortage this year due to the Treasury's relief efforts, but we will strive to overcome this and speed up the work," Witte was equally enthusiastic about the limitless possibilities the railway could bring. "From the Pacific coast to the peaks of the Himalayas, the Russian Empire will not only dominate Asian affairs but also European ones."

 "Let's hope so," Nikolai said noncommittally and then inquired about Witte's knowledge of the poor harvest. "Do you have any understanding of the agricultural shortfall amidst your busy railway work?"

 "I believe that, like His Majesty, any minister would genuinely sympathize with the farmers' plight," Witte mentioned that Alexander III supported his work of encouraging landless peasants to migrate to Siberia while managing the Siberian Railway Committee.

 Witte described Alexander III's actions as a fair and rational peasant policy, continuing the strong tradition inherited from his father, Alexander II. However, the reality was that the Tsar's "love" for the peasants often translated to increased taxes and widespread rural poverty.

 Nikolai's mind was conflicted with these narratives. After a moment of silence, the Crown Prince asked, "So, you see no issue with my grandfather's policy of maintaining the communal system?"

 Nikolai referred to a critical decision during Alexander II's reign: whether to retain Russia's traditional communal system or abolish it in favor of Western-style private land ownership.

 Historically, Alexander II chose to maintain the communal system. Nikolai's grandfather was indeed a contradictory figure, seeking reforms after the Crimean defeat but becoming conservative when those reforms evolved into revolution, much like a pendulum swinging between extremes.

 "On this point, I must admit that my current views are based on hearsay and past memories," Witte said as Nikolai glanced at his wristwatch, noting it was almost time to leave. Rising, he continued conversing with Witte while walking.

 Witte acknowledged his current understanding was shallow but promised that field research would help.

 "Good, practical experience is invaluable," Nikolai nodded in agreement.

 "Your Highness seems very concerned about the peasants?"

 "Yes, Russia is an agricultural nation. The peasants' fate is intertwined with the nation's fate. To improve their lives, we need to enhance our industrial production to better support agriculture," Nikolai's broad vision for the nation's future caused Witte to pause. The Crown Prince turned to see Witte retrieving a tattered booklet from his briefcase, evidently well-read.

 "This is... 'National Economy and Friedrich List'? Did you write this?" Nikolai asked softly, reading the title and quickly flipping through the pages, captivated by its content.

 "Indeed, Your Highness. I wrote it in 1889 when List's works were not yet translated into Russian. I wanted to promote his ideas to the public," Witte explained.

 It seemed Witte's ambitions for the Finance Minister position were not unfounded, Nikolai thought. He looked more closely at the text. Although the booklet did not clearly express Witte's personal stance, it was evident that he had adopted some of its key ideas for his future policies.

 "Many historical cases show that nations that failed to develop manufacturing industries and a strong commercial class could not achieve their great tasks of maintaining spiritual, economic, and political independence and ultimately faced destruction," Witte quoted List, articulating thoughts that resonated deeply with Nikolai.

 "Yes, exactly," Nikolai said repeatedly, unable to contain his excitement. "This is precisely what I want to do, advocating for the state's vital role in fostering commerce and industry."

 "It seems Your Highness greatly values what you learned from Professor Bunge," Witte noted. Bunge, the former Finance Minister, had taught Nikolai economics but had resigned due to his inability to resolve Russia's chronic budget deficits. He now chaired the Committee of Ministers, a nominally highest authority but practically a "retirement" post handling trivial matters.

 "Bunge? Yes..." Nikolai vaguely recalled. He hadn't paid much attention in Bunge's classes. "I remember you also studied at Kiev University?"

 "Yes, indeed. Professor Bunge was the rector during my time there," Witte revealed, inadvertently informing Nikolai that many government technocrats supported List's ideas or state capitalism.

 "We can discuss this further later," Nikolai concluded.