But they saw something different in the Austrian Empire. There were markedly fewer parasites, and the campaign to root them out was unprecedented in its intensity.
The economic order was more rational and equitable; in culture and thought, a hundred flowers bloomed and a hundred schools contended. Decadent tunes and solemn bells, impassioned laments and tragic songs all coexisted without conflict.
Some saw Franz as the philosopher-king of Plato's ideal republic; others called him the foremost tyrant of all ages, across all times and lands.
They did not know who was right and who was wrong. They only knew that they were living fairly well—compared to the Piedmontese, they were practically living in paradise.
Approaching the matter from a religious angle was something the Piedmontese could scarcely refuse. After all, most commoners considered themselves devout believers and were likewise awed by such authority.
Moreover, cloaked in religion, the French would not dare seize the chance to make trouble. Napoleon III's rule was far from secure; to obtain the Church's endorsement, he had paid no small price.
Those concessions had allowed the Church to regain a measure of its influence in France, and its roots were especially tangled and deep among the lower classes.
In truth, the French Church had never trusted Napoleon's government. After all, it had not so easily forgotten what they had done to the Church back then, so it had always remained on guard against the Napoleonic government.
Coupled with the success of the Austrian Imperial Church and the shift in the Holy See's attitude, the French Church was in fact very close to Austria and the Habsburg imperial family.
The French Church had even secretly fostered certain associations, so they could be put to use at a critical moment.
So long as Napoleon's government made another