At the accession of Charles X., the royal family, properly speaking,
consisted of six persons only,--the King, the Duke and Duchess of
Angouleme, the Duchess of Berry and her two children (the Duke of
Bordeaux and Mademoiselle). By the traditions of the monarchy, the Duke
of Angouleme, as son and heir of the King, took the title of Dauphin,
and his wife that of Dauphiness. The Duchess of Berry, who, under the
reign of Louis XVIII. was called Madame the Duchess of Berry, was by
right, henceforward, called simply Madame, a privilege that belonged to
the Duchess of Angouleme before she was Dauphiness. That is why the
Gymnase, the theatre under the special protection of the Duchess of
Berry, was called, after the new reign began, the Theatre de Madame.
Born at Versailles the 5th of August, 1775, the Duke of Angouleme had
just entered on his fiftieth year. A tender and respectful son, an
irreproachable husband, a brave soldier, he was lacking in both
brilliant and solid qualities. His awkward air, his bashfulness, his
myopia, his manners rather bourgeois than princely, were against him.
He had nothing of the charm and grace of his father. But when one knew
him, it was easy to see that he had unquestioned virtues and real
worth. To Charles X. he was a most faithful subject and the best of
sons. In contrast with so many heirs apparent, who openly or secretly
combat the political ideas of their fathers, he was always the humble
and docile supporter of the throne. The Spanish expedition brought him
credit. In it he showed courage and zeal. The army esteemed him, and he
gave serious attention to military matters. A man of good sense and
good faith, he held himself aloof from all exaggerations. At the time
of the reaction of the White Terror, he had repudiated the fury of the
ultras, and distinguished himself by a praiseworthy moderation. He had
great piety, with out hypocrisy, bigotry, or fanaticism. The Count of
Puymaigre, in his curious Souvenirs, says:--
"The Duke of Angouleme appeared to me to be always subordinated to the
will of the King, and he said to me one day very emphatically that his
position forbade any manifestation of personal sentiment, because it
was unbecoming in the heir apparent to sustain the opposition. Though
very religious, he did not share the exaggerated ideas of what was then
called the 'congregation,' and I recall that one day he asked me
brusquely: 'Are you a partisan of the missions?' As I hesitated to
reply, he insisted. 'No, my lord, in nowise; I think that one good cure
suffices for a commune, and that missionaries, by treating the public
mind with an unusual fervor, often bring trouble with them and at the
same time often lessen the consideration due to the resident priest.'"
Married, on the 10th of June, 1799, to the daughter of Louis XVI. and
Marie Antoinette, the Duke of Angouleme had no children; but though the
sterilty of his wife was an affliction, he never complained of it. He
was not known to have either favorites or mistresses. The life of this
descendant of Louis XIV. and of Louis XV. was purity itself. There were
neither scandals nor intrigues about him. By nature irascible and
obstinate, he had modified this tendency of his character by reason and
still more by religion. Assiduous in his duties, without arrogance or
vanity, regarding his role as Prince as a mission given him by
Providence, which he wished to fulfil conscientiously, he had not the
slightest mental reservation in favor of restoring the old regime, and
showed, perhaps, more favor to the lieutenants of Napoleon than to the
officers of the army of Conde, his companions in arms. To sum up, he
was not an attractive prince, but he merited respect. The Count of
Puymaigre thus concludes the portrait traced by him:--
"The manner, bearing, and gestures of the Duke of Angouleme cannot be
called gracious, especially in contrast with his father's manners;
doubtless it is not fair to ask that a prince, any more than another,
should be favored by nature, but it is much to be desired that he shall
have an air of superiority. The ruling taste of the Dauphin was for the
chase. He also read much and gave much time to the personnel of the
army. Retiring early, he arose every morning at five o'clock, and
lighted his own fire. Far from having anything to complain of in him, I
could only congratulate myself on his kindness."
The Dauphiness, Marie-Theresa-Charlotte of France, Duchess of
Angouleme, born at Versailles the 19th of December, 1778, was
forty-five years old when her uncle and father-in-law, Charles X.,
ascended the throne. She was surrounded by universal veneration. She
was regarded, and with reason, as a veritable saint, and by all parties
was declared to be sans peur et sans reproche.
The Duchess of Angouleme, shunning the notoriety sought by other
princesses, preferred her oratory to the salons. Yet her devotion had
nothing mean or narrow in it. Despite the legendary catastrophes that
weighed upon her, she always appeared at fetes where her presence was
demanded. She laughed with good heart at the theatre, and there was
nothing morose or ascetic in her conversation. She never spoke of her
misfortunes. One day she was pitying a young girl who suffered from
chilblains. "I know what it is," she said; "I have had them." Then she
added, without other comment: "True, the winters were very severe at
that time." She did not wish to say that she had had these chilblains
while a prisoner in the Temple, when fuel was refused to her.
But if the Princess never spoke of herself, she never ceased to think
of the martyrs for whom she wept. At the Tuileries, she occupied the
Pavillon de l'Horloge and the Pavillon de Flore, the first floor
apartments that had been her mother's. She used for her own a little
salon hung with white velvet sown with marguerite lilies. This tapestry
was the work of the unhappy Queen and of Madame Elisabeth. In the same
room was a stool on which Louis XVII. had languished and suffered. It
served as prie-dieu to the Orphan of the Temple. There was in this
stool a drawer where she had put away the remaining relics of her
parents: the black silk vest and white cravat worn by Louis XVI. the
day of his death; a lace bonnet of Marie Antoinette, the last work done
by the Queen in her prison of the Conciergerie, which Robespierre had
had taken from her on the pretext that the widow of the Christian King
might kill herself with her needle or with a lace-string; finally some
fragments of the fichu which the wind raised from the shoulders of
Madame Elisabeth when the angelic Princess was already on the scaffold.
