The Duchess of Angouleme and the Duchess of Berry lived on the best of
terms, showing toward each other a lively sympathy. Yet there was
little analogy between their characters, and the two Princesses might
even be said to form a complete contrast, one representing the grave
side, the other the smiling side of the court.
Born November 7, 1798, and a widow since February 14, 1820, Madame (as
the Duchess of Berry was called after the Duchess of Angouleme became
Dauphiness) was but twenty-five when her father-in-law, Charles X.,
ascended the throne. She was certainly not pretty, but there was in her
something seductive and captivating. The vivacity of her manner, her
spontaneous conversation, her ardor, her animation, her youth, gave her
charm. Educated at the court of her grandfather, Ferdinand, King of
Naples, who carried bonhomie and familiarity to exaggeration, and lived
in the company of peasants and lazzaroni, she had a horror of
pretension and conceit. Her child-like physiognomy had a certain
playful and rebellious expression; slightly indecorous speech did not
displease her. This idol of the aristocracy was simple and jovial,
mingling in her conversation Gallic salt and Neapolitan gaiety. In
contrast with so many princesses who weary their companions and are
wearied by them, she amused herself and others. Entering a family
celebrated by its legendary catastrophes, she had lost nothing of the
playfulness which was the essence of her nature. The Tuileries, the
scene of such terrible dramas, did not inspire her as it did the
Duchess of Angouleme, with sad reflections. When she heard Mass in the
Chapel of the Chateau, she did not say to herself that here had
resounded the furies of the Convention. The grand apartments, the court
of the Carrousel, the garden, could not recall to her the terrible
scenes of the 20th of June and the 10th of August. When she entered the
Pavillon de Flore, she did not reflect that there had sat the Committee
of Public Safety. The Tuileries were, to her eyes, only the abode of
power and pleasure, an agreeable and beautiful dwelling that had
brought her only happiness, since there she had given birth to the
Child of Europe, the "Child of Miracle."
The Duchess of Berry thought that a palace should be neither a barracks
nor a convent nor a prison, and that even for a princess there is no
happiness without liberty. She loved to go out without an escort, to
take walks, to visit the shops, to go to the little theatres, to make
country parties. She was like a bird in a gilded cage, which often
escapes and returns with pleasure only because it has escaped. She was
neither worn out nor blasee; everything interested her, everything made
her gay; she saw only the good side of things. In her all was
young--mind, character, imagination, heart. Thus she knew none of those
vague disquietudes, that causeless melancholy, that unreasoned sadness,
from which suffer so many queens and so many princesses on the steps of
a throne.
Gracious and simple in her manners, modest in her bearing, more
inclined to laughter and smiles than to sobs and tears, satisfied with
her lot despite her widowhood, she felt happy in being a princess, in
being a mother, in being in France. Flattered by the homage addressed
to her on all sides, but without haughty pride in it, she protected art
and letters with out pedantry, rejuvenated the court, embellished the
city, spread animation wherever she was seen, and appeared to the
people like a seductive enchantress. Those who were at her receptions
found themselves not in the presence of a coldly and solemnly majestic
princess, but of an accomplished mistress of the house bent on making
her salon agreeable to her guests. There was in her nothing to abash,
and by her gracious aspect, her extreme affability, she knew how to put
those with whom she talked at their ease, while wholly preserving her
own rank. She was not only polite, she was engaging, always seeking to
say something flattering or kindly to those who had the honor to
approach her. If she visited a studio, she congratulated the artist; in
a shop she made many purchases and talked with the merchants with a
grace more charming to them, perhaps, than even her extreme liberality.
If she went to a theatre, she enjoyed herself like a child. The select
little fetes given by her always had a character of special originality
and gaiety.
