Chapter Six: His Majesty and the Nobles Govern the Realm, Not the Common People.

Returning to reality, the quarrel inside the mirror hall continued unabated.

“His Majesty rules the realm with the nobility, not with the common folk.”

As the ruling class of this nation, the nobility was clearly opposed to the commoners they governed. As members of this elite, they expected the emperor to prioritize their interests above all else.

Among those who supported joining the German Customs Union were Prince Metternich, Count Kolorath, Baron Bruck—all nobles—and even the emperor himself. Yet, those who claimed they wished to share governance with the emperor did not represent the nation or the ruling class, but their own selfish interests.

Their aims were twofold: first, to block the upward mobility of petty nobles and commoners; second, to exploit their power by colluding with domestic and foreign forces to squeeze their own people to the utmost.

In simpler terms, these people were bureaucrats, landlords, and comprador elites.

Though spoken with self-interest and pettiness, their words held undeniable truth at the time.

Austria was no longer the patchwork of principalities that made up the Holy Roman Empire. Emperor Francis II held absolute power over the Austrian Empire.

All of this was thanks to the very man who ended the Holy Roman Empire—Napoleon. The Napoleonic Wars greatly weakened the power of the regional nobility while inadvertently strengthening Austria’s central authority. The days when minor nobles dared raise armies and openly defy the state machinery were long gone.

Even the great nobles saw their powers severely curtailed. Take Archduke Karl, the empire’s largest landowner: he commanded only a thousand private soldiers—no match for the formidable Austrian imperial army.

Other nobles were even less capable of resisting the state.

So if a great noble dared rebel against the emperor, Count Latour would be more than willing to send him on his way.

At that moment, a small figure slipped quietly through the door. The royal guards saw but did not stop him; after all, he was but a child—the emperor’s favorite grandson and the nation’s future master.

Baron Bruck spoke candidly.

“Do you seek to rule the country alongside His Majesty? You only care for your own profit. Do you understand how much opening trade could benefit this nation? Our treasury teeters on the brink of bankruptcy. Any slight disturbance, and this edifice will crumble.”

“That’s alarmist nonsense! Vienna boasts the world’s largest number of banks!” came the retort. (Though Vienna had the most private banks globally at the time, they were small and many barely functional, incomparable to London’s financial might.)

“But who would lend us money? You? Vienna’s finance industry is all but monopolized, and the state even has to mortgage parts of its tariffs and sovereign authority to bankers. Can’t you see that?”

“Debts must be repaid—that is only right. Besides, do you think foreign banks willingly lend to us? Stop making excuses and look for the fault within yourselves.”

Baron Bruck had dedicated his life to diligent, upright service. (Historically, he tragically took his own life after being falsely accused and unable to prove his innocence.)

It was a miracle Austria’s finances had not collapsed by now. He could not tolerate such accusations.

“Do you know the empire’s revenue last year?” Bruck retorted, his frustration mounting.

Before his opponent could answer, he continued.

“130,269,877 florins.”

“And do you know the total imperial debt?”

“1,461,224,893 florins.”

“Do you know how much interest the empire paid last year to defer that debt?”

“10,221,096 florins—you do not!” Bruck roared.

“So what? God bless the emperor, long live Austria. Do you think all this is your doing?” replied Pitru, an aide to Prince Esterházy, mocking rather than fearing.

Pitru had graduated with honors from the University of Vienna, once aspiring to be a judge. But after waiting five years in vain for a vacancy, he finally became an aide to Prince Esterházy through a classmate’s recommendation. His fortunes improved since then, but he also saw the darker side of society—he wasn’t lacking in talent, just connections.

Those very teachers who preached law and order secretly colluded with officials to sell offices and titles.

Austria’s system of office granting was a direct imperial prerogative, but to be appointed, one had to be known to the emperor.

Prince Esterházy was a powerful Hungarian magnate whom even the emperor dared not easily challenge. Pitru carried out the prince’s orders without hesitation. Even if the Austrian Empire fell, as long as Hungary and Esterházy endured, Pitru would receive whatever he desired.

Seeing Baron Bruck at a loss for words, Pitru poured salt into the wound.

“The empire’s debts remain unpaid after all these years. Why don’t you resign and let capable people take your place?”

Bruck’s fury boiled over, his urge to argue growing. Count Kolorath stepped in to restrain him. Though not fond of Bruck, Kolorath acknowledged his abilities. As finance minister, he understood better than anyone how dire Austria’s finances truly were.

There were only two ways to increase revenue: expand income or cut spending.

Kolorath had already cut spending to the bone, even skimping on military pay and the royal pension. If it could be saved, he saved it. Yet, only about ten million florins remained annually, a paltry sum against debts exceeding one billion. The challenge was unimaginable.

But Bruck had lost his composure, dragged off course by Pitru’s provocations.

“Twenty years! If we join the German Customs Union, I guarantee all imperial debts will be cleared within twenty years.”

This was no empty promise but a consensus reached by the entire Austrian finance ministry. Their calculations showed that accession to the union would bring Austria a 4% annual economic growth—an impressive gain indeed.

Kolorath glanced at Pitru, who was still pondering a response.

“Can you achieve that?”

“I…”

“If you cannot, then keep quiet!” Kolorath despised Pitru’s empty rhetoric.

Surveying the assembly, Kolorath challenged them.

“Who here can guarantee the empire’s debts will be cleared within twenty years? I, as finance minister, will step aside and let them have my position!”

The great nobles scoffed inwardly, thinking, “Why should we pay off the empire’s debts? Besides, it’s impossible anyway.”

To the powerful elite, the imperial debt was an unfillable abyss.

When reason failed, force was the next recourse.

Leading a group of magnates, Prince Esterházy approached Emperor Francis II.

“His Majesty rules with the nobility, not with the commoners. Do you really want those peasants riding over our heads?”

Francis II hesitated, uncertain of his course. Amid the uproar, he did not know whose counsel to heed. His ministers seemed to act for the nation’s good, but who could guarantee their motives were pure? The nobles appeared inept, yet they were his own.

Seeing the emperor falter, some smiled—the moment they had awaited.

They drew closer to Francis II, pressing their advantage over the wavering sovereign.

“Your Majesty, have you forgotten France’s stance?” At last, someone stepped forward more passionately and tugged at the emperor’s sleeve.

Francis smiled as well; this was the moment he had been waiting for.