Able to rise from being a rubber-stamp figurehead to a true emperor, Emperor Meiji was not someone easy to fool. The army’s solemn “guarantees” did not reassure him; instead, they made him feel even more uncertain. As a ruler with insight, Emperor Meiji knew very well what kind of troops the European powers sent to their overseas colonies. Defeating a colonial force made up mostly of natives was hardly something to boast about. Besides, this war was not the army’s show. The real deciding factor was diplomacy, followed by the navy. Ignoring Ōyama Iwao’s assurances, Emperor Meiji spoke with caution, “There are only three months left before the Vienna Conference convenes. We should begin our preparations. Prime Minister, this time you will personally lead the delegation. I do not expect Britain or Austria to support us, but at the very least we must ensure they remain neutral. The rise and fall of the empire hinges on this…” Itō Hirobumi’s expression changed. Knowing Emperor Meiji as he did, he could tell that the Emperor’s confidence had already been shaken. Sending him to Europe was not just about attending the Vienna Conference. More importantly, it was about seeking a fallback option and preparing for the worst. Everyone could see that Japan’s participation in the Vienna Conference was a joke. Given Japan’s international standing, they did not even qualify for a seat at the negotiating table. The invitation itself made that clear that the Anti-French Alliance had only invited them to attend the warship auction. As for establishing a new international order, Japan had no say at all. Once everything was settled, they would simply have to comply. Because of the war in the Philippines, even in this auction Japan’s role was marginal. Money was not the problem. As a member of the Anti-French Alliance, Spain was one of the sellers, and there was no way they would sell ships to their own enemy. Even if Japan somehow managed to buy a vessel, it would be useless. Spain would certainly find a way to hold it back. Until the war ended, the ships could not be delivered to Japan. Against this backdrop, the Vienna Conference was nothing but a tasteless burden for the Japanese government, hardly worth sending the Prime Minister himself. … January in Saint Petersburg had already wrapped the city in silver. Beneath the biting wind, the streets and alleys were nearly deserted. The Fiksin Café, once bustling with patrons, now lay silent. In its spacious hall, only six or seven people lingered. From their bearing and the way they carried themselves, it was clear that aside from the two central figures, the rest were bodyguards. … One of those figures, the Russian Foreign Minister, Nikolay de Giers, waved his hand and cut the other short. “Sir, there is no need to repeat these empty words. Our nations have never been friends. Austria is our ally now. If you intend to drive a wedge into the Russo-Austrian alliance, you will not succeed.” Richard, however, did not take offense at being interrupted. Instead, he smiled with quiet satisfaction. It was true that friendship was a word seldom applied to Britain and Russia. In the past thirty years, they had fought two wars, each leaving hundreds of thousands dead. By contrast, the Russo-Austrian alliance, lasting decades without serious conflict, could indeed be called “friendship.” But appearances could not be taken at face value. If relations between Russia and Austria were truly unshakable, there would be no need for a secret meeting in the frozen heart of winter. Sharp-eyed and practiced at reading people, Richard had already sensed the fissure in their earlier exchange. Perhaps it was deliberate, a signal Russia wanted him to catch. Otherwise, Nikolay de Giers would not have placed such weight on the word “now.” “Your Excellency,” Richard said smoothly, “I know there have been many misunderstandings between our countries, but all that lies in the past. We must look forward. The continental war is over, and the fall of France is beyond doubt. If we do not act, Austria will become the new master of Europe. Today your nation and Austria are allies, but alliances are never eternal. True allies exist only when power is equal. Once the balance breaks, the relationship changes. Even if your empire abandons its westward ambitions, nothing guarantees that Austria will not look east. In the end, the only power left on the continent that can restrain Austria’s dominance is yours. Russia’s true ally was the Austria of thirty years ago, not the Holy Roman Empire reborn.” In the world of international rivalry, one nation’s rise always meant another’s decline. As Austria grew stronger, the Russian Empire found itself relatively weakened. Britain felt the threat of Austria’s ascendancy, and the Russian government felt it all the more keenly. After all, Austria was their neighbor. It was for the security of the empire—or perhaps more accurately, for the peace of mind of the Russian government—that this secret meeting had been arranged. Yet after the first exchange, Nikolay de Giers felt only disappointment. The British envoy relied on the same old tactics, stirring discord without offering substance. Everything was framed as what Russia must do, never what Britain would do. To break the Russo-Austrian alliance was not unthinkable, but it would require enormous compensation. The British, fond of playing their tricks with empty hands, had offered nothing close to sufficient. “Everything you say is correct, Your Excellency,” Nikolay de Giers replied coolly, “but those are merely possibilities. The future has not yet arrived, and no one can predict it in advance. For now, the Russo-Austrian alliance remains unshakable. We will not abandon an ally for the sake of a possibility. So if you have a purpose, speak plainly. There is no need to circle around the matter.” By now, the alliance between Russia and Austria was woven into every field of cooperation. It could not be severed with a single stroke. If the two nations turned on each other, both would suffer grievous losses. In such circumstances, even as the Russian government sought to contain Austria’s rise, they refrained from open measures. Instead, they placed their hopes on Austria’s enemies, counting on Britain to move first and break Austria’s momentum. On this point, Britain and Russia thought alike. Neither wished to be the first to expose themselves to Austria’s wrath, only for the other to reap the gains. “Your Excellency, Austria’s expansion is a dire threat to us all. Surely your nation does not wish to live forever under her shadow. To remove that threat, we propose that our two countries join hands to disrupt the Vienna Conference. We must shatter Austria’s ambition to forge a new international order and restore the balance of three great