The Dauphiness had a higher rank at court than Madame, because she was
married to the heir of the throne. But as she took much less interest
in social matters, she did not shine with so much eclat. The Duchess of
Berry was the queen of elegance. In all questions of adornment, toilet,
furniture, she set the fashion. A commission as "tradesman of Madame"
was the dream of all the merchants. Sometimes, on New Year's Day, her
purchases at the chief shops were announced in the Moniteur. There were
hardly any chroniques in the journals under the Restoration. A simple
"item" sufficed for an account of the most dazzling fetes. If the
customs of the newspapers had been under the reign of Charles X. what
they are now, the Duchess of Berry would have filled all the "society
notes," and the objective point of every "reporter," to use an American
expression, would have been the Pavillon de Marsan, the "Little
Chateau," as it was then called. There indeed shone in all their
splendor the stars of French and foreign nobility, the women who
possessed all sorts of aristocracy--of birth, of fortune, of wit, and
of beauty. This little circle of luxury and elegance excited less
jealousy and less criticism than did the intimate society of Marie
Antoinette in the last part of the old regime, because in the Queen's
time, to frequent the Petit Trianon was the road to honors, while under
Charles X. the intimates of the Pavillon de Marsan did not make their
social pleasures the stepping-stone to fortune.
The Duchess of Berry never meddled in politics. Doubtless her
sympathies, like those of the Dauphiness, were with the Right, but she
exercised no influence on the appointment of ministers and
functionaries. Charles X. never consulted her about public affairs; the
idea would never have occurred to the old King to ask counsel of so
young and inexperienced a woman.
It is but justice to the Princess to say that while wholly inclined
toward the Right, she had none of the exaggeration of the extremists in
either her ideas or her attitude, and that, repudiating the arrogance
and prejudices of the past, she never, in any way, dreamed of the
resurrection of the old regime. She was liked by the army, being known
as a good rider and a courageous Princess. When she talked with
officers she had the habit of saying things that went straight to their
hearts. There was no difference in her politeness to the men of the old
nobility or to the parvenus of victory. The former servitors of
Napoleon were grateful for her friendliness to them, and perhaps they
would always have respected the white flag--the flag of Henry IV., had
it been borne by the gracious hand of his worthy descendant. To sum up,
she was what would be called to-day a very "modern" Princess; her role
might well have been to share the ideas and aspirations of the new
France.
The Duchess of Berry led a very active life. When she came to France
she was in the habit of rising late. But her husband, who believed the
days to be shorter for princes than for other men, showed that he
disliked this, and after that the Princess would not remain in bed
after six o'clock, winter or summer. As soon as she was ready she
summoned her children, and for half an hour gave them her instructions.
On leaving them, she went to hear Mass, and then breakfasted. Next came
the walks, almost always with a useful object in view. Sometimes it was
a hospital to which Madame carried relief, some times an artist's
studio, a shop, an industrial establishment that she encouraged by her
purchases and her presence. On her return she busied herself with the
tenderest and most conscientious care in the education of the two
daughters whom her husband had left to her, and who have since become,
one the Baroness of Chorette, the other the Princess of Lucinge.
Audiences took up the remainder of the morning, sometimes lasting to
dinner time. When some one said to her one day that she must be very
tired of them, she replied: "During all that time I am told the truth,
and I find as much pleasure in hearing it as people of society do in
reading romances."
Madame was very charitable. She devoted to the poor an ordinary and an
extraordinary budget. The tenth of her revenue was always applied to
the relief of the unfortunate, and was deposited by twelfths, each
month, with her First Almoner. This tithe was distributed with as much
method as sagacity. A valet de chambre, each evening, brought to the
Princess the day's petitions for relief. Madame classified them with
her own hand in alphabetical order, and registered and numbered them.
Whatever the hour, she never adjourned this task to the morrow. The
private secretary then went over these petitions and presented an
analysis of them to the Princess, who indicated on the margin what she
wished to give. This was the ordinary budget of the poor, the tenth of
Madame's revenue. But she had, besides, an extraordinary budget of
charity for the unfortunate who were the more to be respected because
they concealed themselves in obscurity and awaited instead of seeking
help. It often happened that the Princess borrowed in order to give
more. The total of her revenues amounted to 1,730,000
francs,--1,500,000 francs from the Treasury, 100,000 francs in Naples
funds, coming from her dower, and 130,000 francs from her domain of
Rosny. Madame expended all in alms or in purchases intended to
encourage the arts and commerce.
