Louis should be up one morning to see the peasants from the country arriving at Les Halles with their produce; he should mingle with the bakers of Gonesse. He should see the gardeners wheeling their barrows into the’ city full of fruit and vegetables; he should see the clerks on their way to work and the waiters at the lemonade shops serving early customers with their coffee and rolls; he should buy coffee from one of the coffee women who carried their urns on their backs and he should stand there in the street and drink it from an earthenware cup.

He should ride on the carrabas and take a trip in a pot de chambre. It was the way for a King to know what his people were thinking of their government and their King. And he must do all this incognito.

In fact it seemed that Joseph was far more interested in the people of France than any members of the Royal Family. He included in his tour museums, printing houses and fac tories; he wanted to see bow the dyes were made, and wandered about the Rue de la Juiverie, the Rue des Marmousets and such-like unsavoury places to chat with the workers. His accent, his determination not to be recognised, all gave him away. In a very short time the people of Paris were aware that the Emperor of Austria was among them and they looked out for him. They recognised him at once in his plain puce garments, his unpowdered hair, its simple style, and his earnest endeavour to show them that he was one of them and dispense with all etiquette. They delighted in aim and he was extremely popular; on the rare occasions when he was seen with us, all the cheers were for him.

I noticed his secret satisfaction, and I knew then that his favourite re1e was the Emperor who was discovered to be an Emperor.

From the soap works he went to the tapestry-makers, the botanical gardens and the hospitals. These interested him far more than the theatres and the Opera balls, although he did deign to visit the Comedie Francaise. He called on Madame du Barry, who was at this time at Louvedennes, which her old friend Maurepas had arranged should be hers after the two and half years she had spent at the Font aux Dames.

This gesture I did not understand in my brother, unless he was curious to see a very beautiful woman . or perhaps to show that he was a tolerant free-thinker who was not shocked by the life she had led. It was surprising that he had no time for the Due de Choigeui, who had been a good friend to Austria until the time of his disgrace and was responsible for arranging my marriage.

It seemed ironical, too, that the people who had criticised me for flouting their etiquette should so admire Joseph for doing the same.

But my brother did not confine himself to visiting Paris;

he sought to set our household in order. Not only was I subjected to lectures, which I have no doubt I deserved, but my brothers-in-law were also.

He told Artois that he was a fop. He should not think because he was the third brother he could devote himself to a life of frivolity. He should be more serious. During his stay, he, Joseph, would endeavour to have more private conversations with Artois, who should discuss his difficulties with the Emperor; then he could be given the benefit of Imperial advice. I could imagine Artois’s reactions to this. He listened demurely enough; but I heard the laughter coming from his apartments, and guessed how he was entertaining his friends.

Of Provence he was a little uncertain. He did not offer him advice, but he did warn me of him.

“There is something cold about him. As for that wife of his, she is an intriguer. She’s not a Piedmontese for nothing. She’s coarse and ugly, but don’t dismiss her as of no importance on that score.”

Naturally the aunts were very eager for his company. They had so much to tell him, Adelaide assured him; and Joseph never missed an opportunity for receiving information. However, he was rather startled when Adelaide invited him into a small room to show him some pictures and then fell upon him and embraced him passionately.

Joseph expressed his astonishment, for while she caressed him in a loveriike way she assured him that it was perfectly all right: such liberties must be allowed an old aunt.

Joseph on telling me this warned me to make sure he was never alone with any of the aunts again.

“They have always behaved a little oddly,” I told him.

“Indeed it is so, but they count for nothing in this Court. It is the others of whom you must be watchful. Provence, cold as a snake, and his intriguer of a wife. The other one is too frivolous and his company is not good for you. He is the only one who can beget children, and when I have shown your husband how to overcome his infirmity and you become pregnant it would be as well not to have been too friendly with Artois. You are too much in his company. It could give rise to talk.”

I assured my brother that I did not exactly like Artois; but he was the gayest member of the family and he and I enjoyed the same kind of pastimes. He could always amuse me, and I so badly needed to be amused.

