JOSEPH AND LOUIS.
The emperor was right when he said that his sister would derive little
pleasure from his visit to Paris. Her happiness in his society had been
of short duration; for she could not be but sensible of the growing
dislike of the king for his imperial brother-in-law. Joseph's easy and
graceful manners were in humiliating contrast to the stiff and awkward
bearing of Louis; and finally, Marie Antoinette felt many a pang as she
watched the glances of aversion which her husband cast upon her brother,
at such times as the latter made light of the thousand and one
ceremonies which were held so sacred by the royal family of France.
The king, who in his heart had been sorely galled by the fetters of
French etiquette, now that the emperor ridiculed it, became its warmest
partisan; and went so far as to reprove his wife for following her
brother's example, and sacrificing her royal dignity to an absurd
longing for popularity.
The truth was, that Louis was envious of the enthusiasm which Joseph
excited among the Parisians; and his brothers, the other members of the
royal family, and his ministers, took every opportunity of feeding his
envy, by representing that the emperor was doing his utmost to alienate
the affections of the French from their rightful sovereign; that he was
meditating the seizure of Alsace and Lorraine; that he was seeking to
reinstate De Choiseul, and convert France into a mere dependency upon
Austria.
Louis, who had begun to regard his wife with passionate admiration,
became cold and sarcastic in his demeanor toward her. The hours which,
until the emperor's arrival in Paris, he had spent with Marie
Antoinette, were now dedicated to his ministers, to Madame Adelaide, and
even to the Count de Provence--that brother whose enmity to the queen
was not even concealed under a veil of courtly dissimulation.
Not satisfied with filling the king's ears with calumnies of his poor
young wife, the Count de Provence was the instigator of all those
scandalous songs, in which the emperor and the queen were daily
ridiculed on the Pont-Neuf; and of the multifarious caricatures which,
hour by hour, were rendering Marie Antoinette odious in the eyes of her
subjects. The Count de Provence, who afterward wore his murdered
brother's crown, was the first to teach the French nation that odiouus
epithet of "d'Autrichienne," with which they hooted the Queen of France
to an ignominious death upon the scaffold.
The momentary joy which the visit of the emperor had caused to his
sister had vanished, and given place to embarrassment and anxiety of
heart. Even she felt vexed, not only that her subjects preferred a
foreign prince to their own rightful sovereign, but that Joseph was so
unrestrained in his sarcasms upon royal customs in France. Finally she
was obliged to confess in the silence of her own heart, that her
brother's departure would be a relief to her, and that these dinners en
famille, to which he came daily as a guest, were inexpressibly tedious
and heavy.
One day the emperor came earlier than usual to dinner--so early, in
fact, that the king was still occupied holding his daily levee.
Joseph seated himself quietly in the anteroom to await his turn. At
first no one had remarked his entrance; but presently he was recognized
by one of the marshals of the household, who hastened to his side, and,
apologizing, offered to inform the king at once of Count Falkenstein's
presence there.
"By no means," returned the emperor, "I am quite accustomed to this sort
of thing. I do it every morning in my mother's ante-room at Vienna."
[Footnote: Memoires de Weber, vol. i., p. 98.]
Just then the door opened, and the king, who had been apprised of the
emperor's arrival, carne forward to greet him.
"We were not aware that we had so distinguished a guest in our
anteroom," said Louis, bowing. "But come, my brother." continued he
cordially, "the weather is beautiful. Let us stroll together in the
gardens. Give me your arm."
But Joseph, pointing to the crowd, replied, "Pardon me, your majesty, it
is not yet my turn; and I should be sorry to interrupt you in your
duties as sovereign."
Louis frowned; and all traces of cordiality vanished from his face. "I
will receive these gentlemen to-morrow," said he, with a slight nod to
his courtiers; and they, comprehending that they were dismissed, took
their leave.
"Now, count," pursued the king, trying to smile, but scarcely succeeding
in doing so, "we are at liberty."
So saying, he bowed, but did not repeat the offer of his arm; he walked
by the emperor's side. The usher threw open the doors, crying out in
aloud voice:
"The king is about to take a walk!"
"The king is about to take a walk," was echoed from point to point; and
now from every side of the palace came courtiers and gentlemen in
waiting, to attend their sovereign; while outside on the terrace the
blast of trumpets was heard, so that everybody in Versailles was made
aware that the king was about to take a turn in his garden, and his
anxious subjects, if so disposed, might pray for his safe return.
The emperor looked on and listened with an amused smile, highly diverted
at the avalanche of courtiers that came rushing on them from corridor
and staircase. Meanwhile the sovereigns pursued their way in solemn
silence until the brilliant throng had descended the marble stairs that
led from the terrace to the gardens. Then came another flourish of
trumpets, one hundred Swiss saluted the king, and twelve gardes de corps
advanced to take their places close to the royal promenaders.
"Sire," asked Joseph, stopping, "are all these people to accompany us?"
"Certainly, count," replied Louis, "this attendance upon me when I walk
is prescribed by court etiquette."
"My dear brother, allow me to state that it gives us much more the
appearance of state prisoners than of free sovereigns enjoying the fresh
air. In the presence of God let us be simple men--our hearts will be
more apt to be elevated by the sight of the beauties of nature, than if
we go surrounded by all this `pomp and circumstance' of royalty."
"You wish to go without attendants?" asked Louis.
"I ask of your majesty as a favor to let me act as a body-guard to the
King of France to-day. I promise to serve him faithfully in that
capacity--moreover, have we not this brilliant suite of noblemen to
defend us in case of danger?"
The king made no reply. He merely turned to the captain of the Swiss
guard to inform him that their majesties would dispense with military
escort. The officer was so astounded that he actually forgot to make his
salute.
At the gate of the park the king also dismissed the gardes de corps.
These were quite as astonished as the Swiss had been before there; for
never until that day had a King of France taken a walk in his gardens
without one hundred Swiss and twelve body-guards. [Footnote: Hubner, i.,
p. 148.]