* * *

So Joseph II, Emperor of Austria, came into France.

Joseph was entirely sure of his ability to set matters right for his sister, for Joseph had a very high opinion of his own powers. He looked upon himself as the most important and the most successful ruler in Europe.

Everywhere he went he called attention to himself by his alleged desire for no ceremony. He did not travel as a mighty Emperor might be expected to travel.

‘Indeed not,’ said Joseph. ‘To all on the road from Vienna to Paris I shall be known as Count Falkenstein.’

So through all the villages and towns his servants implored great secrecy.

‘Hush!’ they said. ‘Count Falkenstein demands privacy. Above all he wants no fuss. Make sure that there is complete secrecy as to his arrival.’

‘And who is Count Falkenstein?’ asked the villagers and townsfolk. In Austria they knew, of course. They had often been made aware of the Emperor’s aliases.

The rain was pouring down when he arrived in Paris. He came in an ordinary little open carriage such as any minor nobleman might affect. He sat in it soaked to the skin, greatly enjoying the experience. He had refused to go in state to Versailles where splendid apartments had been offered him.

‘No, no, no,’ he protested. ‘Mercy shall put me up at the Embassy. I want no fuss. My camp-bed will suffice, and a bearskin will serve for a mattress.’

It pleased him greatly – he the mighty Emperor – to live as an ordinary man. He wanted the world to know that he despised physical comforts. Comfort for him was to know he ruled his country well, that his subjects should know he carried their welfare close to his heart.

The day after his arrival in Paris, the news of which he had begged should be kept from the royal family, he set out in a post-chaise from his Paris lodging for Versailles.

‘I am most anxious,’ he had already written to the Abbé de Vermond, ‘to avoid sightseers or any demonstration. When I arrive I wish you to meet me and conduct me with all speed and with no fuss to the petits appartements of my sister.’

This was done.

Antoinette had been informed that he was in Paris and, although she had been unsure of the hour he would come to Versailles and in what manner, was not altogether surprised to receive him.

She had made a point of retiring early the night before. She was a little afraid of Joseph, much as she longed to see someone from home. He was, after all, fourteen years older than she was and had always been the domineering elder brother.

‘Much as I long to see him,’ she had said to Gabrielle, ‘I know there are going to be some stern lectures. Joseph could never resist them.’

He came bursting into the apartment wearing with pride his plain brown jacket which he believed gave him the appearance of a humble citizen; and he took one look at his little sister who was seated at her mirror while her ladies were combing her hair. It was hanging round her shoulders, and even Joseph was moved at the sight of so much beauty.

‘Joseph!’ she cried, and the tears brimmed over and began to fall down her cheeks.

‘My little Toinette,’ returned Joseph, genuinely moved as he took her into his arms.

‘It is so long,’ he said.

‘Far, far too long, Joseph.’

They held each other at arm’s length, looked into each other’s faces and both began to speak rapidly in German.

‘And how is my dearest mother?’

‘As well as we can expect, and longing to hear news of you.’

‘She hears too much news of me.’

‘I hope to take good news back to her.’

‘Oh, Joseph, Joseph! It is so wonderful to see someone from home.’

‘You are prettier than I thought,’ said Joseph in an unusual rush of sentiment which this reunion had aroused. ‘If I could find a woman as pretty, I would marry again.’

That made her laugh and hug him and grimace at his plain brown jacket, and call him Herr Joseph … plain Herr Joseph.

‘I will take you to the King’s apartment,’ she declared, and she led him there by the hand.

The King was not fully dressed, but Joseph shared a disregard of ceremony with his sister.

He took his brother-in-law in his arms and kissed his cheeks. Then he looked at him with affection which veiled a certain contempt, for Joseph felt old and wise in the presence of Louis.

The King was delighted to see the Queen’s pleasure in her brother, and welcomed Joseph on behalf of France.

The Emperor had come to Versailles unheralded, and there would be many who would wish to pay him homage. He must meet the King’s brothers, the King’s ministers, the noblemen of the Court.

