The Emperor Joseph II. is called every morning before six, and rises immediately, though he may have been sound asleep just before. While dressing he reads papers, and by seven he receives the Council of State; after which the Archduke Maximilian, if in Vienna, makes him a visit of a few minutes, and they go together to church. The Emperor then proceeds to his Chancellerie, where he dictates to several secretaries, keeping them fully employed until twelve or one, when he holds a levee. About half-past one, or two, he drives a calèche and pair to one of the gates of the town, where a horse is awaiting him. He mounts and rides round to see fortifications, buildings, gardens, &c., and, after using violent exercise, returns home about half-past four, when the signal for the Guards to salute him is also the signal to serve up the dinner. While this is being done, which usually occupies seven minutes, the Emperor dresses himself—he is always in uniform—and he remains less than half an hour at table. He eats of the simplest dishes, and of not more than two or three, talking all the time to architects, directors of his gardens, &c. After dinner he walks about the room for a short time, when he returns to the Chancellerie, and works assiduously till ten or eleven. He then visits at one of about a dozen houses, to which he goes by turns, almost all of them belonging to widows of general officers, and the greater part Protestants. They are all elderly women, with the exception of two—the Princess of Lichtenstein, wife of the General who is his personal friend; and another lady, whose husband likewise is particularly intimate with his Majesty, and works nearly as hard. About midnight the Emperor returns to the palace, and as he passes through his apartments sits down to the harpsichord for a quarter of an hour, his valet de chambre accompanying him on the violin. He both plays and sings, and the music is changed every night. He then goes to bed. Such is his usual life at Vienna, but when he is with his troops he surpasses them all in activity. Rain, tempests, long and fatiguing marches, are alike disregarded.
M. de Chevert, who died a lieutenant-general of the French army, being about to take a fortress by assault, gave the following instructions to a soldier: “Tu monteras l’échelle; la sentinelle te criera ‘Qui est là?’ tu ne répondras rien; il te criera une autre fois; tu ne diras rien; il te tirera, il te manquera; tu le tueras et moi je serai derrière toi.” The soldier took his commander’s word, did as he was bid, and everything happened precisely as M. de Chevert had stated.
A son of Count Sambuca, Prime Minister of the King of Naples, not long since had a person assassinated. His father sent him off to Sicily, and it is probable that no further notice will be taken of the murder. Another son of the same Minister, as he was going to a conversazione at Rome, observed that Cardinal Visconti’s carriage was in front of him, and immediately ordered his coachman to drive past it. The man excused himself by saying that it was not customary to pass a Cardinal; but Signor Sambuca insisted, and gained his point. Cardinal Visconti, when he alighted, unaware of the real state of the case, and being, besides, a very civil man, told the other that he was exceedingly sorry for the dispute between their coachmen, but that it was impossible to answer for the behaviour of those people. “You are mistaken, Sir,” replied the Neapolitan, “I ordered my man to pass you; ‘voi altri Cardinali ci volete soverchiare in tutto.’”[[129]] However, he was soon afterwards recalled to Naples by his father.
It was mentioned lately at a conversazione of the second class that some one had been murdered by a servant. An Abbé, who was one of the guests, being accompanied by his servant on his way home, was asked by the man if he knew whose servant it was, and he replied in the negative. “Why, it was I, Sir,” said the fellow—“I killed the man myself.” The poor Abbé was so much frightened at the intelligence that he ordered him to take himself off, with his livery and lantern.
In Italy, they call people who hurt their health by painting, tight-lacing, &c., “martiri del diavolo.”