“Tut tut tut,” said Joseph.

“You will have to learn that there is more in life than amusement.”

Joseph’s pontifical manner was beginning to tire us all. I wished that he had been a little frivolous, that he would gamble and lose heavily, that he would show some interest in the lighter amusements of the Court. But that was quite foreign to his nature.

As the days passed he took to criticising me in front of my women which I did not like. He would wander in when I was at my toilette and show disapproval of my elaborate gowns. When my rouge was being applied he looked on with cynical amusement. I might have retorted that it was as necessary to wear rouge as Court dress. Even Campan when she had first come to Court as the humble lectrice  had been obliged to wear it.

He glanced at one of my attendants who was very highly rouged and said: “A little more. A little more. Put it on furiously like Madame here.”

I was so annoyed about this that I determined to ask my brother to spare me his criticisms in front of people. When we were alone I did not mind what he said, but it was certainly undignified for the Queen of France to be reprimanded before her subjects as though she were a child. What could be more damaging to her prestige than that?

Smarting with indignity I sat before my mirror while Monsieur Leonard dressed my hair.

“Ah, Madame,” he said, ‘we will have such a confection that the Emperor himself must admire it. “

I smiled at Leonard in the mirror, and as he proceeded to excel himself, Joseph with his usual lack of ceremony strolled in.

“Brother, do you like this style?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered in a bored tone.

You do not sound very enthusiastic. You are thinking that it is unbecoming? “

“Do you wish me to speak frankly ” When, Joseph, did you not? “

“Very well. I think it is over-fragile to carry a crown.”

Monsieur Leonard looked as though my brother had been guilty of the greatest lese majestf possible; my attendants and friends were shocked that my brother should speak to me thus in their presence, for on this occasion he was not so much criticising my head-dress as myself as the Queen of France.

When I remonstrated with him, he replied: “I am an outspoken man. I cannot prevaricate. I say what I mean.”

I had deplored artifice, the artifice of French conversation, but a few weeks of Joseph’s company made me long for it.

Mercy was made a little uneasy by the manner in which Joseph was behaving. I imagined that Kaunitz had tried to advise my brother how to deal with me, and my brother of course would accept advice from no one. Joseph had forgotten that seven years had passed since I left Austria; he saw me still as the silly little girl” his baby sister.

Joseph himself told me that Kaunitz had prepared a written document of the instructions he was to pass on to me.

“But I have no need of documents,” said my brother.

“I am here to see you and talk to you.

And I have a firsthand knowledge of the scene. “

So he continued to advise us; and he did make some impression; he made me see how I was grieving my mother by my conduct; he impressed on me the folly of my ways. He had been among the people of Paris; he had seen hardship and poverty. What did I think these people would feel when they knew of my extravagance? He moved me to tears of repentance.

“I will be different, Joseph,” I said.

“Pray tell my mother that she must not worry. I will be more serious. I promise.”

And I meant it.

It was unfortunate that when he accompanied me to the apartments of the Princesse de Guemenee there should have been a scene. He had been reluctant to go, but I had persuaded him. They were playing faro, and the free manners between the sexes shocked my brother; their conversation sparkled, but it was a little risque, and, most unfortunate of all, Madame de Guemenee was accused of cheating.

Joseph wished to leave.

“It’s nothing but a gaming hell,” he declared; and there followed a long lecture on the dangers of gambling. I must give up gambling. No good could come of it. I must choose my friends with greater care.

Everything we did seemed to be the excuse for a lecture, but we listened to Joseph, and, like so many of his kind, much of what he said was right and true.

He was often closeted with my husband, for the purpose of his visit had been to strengthen Austro-French relations-and, of course, that other matter.

I did not know what he said to my husband, but I have no doubt that he pointed out his duty, that he told him of the dangers of a monarchy that could not produce heirs. Artois had a son; but Provence would come before him. There were jealousies and antagonisms when the succession was not from father to son.