“Indeed, he should be in the Hall of Mirrors by now, it seems you also have a fondness for this genius musician,” Ludovica responded curtly, thinking the Crown Prince of France might be adverse to the topic of “finding fewer mistresses,” and quickly tried to smooth things over, “Oh, by the way, His Majesty and I have already discussed it, and will prepare at least one million florins as a dowry for Clementine.”
“She is our most cherished daughter, we hope she can live happily in Paris…”
One florin was roughly equivalent to 2.5 livres, which definitely amounted to a very generous dowry.
Hearing her even start discussing the dowry, Joseph was filled with frustration and sighed deeply in his heart: Good Lord, Clementine is my very own cousin! Your own family is also of the Bourbon surname, this is close kinship within close relations. If I were really to marry your daughter, wouldn’t every one of our descendants be at risk for congenital idiocy and deformity…
“Actually, I feel Vienna is better than Paris, warm in winter and cool in summer, full of artistic atmosphere.” Joseph didn’t know how to change the subject, but just then, he glimpsed a spring gushing water outside the window and exclaimed, “Oh, that must be the spring that Emperor Matthias adored, isn’t it?”
Matthias was a 17th-century Emperor of Sanctum. He once came upon a sweet-tasting spring, loved it, and built a hunting palace there, which was the predecessor of Schonbrunn Palace.
Ludovica’s brows furrowed slightly, sensing that the Crown Prince of France seemed reluctant to talk about his marriage to Clementine.
“That’s not the Beautiful Spring, dear, it’s in the Royal Garden.”
She drew a deep breath and continued to smile, “We are the closest and noblest of families, if there is anything about Clementine that displeases you…”
“Cough cough cough—” Joseph thought, my dissatisfaction lies in the fact that we are “family”! Are you insistent on finalizing this marriage today?
He feigned severe coughing and bent over, signalling to Eman: “This damnable pneumonia, cough cough, please get me some medicine.”
Eman was momentarily stunned—hadn’t the prince’s pneumonia been in remission for quite a while? But he reacted quickly, supporting Joseph and on his master’s silent cue, began making their way through the crowd toward the resting room.
Ludovica watched Joseph’s departing back, a look of confusion crossing her face.
In the following days, aside from discussing trade agreements with Leopold II and Austrian officials, Joseph used his pneumonia as a pretext to decline all banquets and social engagements, doing everything possible to avoid Clementine’s mother, Ludovica.
After the draft of the “Franco-Austrian-German Trade Agreement” was roughly finalized, he took his leave from Joseph II and almost fled back to Paris.
Ludovica, following the processional that was seeing Joseph off a few miles southwest of Vienna, didn’t manage to engage him in much conversation—The Crown Prince of France’s pneumonia seemed quite severe, prompting a bout of violent coughing every time he tried to speak.
She remembered the information she had gathered these past days about Joseph’s love life and her brow furrowed. Aside from a woman doctor who was over three years his senior, of humble origins, and preferred dressing in men’s clothing, there were hardly any women around the Crown Prince. Why was he avoiding the marriage to Clementine?
It was known that Leopold II was certainly going to be coronated as Emperor of Holy Rome; his daughter’s status would definitely be a match for him!
She turned to her husband and asked softly, “Dear, has the Crown Prince mentioned anything to you about the engagement?”
Leopold II thought for a moment and shook his head, “The trade agreement is very important. Our discussions are mostly on that, and occasionally on hunting or shipbuilding, but seldom on matters of the heart.”
Ludovica frowned again and suddenly grabbed Leopold II, her expression serious, “You must speak seriously with your sister about Clementine’s marriage. It would be best to formalize their wedding date in the form of a royal letter.”
…
May 2, 1789.
More than 17,000 Austrian soldiers and 3,000 Bavarian soldiers left the Austrian exclave of Luxembourg in the west, along the border with France, moving towards the frontier city of Liege in Southern Netherlands, dozens of kilometers away.
In the leading carriage, a general with white at his temples but eyes reflecting calm competence, looked out the window and casually asked the officer beside the carriage: “Colonel Haydn, how far is it to Liege?”
The latter quickly checked the map and replied, “General, less than three leagues. If we maintain our pace, we should arrive by tomorrow afternoon.”
A league here referred to an Austrian league, about the equivalent of 20 kilometers.
The elder in the carriage was General Wilmze, commander in chief of the Austrian forces. He nodded and then inquired, “Any news from the Muzil Corps?”
“Not yet, General. But according to their last message yesterday, they should have entered Luneburg by now.”
Luneburg was a city to the north of Liege, bordering Brabant to the west. It was a connecting point between two rebellious cities. Muzil was leading a light corps, carrying only a minimal amount of supplies. According to General Wilmze’s plan, they would march rapidly, bypassing Liege and striking directly into this strategic point to disrupt support from the Brabant Rebels to Liege.
At the same time, this position could also serve as a warning against the Prussian Army—Luneburg was a mandatory route for the Prussian Army if they wanted to move south.
Everything was going according to plan, and Wilmze was about to pull down the carriage shade when he remembered something and instructed the officer, “Oh, right, contact the French and tell them to transport the supplies to the south of Liege in three days; we should have taken control there by then.” Enjoy new stories from empire