The Duchess of Angouleme and the Duchess of Berry each had in the
environs of Paris a pleasure house, which was their Petit Trianon,
where they could lead a simpler life, less subject to the laws of
etiquette than in the royal Chateaux. That of the Dauphiness was
Villeneuve-l'Etang; and that of Madame, Rosny. The first had been
bought of Marshal Soult by the Duchess of Angouleme in 1821. When she
rode from Paris, this was always her destination. When she lived at
Saint Cloud, she often set out on foot in the early morning alone, and
followed across the park a little path known as the "road of the
Dauphiness," to a little gate of the Chateau of Villeneuve-l'Etang, of
which she carried the key.
Rosny is a chateau situated in the Department of Seine-et-Oise, seven
kilometres from Mantes, where Sully, the famous minister of Henry IV.,
was born, and which had been bought in 1818 by the Duke of Berry. It
was the favorite resort of Madame. She went there often and passed a
great part of the summer. There she lived the life of a simple private
person, receiving herself those who came to offer homage or request
aid. The village of Rosny profited by the liberality of the Chateau, La
Quotidienne said in an article reproduced by the Moniteur:--
"Since Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Berry has owned the estate of
Rosny, her sole occupation has been to secure the happiness of this
country. Every journey she makes is marked by some act of goodness.
Besides the Hospital of Saint-Charles, a monument of her beneficence
and piety, which is open to all the sick of the country, she sends out
relief to the homes of the needy every day. The houses that rise in the
village replace wretched huts, and give a more agreeable and cheerful
aspect to the place. The children of either sex, the object of her most
tender solicitude, are taught at her expense. At every journey Madame
honors them with a visit and encourages them with prizes which she
condescends to distribute herself."
In his Souvenirs Intimes the Count de Mesnard, First Equerry of the
Duchess of Berry, writes:--
"The King, Charles X., did not recognize in his daughter-in-law nearly
the solidity that she had. He believed her to be light-minded, and only
looked upon her as a great child, though he loved her much and her
gaiety pleased him beyond measure, being himself of a gay nature. You
may have heard that one day Madame rode in an omnibus. That is not
correct. But it is true that one day Her Royal Highness said to the
King:--
"'Father, if you will wager ten thousand francs, I will ride in an
omnibus to-morrow.'
"'It's the last thing I should do, my dear,' replied His Majesty. 'You
are quite crazy enough to do it.'"
M. de Mesnard adds this reflection: "What the King regarded as folly
was only the appearance of it. There was in Madame a rich fund of
reason, justice, and humanity. Independently of all the acts of
beneficence daily done here, Madame employs still more considerable
sums in the support of young girls in the convents of Lucon and Mantes,
and in several other establishments. There are in the colleges a large
number of young people of families of modest fortune, whose expenses
she pays. The Hospital of Rosny alone costs Madame from twenty thousand
to twenty-five thousand francs a year. The exhaustless bounty of this
august Princess extends to all. There is no sort of aid that Her Royal
Highness does not take pleasure in according: subscriptions without
interest for her, for concerts that she will not hear, for benefit
performances that she will not see, everything gets a subscription from
her, and it all costs more than is convenient with the Princess's
revenue. Sometimes it happens that her funds are exhausted, and as her
benevolence never is, embarrassment follows."
Apropos of this the Count de Mesnard relates a touching anecdote. One
winter exceedingly cold, the Duchess of Berry was about to give a fete
in the Pavillon de Marsan. During the day she had supervised the
preparations. Things were arranged perfectly, when all at once her face
saddened. She was asked respectfully what had displeased her. "What icy
weather!" she cried. "Poor people may be dying of cold and hunger
to-night while we are taking our delights. That spoils my pleasure."
Then she added emphatically: "Go call the Marquis de Sassenay" (her
Treasurer).
The Marquis came promptly.
"Monsieur," said the good Princess, "you must write instantly to the
twelve mayors of Paris, and in each letter put one thousand francs to
be expended in wood, and distributed this very night to the poor
families of each arrondissement. It is very little, but it may save
some unfortunates."
