Knowing when to stop, Franz didn't pursue the topic any further.
The capitalists weren't pushovers, either. Even though they had yet to dominate the government, their power was still not to be underestimated.
From Franz's position, he could raise questions, but asking him to charge into battle for the working class and take on the bourgeoisie headfirst was another matter entirely!
Franz had already decided to entrust this great and arduous task to the conservative faction of the aristocracy. Prime Minister Metternich was one of his candidates.
Perhaps one day, the capitalists would demand expanded voting rights, constitutional government, and the emancipation of serfs, while the aristocrats would call for a Labor Protection Act to safeguard workers' rights.
But once both sides had raised their slogans, the Austrian people would probably be left dumbfounded.
That was also a consequence of Austria's circumstances. The aristocracy still belonged to the feudal class, and their interests were naturally at odds with those of the capitalists. The two sides had not yet had a chance to join forces.
By the early twentieth century, the aristocrats and capitalists would have formed an interest group. Then, short of tearing everything down and starting over, there would be no way to resolve the problem through political means.
Besides stirring the pot in front of Metternich, Franz had other preparations. He didn't think his words alone could sway the old fox.
They might have had a good relationship, but when it came to politics, no one ever let personal ties get in the way.
While chatting, Franz also obtained a license to start a newspaper. Before the March Revolution of 1848, the Austrian Empire enforced censorship of books and newspapers.
By the time the Vienna Revolution broke out in March 1848, Austria had a total of seventy-nine newspapers. That was newspapers, not publishing houses!
Considering that one publishing house could issue several newspapers at once, the number of publishing houses must have been even smaller.
Just look at those figures, and you'd know how difficult it was to start a newspaper in that era.
But none of that posed a problem for Franz. Censorship was meant to curb the spread of revolutionary ideas. Anyone might support the revolutionaries, but the heir to the throne could hardly support a revolution that would overthrow him.
Franz was a man of high moral character. He felt the people's anxieties and shared their worries, so he named his newspaper We Want Bread, We Want Cheese.
The newspaper's mission matched its name exactly. To keep the publishing house safe, he decided to set it up right outside the police station.
Starting a newspaper was a great deal of trouble in those days. Even though Franz could skip the most cumbersome procedures, he still had to find staff and premises himself.
The most important thing was finding editors and reporters. They had to be passionate enough to face society's cruelty, but not so passionate that they forgot whose bread they were eating.
When the state suffers, the poet thrives; adversity gives his lines their polish.
There was a great deal of truth in that saying. In the mid-nineteenth century, Austria also produced a great many men of letters. Some stayed devoted to their writing, while others changed course midway and went into politics.
In any case, the persuasive power of the pen could not be matched by the aristocracy.
Take Kossuth, the Hungarian politician who had trained as a lawyer. He was a master propagandist. In 1847, he helped set Hungary on the path to independence and even became head of the Hungarian Republic for a time.
Of course, he also suffered from the common failing of men of letters: he was an idealist. His plans were often divorced from reality, and the uprising was naturally crushed.
Franz had no interest in Kossuth. No matter how skilled he was at propaganda, he was still an extreme nationalist.
The two sides were natural enemies. Of course, Kossuth might have been bought off, but Franz had no interest in trying.
In Franz's view of employment, loyalty far outweighed ability. At the very least, anyone he hired had to be someone who wasn't his enemy.
After a moment's thought, Franz wrote down several names on a slip of paper, then instructed, "Raul, have someone look into the people on this list. If there's nothing wrong with them, send each of them an invitation in the newspaper's name!"
"Yes, Your Highness!" Raul, his attendant, replied hurriedly.
Hiring people was no easy matter in those days. Universities were ivory towers, with no ordinary people inside. Even the least privileged students had parents who were small capitalists.
Those inspirational tales were all lies. No amount of working one's way through school could cover the exorbitant tuition.
Nor were the writers and scholars in society as destitute as people imagined, except for those whose families had fallen on hard times.
To hire people, one could either put up a notice somewhere crowded, run an advertisement in a newspaper, or, more often, rely on personal introductions.
Personal introductions were clearly unsuitable for Franz. None of the people he knew had fallen so low. Dragons did not consort with snakes, so he had no acquaintances among ordinary workers.
But there was no rush. Hiring ordinary workers would be easy. Compared with other industries, working for a newspaper was a very respectable job, so he had no need to worry that no one would apply.
Recruiting reporters and editors, on the other hand, would take time. The people Franz had invited were all well-known writers and scholars in society.
Whether they came or not didn't matter. The invitation simply let them know that Austria had a new newspaper, and that they now had another place to publish articles and earn fees.
From beginning to end, he never showed his face, though plenty of people would know that he was the newspaper's secret owner.
If he hadn't been concerned about the cost, Franz wouldn't have minded opening dozens of newspapers at once and openly fighting for control of public opinion.
But when he considered the return on investment, Franz promptly backed down. It was enough to control one newspaper, pontificate about affairs in peacetime, and steer public opinion when necessary.
Austria's reforms had been underway for many years. The current prime minister, Klemens von Metternich, had once been a leading figure in the Reform Party.
But now he had become a man rejected by both sides. The country's capitalists thought his reforms were too timid and failed to satisfy all their interests.
The conservative aristocrats also rejected him as prime minister. As a representative of the aristocratic interest group, his support for emancipating the serfs had harmed their interests.
Even the Vienna Court wasn't particularly fond of its reformist prime minister. The reason was simple: he had been making the same promises for too long, yet the reforms had achieved nothing.
Franz might have understood him better than anyone else in that era. To put it vividly, the Austrian Empire was like a house riddled with woodworm. If you shifted even part of it, no one could tell how much would come crashing down.
Out of caution and a sense of responsibility, Metternich had carried out his reforms with extreme care, terrified that one wrong move would make the whole thing collapse.
Reforms that timid and halting were bound to fail. How could reforms succeed without bloodshed?
Before you continue