Joseph smiled benignly but with faint superciliousness. He considered all this ceremony, all this gilded splendour, unnecessary to the ruling of a country.


* * *

The table was laid for dinner in the Queen’s bedchamber, and three armchairs had been placed at it for the King, the Queen and the Emperor.

‘No, no!’ cried Joseph, for now the emotion he had felt at his reunion with his sister had passed and he was himself again, the Spartan Emperor, determined to behave as an ordinary man, determined to excite attention by his desire for anonymity, determined to receive great honour by his disregard for it. ‘No chair for me. No chair for me. I am a plain and ordinary man. A stool is good enough for Count Falkenstein.’

‘Bring a stool for the Emperor,’ ordered the King. ‘And since our guest uses a stool, so must we. Let three stools be brought.’

So the chairs were removed and the stools brought, and the King and Queen rested their aching backs against the Queen’s bed during the meal, while the Emperor, smiling at their weakness, sat erect on his stool.

‘I look forward,’ he told the King, ‘to meeting your brothers and their wives. I believe we shall have much to say to each other.’

He was already preparing the lectures he would deliver to the King’s brothers. Provence did not enter enough into public affairs. Artois was too irresponsible. The King was a poor conversationalist; he should practise conversation instead of shutting himself away with his locksmith. Joseph must therefore have many improving talks with his brother-in-law. He clearly had a great many tasks to perform before he returned to Vienna.


* * *

‘My dear sister,’ began the Emperor when they were alone together. ‘All this preoccupation with gaiety is causing a great deal of comment throughout Europe. You may be sure it is causing more in France. You are a Queen, and Queen of a great country. I would not suggest that you meddle in state affairs, but I beg of you, try to infuse into your behaviour a greater seriousness. We hear of your extravagance in Vienna – the jewels, the dresses, the way in which you spend your days. We have heard of your expenditure at your country house. It is fantastic’

Antoinette laughed. ‘Joseph, this is not Vienna. The people of France wish their Kings and Queens to look like Kings and Queens. They would not appreciate a Spartan Emperor.’

Joseph did not believe that. He was sure that he would be appreciated wherever he lived.

‘Your love of gambling could be disastrous,’ went on the Emperor. ‘You consort with the wrong people. That Madame de Guémenée is no friend for you. Her apartment is nothing more than a gambling den. I was shocked to see that last night in your presence someone was accused of cheating. Do you not understand what lack of dignity there is in that? And look at your hair!’

‘What is wrong with my hair? Does this style not become me?’

‘Become you it may, but it seems to me that piled up thus it is over-fragile to bear a crown.’

‘Joseph, you know not our customs.’

‘I know the ways of the world, and I believe that things cannot go on here as they have been going on. I am afraid for your happiness. Things cannot go on like this. You only think of amusing yourself. Have you no feeling for the King?’

He saw the look of pain in her eyes.

‘But,’ he went on, ‘if there were a child it would be different. There must be a Dauphin.’

‘Ah, Joseph,’ said Antoinette, ‘if that were but possible!’

The Emperor’s lips tightened. His look implied that, as with God, all things were possible with the Emperor Joseph.

In any case it was concerning this matter of the Dauphin that he had come to France.


* * *

Joseph walked about the streets of Paris in his plain brown coat, followed only by two lackeys in sombre grey.

He was noticed. It was inevitable, for no one else looked at all like the Emperor.

The citizens of Paris liked him – liked that lack of fuss and ceremony in him; that indifference to formality, which they so deplored in his sister, perversely they found charming in the Emperor.

‘Long live the Emperor Joseph!’ they cried.

He would hold up his hand deprecatingly. ‘My good people … my good people, I am sorry you recognise me. I had hoped to mingle among you like an ordinary man.’

‘How charming he is!’ they said to one another.

Like a plain citizen, he wandered into shops and bought goods. He chatted lightly and good-naturedly; he was always so eager to know about their lives, so very interested in the affairs of ordinary men.

The people of Paris felt more affection towards their Queen for possessing such a brother.


* * *

Joseph shut himself in with his brother-in-law.

Joseph, the older man, smiled benignly.