The Dauphiness, who usually dined with the King, dined alone on the
21st of January and the 16th of October. She shut herself in the
chamber where she had collected these relics and passed the whole day
and evening there in prayer.
The charity of the pious Princess was inexhaustible. Almost all her
revenue was expended in alms. She would not have receipts signed by
those to whom she distributed relief. "The duty of givers," she said,
"is to forget their gifts and the names of those who receive them; it
is for those who receive to remember." Nor did she ever ask the
political opinions of those she relieved. To be unfortunate, sufficed
to excite her interest. One day Sister Rosalie, charged by the Princess
with paying a pension to a man whose ill conduct she had discovered,
thought it her duty to notify the benefactress, and suspend the succor.
"My sister," replied the Dauphiness, "continue to pay this man his
pension. We must be charitable to the good that they may persevere, and
to the bad that they may become better." Sunday, when the Princess did
no work, she passed the evening in detaching the wax seals from letters
and envelopes. This wax, converted into sticks, produced one thousand
francs a year, which she sent to a poor family. She gave much, but only
to Frenchmen and Frenchwomen. She replied to every demand for aid for
foreigners that she was sorry not to comply with the request, but she
should feel that she was doing an injustice to give to others while
there was a single Frenchman in need. On each anniversary of mourning
she doubled her alms.
The existence of the Dauphiness at the Tuileries passed with extreme
regularity. A very early riser, like her husband, she made her toilet
herself, having learned to help herself in her captivity in the Temple.
She used to breakfast at six o'clock, and at seven daily attended the
first Mass in the chapel of the Chateau. There was a second at nine
o'clock for the Dauphin, and a third at eleven for the King. From eight
to eleven she held audiences. She retired at ten o'clock, and only
prolonged the evening to eleven when, she visited the Duchess of Berry,
for whom she had a great affection, and whose children she saw two or
three times a day. A devoted companion of Charles X., she always went
with him to the various royal chateaux. The Count of Puy maigre says in
his Souvenirs:--
"The Dauphiness having by her kindness accustomed me to speaking
freely, I used this privilege without embarrassment, but always
observing that measure which keeps a man of good society within just
limits, equally careful not to put himself ridiculously at ease and not
to be so abashed by exaggerated respect as to become insipid. I have
always thought that a princess no more than any other woman likes to be
bored. I talked much with her in the carriage, seeking to amuse the
Princess with a few anecdotes, and I did not fear to discuss serious
things with her, on which she expressed her self with real sagacity.
When she was accused of want of tact in the numerous receptions of
which one had to undergo the monotony, it was often the fault of her
immediate companions, who neglected to give her suitable information as
to the various persons received. How many times I have hinted to her to
speak to some devoted man, who regarded a word from the Princess as a
signal favor, to yield to requests, perhaps untimely, to visit some
establishment, to receive the humble petitions of a mayor, a cure, or a
municipal council. I will not deny that she had a sort of brusqueness,
partly due to an exceedingly high voice, and moments of ill humor,
transient no doubt, but which nevertheless left a painful impression on
those who were subjected to them. Madame the Dauphiness made no mistake
as to the state of France; she was not the dupe of the obsequiousness
of certain men of the court, and merit was certain to obtain her
support whether it had been manifested under the old or the new regime;
but she had not the influence she was supposed to have, and I doubt if
she tried to acquire it."
One day the Princess was talking to the Prefect of the Oise about the
great noblemen who had possessions in the Department.
"Have they any influence over the people?" she asked him.
"No, Madame, and it is their own fault. M. de La Rochefoucauld is the
only one who is popular, but his influence is against you. As to the
others, greedy of the benefits of the court, they come to their estates
only to save money, to regulate their accounts with their managers, and
the people, receiving no mark of their interest, acknowledge no
obligation to them."
"You are perfectly right," replied the Dauphiness, "that is not the way
with the English aristocracy."
"She saw with pain," adds M. de Puymaigre, "the marriages for money
made by certain men of the court, but not when they allied themselves
with an honorable plebeian family; her indignation was justly shown
toward those who took their wives in families whose coveted riches came
from an impure source."
The extraordinary catastrophes that had fallen on the daughter of Louis
XVI. and Marie Antoinette had been a great experience for her, and she
was not surprised at the recantations of the courtiers. The Hundred
Days had, perhaps, suggested even more reflections to her than her
captivity in the Temple or her early exile. She could not forget how,
in 1815, she had been abandoned by officers who, but the day before,
had offered her such protestations and such vows. In the midst of
present prosperity she had a sort of instinct of future adversity.
Something told her that she was not done with sorrow, and that the cup
of bitterness was not drained to the dregs. While every one about her
contemplated the future with serene confidence, she reflected on the
extreme mobility of the French character, and still distrusted
inconstant fortune. The morrow of the birth of the Duke of Bordeaux one
of her household said to her:--
"Your Highness was very happy yesterday."
"Yes, very happy yesterday," responded the daughter of Louis XVI., "but
to-day I am reflecting on the destiny of this child."
To any one inclined to be deceived by the illusions of the prestige
surrounding the accession of Charles X., it ought to have sufficed to
cast a glance on the austere countenance of the Orphan of the Temple,
to be recalled to the tragic reality of things. The King had for his
niece and daughter-in-law an affection blended with compassion and
respect. The pious and revered Princess gave to the court a character
of gravity and sanctity.