"As can be seen, the desire of each individual to benefit themselves can cause them to benefit the whole. Only the individual themselves knows what they want best. Any attempt the government makes to regulate the economy will bring about a worse result. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. But what about in times of crisis? Like a famine? Wouldn't it be better for the government to put a price cap on grain so that the people can afford it?" asked Alexander curiously. He was currently being taught about economics by his tutor, the Minister of Finance, Count Egor Frantsevich Kankrin, or simply Kankrin.
"No. Let me ask you, what is the best interest of a merchant?"
"To make as much money as possible." Alexander answered confidently.
"Correct. Now let's say grain was harvested and they decided to sell it. What do you think affects the price at which the merchant sells grain? Or better yet, why are they not selling grain at the most expensive price possible?"
Stumped by the question, Alexander had difficulty answering. Kankrin continued.
"Each year, a certain amount of grain is harvested. The merchant wants to sell all the grain he has for the most expensive price he can. But if he sold the grain at a higher price than the other merchants, the people won't buy from him and would buy from others. The unsold grain will then spoil, and if not, and it lasts long enough for the next harvest, he will have to sell it for even cheaper as soon as possible before it does. Thus, the merchant always has to calculate the level of the harvest and at what price to sell the grain so that his stock empties. So that he doesn't sell it too cheaply and deplete his stock too quickly, forfeiting potential revenue, nor sell it too expensively, leaving unsold grain to spoil. In short, the price depends on the quality of the harvest."
"Now, during a famine, if the government were to forcibly lower the price of grain, what do you think will happen?"
At this question, and after hearing his explanation, Alexander answered.
"All the grain will run out long before the next harvest, and the people won't have anything to eat."
"Exactly. Which is why the government should interfere as little as possible in the market, or else a terrible disaster might unfold."
Alexander then thought of something and said...
"Then if the price of grain in that region is high due to a poor harvest, wouldn't that encourage the merchants from other regions where the harvest was good to go to the region with the famine and sell their grain there due to the higher price? Thus, helping to relieve the famine."
Kankrin, pleased by his student's reasoning, nodded.
"That is correct. Thus, if one wants to lessen the effects of famine, or even eliminate it fully, one of the best methods is to improve transportation. So that areas with a surplus can supply areas with a deficit."
With that, the lesson ended, and Alexander left the classroom. When he did, he saw a young girl greeting him.
"Alex! Did your lesson end?"
"Yeah, I just finished. Were you waiting for me this whole time?"
"Well, mother told me that you would be done soon, so I decided to wait until your lesson ended. Oh yeah, I asked mom to buy painting equipment, so I wanted for us to paint together. There are sooo many colors," she said excitedly, eager to paint with Alexander. And Alex, not able to refuse her, agreed.
"Sure, I'm curious as to why you think painting is fun."
Maria then dragged Alexander to a room he hadn't seen before.
"Cool, right?"
"Yeah..."
Alexander was almost left speechless. There were countless papers, frames, brushes, pencils, colors, and great lighting from the windows. It was practically every artist's dream to have a place like this.
"So what are we supposed to draw?" Alexander asked, lost on where to even start.
"Whatever you like. I for one am going to paint a flower."
And as she said this, she picked up a brush, a paper, and various colors and started painting.
"Whatever I like, huh..." Alexander muttered to himself.
So he also started painting, choosing black, blue, and various shades of red. Surprisingly, even though it was his first time, his lines and strokes were clean and precise, and before he knew it, he was done.
"Are you done?" Alexander asked Maria.
"Yeah. I just finished. I think it's good."
And when he glanced at it, he was surprised. Maria had painted a beautiful rose, with varying hues of blue, and from it, as if water droplets were falling. So he complimented her.
"It's beautiful."
"Hehe, thank you. And what is this that you painted?" she giggled at Alexander's compliment and asked back.
"Oh that, it's the borders of the Roman Empire at its peak," he said, gesturing to his painting. His painting also had the provinces named: Gallia, Hispania, Britannia, Italia, and so on.
And that's how they spent their time, as the news of the death of Tsar Alexander I spread.
Outside the palace walls, a plot was blooming.
***
In a secret meeting taking place in St. Petersburg, a group of people were having a... lively discussion.
"This is our opportunity! Weren't we already planning to assassinate Tsar Alexander I and stage a coup? He died from disease, so we should go forward with our plans!" said the slightly chubby man wearing a military uniform. He was Pavel Pestel, leader of the Southern Society.