powers, so that together we may rule the world.” Nikolay de Giers shook his head and said, “We appreciate the sincerity of your words, but it is not enough. If we disrupt the conference, the Russo-Austrian alliance will collapse. The cost would be immense, and it could even trigger economic ruin in our country. And if your country were to go back on its promises, we alone would have to face Austria’s fury. The risks are simply too great, beyond what we can accept.” Richard leaned forward with a note of urgency and assured him, “High risks bring high rewards. Once Austria’s momentum is broken, all sacrifices will prove worthwhile. As for your losses, we can find ways to ease them. Rest assured, we do not allow our friends to suffer.” … At the Gatchina Palace, Alexander III, holding both the Russian and Austrian offers in hand, was caught in a difficult inner struggle. The conditions offered by the British promised that if Russia could weather the immediate storm, the empire might soar to the heights of power, replace Austria, and become the new continental hegemon. Yet the greater the reward, the higher the risk. If the plan failed or if Britain reneged halfway, the Russian Empire might collapse completely. Even if one did not believe Britain would go back on its word in this matter, politics is never certain. Who can guarantee anything? The British government only lasts a few years at a time. If misfortune brought a reckless fool into office, making blunders all around, Russia would be in serious trouble. Such things had happened before, and Russia itself had once been the victim. Without Peter III’s infamous blunder, Russia might already have been the continental hegemon, with none of these troubles ever arising. Of course, for Alexander III, it was better that these troubles did exist. Without Peter III’s misrule, the throne would never have passed to his own branch of the dynasty. In contrast, Austria’s offer was much safer, though naturally the gains were smaller. Becoming the continental hegemon was impossible, but domination in South Asia remained within reach. Gazing out the window, Alexander III asked, “How much will the Central Asian railway cost? Has the estimate been made?” Finance Minister Alisher Gurov replied, “The main line of the Central Asian railway stretches 3,864 kilometers, and together with its branch lines totals more than 15,600 kilometers. It must endure harsh climates and cross difficult terrain. The construction period is estimated at twelve years, with an initial cost of 1.276 billion gold rubles.” Railways had always been Russia’s weakness. Not only were they behind the developed countries of Europe, even neighboring British India had a stronger railway system. It was not that the Russian government lacked effort, but that its strength was simply insufficient. The empire’s vast territory was daunting enough, and the severe climate made matters far worse. In other countries, once the surveys were complete and the blueprints drawn, construction could begin at once. For Russia it was not so simple. The empire’s railways had to remain functional in snowbound winters, enduring sudden drops in temperature that sometimes reached forty or even fifty degrees below zero. The higher the standards, the higher the cost. Russia’s railways demanded durability, and that alone made them expensive to build. Even when construction was complete, that was only the beginning. The greater trouble lay in operation. The brutal climate drove up maintenance costs year after year, turning the railways into a bottomless pit. Abroad, capital flooded eagerly into such projects, leaving governments little to worry about. In Russia, by contrast, the government alone bore the cost. There was no help for it. Russian railways lost money year after year, and no investor would put funds into a losing venture. Without private capital, railway construction could only move at a crawl. If Austria had not urged them on, and if France’s war indemnities were not expected, the Russian government would never have chosen this moment to begin the Central Asian line. “Can the construction period be shortened?” asked Alexander III. He did not demand lower costs. He knew too well the nature of his own bureaucrats. If they cut the budget, there was no guarantee the line would even function once finished. Such blunders had happened before. During earlier projects, some fool had shortened the gauge and reduced the length of the sleepers to save money. One could see the truth from every railway that had opened smoothly that they all had one thing in common: overrun budgets. The pattern was simple: first, a low figure to secure approval, then halfway through, the money ran out, and the government was forced to pour in more. “If we give the contract to an Austrian railway company, the total construction period can be cut by a quarter. The main line could reach the Afghan border within eight years. But their price is steep. Even with us supplying the labor force, they demand 1.886 billion gold rubles. If they carry out the entire project themselves, the estimate rises to three billion.” Gurov spoke with resignation. Domestic companies submitted lower estimates, but they could never finish the work. Deadlines slipped, budgets had to be raised again and again. The Austrians asked a higher price, but they delivered on schedule, their quality was reliable, and their bids were fixed. Even if additional costs arose, they would not be excessive. In the end, their projects often cost less overall. By that logic, the Russian government ought to bring in Austrian companies to lower construction costs. In reality, almost no Austrian company would accept such contracts. The reason was simple: the Russian government was poor, and payment was uncertain. So much so that to secure an Austrian company for a state railway had become a bargaining chip, one of great allure. If the line could be driven through Afghanistan, Russia’s gateway to India would be open. On such a vital project, the government dared not be careless. If entrusted to the wrong hands, the entire investment might be lost. The greatest advantage of giving the contract to Austria was security. Everyone knew Austria wanted Russia to march south and clash with Britain, so they would make certain the railway was built to last. Even if funding ran short, there was no need to fear a halt. The Austrians would advance the money themselves in a grand show of internationalist zeal, carrying the project through to the end.
*** https://postimg.cc/gallery/PwXsBkC (Maps of the current territories of the countries in this novel made by ScH)
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Imagine still believing the British can be trusted in any way
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