Chapter 918: Affordable and Effective
Franz II immediately frowned. "From where shall we draw these troops? From the front lines?"
After Napoleon captured the Mantua Fortress, he allowed his army a fortnight of rest and reorganization. Now, he had once again turned his forces northward.
Following Alvinczy's defeat, there was not a single force left within the borders of Venice capable of obstructing the French army.
Napoleon was practically crossing Venice in a forced march, his vanguard already pressing against Gorz, Austria's southwestern border province.
This was precisely why Franz II had desperately ordered another national General Mobilization.
The force Archduke Charles had brought back numbered only about thirty-three thousand men. Even supplemented by two thousand local garrison troops, it was impossible to stop Napoleon.
In truth, Franz II's claim to the British that he still possessed fifty thousand soldiers was nothing more than a desperate bluff.
According to Archduke Charles's report, he had to recruit at least thirty thousand new soldiers within a month and a half just to have a prayer of holding Klagenfurt—the southern gateway to Vienna.
Under these circumstances, pulling troops from the front to suppress riots in Vienna was practically an invitation for Napoleon to come and solve these problems himself.
The Chairman of the Military Council, Hohendorf, stepped forward. "Your Majesty, the Debrecen Legion still has several thousand soldiers. Combined with the Prague Guards, they should be enough to handle the unrest."
Franz II's expression darkened further.
The Debrecen Legion was the "private army" of the Hungarian Parliament. He could already imagine how many concessions he would have to grant those Hungarian nobles just to mobilize that force.
He sighed and gestured to Cobentzel. "Make haste to Pest then."
Thugut spoke up quickly. "Your Majesty, it will take ten days for the troops from Debrecen to reach Vienna. During that time, the riots may spiral out of control."
Cobentzel suggested, "Nearly half of these protesters are family members of soldiers who haven't received their pensions."
"As long as we can pay the pensions, they will return home immediately. This would significantly reduce the scale of the unrest."
Franz II fell silent once more.
Seventy percent of the 1.2 million pounds sterling loan provided by the British had been spent on the Northern Italian theater. Now, less than four million florins remained.
In this campaign in Northern Italy, tens of thousands of soldiers had perished. According to the pension standards—380 florins for a common soldier and anywhere from two thousand to ten thousand florins for an officer—it would require nearly seven million florins in total.
In other words, even if he poured the entire remaining military budget into it, it wouldn't be nearly enough. Thus, he could only resort to stalling.
Seeing the Emperor's predicament, Thugut spoke with careful consideration. "Your Majesty, I know of a banker named Salomon Rothschild. He can provide a loan of five million florins. However, the interest will be quite high."
Franz II waved his hand irritably. "Do not worry about the interest. Go and contact him."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
...
Vienna.
Inner City District.
Midway down Praterstrasse, a luxurious three-story building of pale gray stone was currently surrounded by thousands of citizens. People were shouting curses, hurling stones over the fence, and burning straw effigies labeled with the name "Rosenthal."
Soon, the iron railings, as thick as a man's finger, began to lean under the crushing weight of the crowd.
A young guard in front of the gray building was already breaking out in a cold sweat. Seeing the fence about to collapse, his finger spasmed on the trigger of his flintlock musket in a moment of panic.
"Bang!"
The surroundings fell silent for an instant.
The protesters frantically looked around to see who had been hit.
However, the lead ball had merely streaked into the sky.
Someone pointed at the guard who had fired and roared, "These damned tax farmers want to kill us!"
"They are no longer satisfied with sucking our blood; they want us dead!"
"Do not be afraid! Everyone, charge in and thrash them!"
"Death to the vampires!"
The iron fence could no longer withstand the pressure and came crashing down.
The crowd immediately flooded into the Vienna Tax Office like a torrential wave.
The twenty-odd guards of the tax office didn't even have time to react before they were struck down by stones and wooden clubs.
The demonstrators seized their muskets and continued their surge up to the second and third floors.
Before long, all the documents and records in the tax office were dragged out and piled in the courtyard to be burned.
As for the Chief Tax Farmer, Rosenthal, his luck had run out. Seeing the chaos in the city recently, he had planned to move all the cash from the office, only to be trapped by the mob at the exact wrong moment.
Life for the citizens of Vienna was already incredibly difficult after years of war, and the special war taxes had snatched away their last few pennies meant for bread.
Consequently, the tax farmers who actually collected the money became the focus of the people's fury.
Rosenthal was dragged from a cabinet. Before he even reached the ground floor, he was covered in blood.
An enraged man stepped forward and, with several strokes of a blade, severed Rosenthal's head. He held it high, screaming hoarsely, "My John is dead! He starved to death! Now, I have avenged him!"
Someone stuck Rosenthal's head onto the tip of a long wooden pole and began to parade it through the streets.
Meanwhile, sparks from the burning tax documents drifted into the building, igniting the furniture. The fire soon spread to the second floor.
The man carrying Rosenthal's head shouted at the top of his lungs, "To the City Hall! Those corrupt officials deserve to die just as much!"
"Yes! Slaughter the corrupt officials!"
"No one has the right to steal our bread!"
Several people who had snatched flintlock muskets fired into the air, the thunderous reports drawing even more citizens.
In less than an hour, the procession heading toward the City Hall had swelled to over three or four thousand people...
In the basement of a residential house in the northern suburbs of Vienna, a faint "clack-clack" sound echoed.
Several men were skillfully pulling the handles of a printing press, causing page after page to drop into a collection basket.
The basement trapdoor was lifted, and a tall, middle-aged man descended the ladder, whispering in French, "Word from the Schönbrunn Palace—Franz II's army will soon enter Vienna. We must leave."
The man operating the press turned his head. "And what about this place?"
"Leave it all to the Austrians," the middle-aged man replied. "This was their 'cause' to begin with."
Another man added, "Hand it over to that 'Illuminati'?"
"No, it is an organization run by a group of Viennese nobles," the middle-aged man shook his head. "The Illuminati no longer needs our help."
The man by the printing press asked, "Should the news about the Emperor mobilizing the army be printed in the pamphlets?"
"Yes, for tomorrow morning's edition."
Indeed, they were all agents of the French Intelligence Bureau.
After the chaos broke out in Vienna, they had immediately begun fanning the flames under their director's instructions.
As for their operational plan, they simply copied the methods used by the Duke of Orleans years ago.
In fact, slogans like "If they have no bread, let them eat cake" were exactly what they had repurposed.
Currently, more than half of the popular pamphlets circulating in Vienna originated from this very basement.
Their operational budget for this mission was less than four thousand francs, yet they had managed to multiply the "rage" of the Viennese citizens several times over. It was truly the epitome of an affordable and effective operation.
However, one could only wonder if Vienna had a Crown Prince of its own to step in and turn the tide.
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