Another man replied, "Let's not mention the fact that troops were deployed in Saint Petersburg. We are also nowhere near ready to stage a coup." This was Nikita Muravyov, the leader of the Northern Society.
"Oh please, you just don't have the courage to go on with it. Why do you even want the imperial family to live? They are nothing but useless parasites. Do you even want what's best for Mother Russia?" Pavel spat.
Nikita, offended by his words, retorted. "Easy for you to say, all the way in Kyiv. Unlike you, we will have to face the main forces of the Tsar, so you have it easy. Do you think it's that easy in the capital? The reason I want them to be alive is simple: stability. They command long-standing legitimacy simply from the length of time they have ruled. What legitimacy are we going to have if the imperial family is dead? And how dare you question my devotion to Russia? Unlike you, I---"
"ENOUGH! Stop quarreling! Every single one of us here wants what's best for the country. So refrain from personal insults. We are distinguished nobles, so please act as such," said Prince Sergei Petrovich Trubetskoy.
At his words, the room quieted down.
A man then coughed and spoke. "If I may, how about we cast a vote on whether we should hold a coup now or not. When called out, raise your hands if you support it, and if you don't, then keep it down."
The people at the meeting agreed to his arrangement.
"Nikita Muravyov!" he didn't raise his hand.
"Pavel Pestel!" he raised his hand.
"Prince S. P. Trubetskoy!" he didn't raise his hand.
"Sergei Muravyov-Apostol!" he didn't raise his hand.
"Prince Eugene Obolensky!" he didn't raise his hand.
"Mikhail Bestuzhev-Ryumin!" he didn't raise his hand.
Nikita then said, "It seems like you are alone in this, Pavel."
In response, he only angrily snorted. But then Mikhail spoke.
"Although we cannot stage a coup now, that doesn't mean we cannot do so in the future. We can remodel the assassination plan to assassinate the new Tsar, Tsar Nicholas I. And use the instability and confusion from that to stage a coup."
To his words, everyone agreed. Although it was a pity that the assassination plans for Tsar Alexander I were now pointless, planning the assassination of Tsar Nicholas I seemed like the best course of action.
***
In the south all the way until the black sea, was a sad occasion. For a dead man is being carried.
From the remote shores of the Black Sea, the imperial cortege began its slow and mournful pilgrimage north. In the early spring of 1826, as the first hints of the snow thawing were seen, Alexander I's remains finally reached Tsarskoe Selo. There, in the confines of the palace chapel, the imperial family gathered for a private memorial service. The air smelled of incense. Maria gripped her mother's hand with a solemn face, too young to understand why everyone around her was sad.
A few weeks later, in February of 1826, the public funeral unfolded in St. Petersburg. The procession made its way through the streets to Kazan Cathedral as the church bells rang. Carriages draped in black, regiments of imperial guards in their uniforms, and an assembly of clergy and nobility moved with deliberate slowness. Foreign dignitaries, including the Duke of Wellington, representing the British government, were present.
Inside the cathedral, prelates in golden vestments chanted prayers, their voices echoing. Alexander stood beside his family, watching the rituals and feeling the nagging sense of familiarity once again. Even though he had known of the death of his uncle beforehand, seeing it come true still unsettled him.
And finally, on March 13, 1826, the remains of Tsar Alexander I were laid to rest in the Saints Peter and Paul Cathedral within the Peter and Paul Fortress, the cemetery of the Romanov Emperors.
But, as Alexander saw the Tsar's remains get buried, the sense of familiarity reached its peak, and his head began hurting. The pain intensified as he hurriedly let go of his mother's hand and covered his ears, hearing whispers.
"...overblown symbolic pageantry..."
"...tolling of thousands of church bells..."
"...Tsars body laid to rest..."
Alexander's eyes began to bleed as he saw words overlaid upon the procession, as if words he had once read were describing the exact funeral process. He started feeling the taste of iron in his mouth; the prayers, distorted by whispers and the constant ringing in his head, felt torturous. He felt as if the world was spinning. Unable to bear it any longer, he fainted, collapsing on the ground. The last thing he heard was his mother hurriedly telling someone to get the imperial physician, her voice sounding scared and worried. The murmurs of the crowd turning into gasps, with a circle of eyes around him.