The Treasurer responded: "Madame, I should be eager to obey the orders
of Her Royal Highness, but she has nothing, or almost nothing, in her
treasury."
A feeling of discontent was strongly depicted on the face of Madame,
who was about to give expression to it, when M. de Mesnard hastened to
say that the funds of the First Equerry were in better state than those
of the Treasurer, and remitted to the latter the twelve thousand
francs, which were distributed to the poor that evening according to
the Princess's wishes.
The Duchess of Berry had the double gift of pleasing and making herself
loved. All the persons of her household, all her servitors, from the
great nobles and great ladies to the domestics and the chamber-maids,
were deeply devoted to her. Poor or rich, she had attentions for all.
Listen to the Count de Mesnard:--
"Madame is incessantly making presents to all who approach her. At New
Year's her apartments are a veritable bazaar furnished from all the
shops of Paris; her provision, made from every quarter, is universal,
from bon-bons to the most precious articles--everything is there.
Madame has thought of each specially; the people of her own service are
not forgotten any more than the ladies and officers of her household;
father, mother, children, every one, is included in the distribution.
The royal family naturally comes first; next, the numerous relatives of
the Palais Royal, of whom she is very fond; then her family at Naples,
which is also numerous; and finally all of us, masters and servants, we
all have our turn."
No one, we think, has made a more exact portrait of the Duchess of
Berry than the Count Armand de Pontmartin, who is so familiar with the
Restoration. In his truthful and lively Souvenirs d'un vieux critique,
how well he presents "this flower of Ischia or of Castellamare,
transplanted to the banks of the Seine, under the gray sky of Paris, to
this Chateau des Tuileries, which the revolutions peopled with phantoms
before making it a spectre."
How really she was "this good Duchess, so French and so Neapolitan at
once, half Vesuvius, half school-girl, whom nothing must prevent us
from honoring and loving." The chivalric and sentimental rhetoric of
the time, the elegies of the poets, the noble prose of Chateaubriand,
the tearful articles of the royalist journals, have condemned her to
appear forever solemn and sublime. It was sought to confine her youth
between a tomb and a cradle. But as M. de Pontmartin so finely remarks:
"At the end of two or three years her true nature appears beneath this
artificial drapery. Amusements recommence, distractions abound. The
Princess is no longer a heroine; she is a sprite. The beach of Dieppe
sings her praises better, a thousand times better, than the chorus of
courtiers. She loves pleasure, but she wishes every pleasure to be a
grace or a benefit. She creates a mine of gold under the sand of the
Norman coast; she pacifies political rancor and soothes the wounds of
the grumblers of the Grand Army. She makes popular the name of Bourbon,
which had suffered from so much ingratitude. The Petit-Chateau, as her
delightful household was called, renews the elegant manners, the
exquisite gallantries of the court of Anne of Austria, and offers to
the romancers the models of which Balzac, later, made so much too free
use. There I see our amiable Duchess in her true element, not on the
kind of Sinai on which the writers of the white flag have perched her,
prodigal in their imitations of Bossuet,--between Jeanne d'Arc and
Jeanne Hachette, between Valentine de Milan and the Widow of Malabar."
To sum up, the Duchess of Berry was to the court of Charles X. what the
Duchess of Burgundy was to that of Louis XIV. Her lovely youth
brightened everything. Let us do her this justice: despite a character
in appearance frivolous, she carried to a kind of fanaticism the love
of France and passion for French glory. There was one thing that the
gracious widow took very seriously,--the rights of her son. She would
have risked a thousand deaths to defend that child, who represented in
her heart the cause of the fatherland. Where he was concerned there was
in the attitude of this frail young woman something firm and decided.
To a sagacious observer, the amazon was already manifest under the lady
of society. She was like those officers who shine equally at the ball
and on the field of battle. Recognizing in her more than one
imperfection, she cannot be denied either courage, or intelligence, or
heart. By her qualities as by her defects she was of the race of Henry
IV. But she was more frank and more grateful than the Bearnais.
Doubtless she did not have the genius, the prodigious ability, the fine
and profound political sense, of that great man; but her nature was
better, her generosity greater, her character more sympathetic.