Madame the Duchess d’Orleans is a rare woman, of great wit and common
sense. I do not think that she is fully appreciated at the Tuileries.
The King, though, holds her in high esteem and often engages in long
conversations with her. Frequently he gives her his arm to escort
her from the family drawing-room to her apartments. The royal
daughters-in-law do not always appear to act as kindly towards her.
February 26, 1844.
Yesterday the Duchess d’Orleans said to me:
“My son is not what one would call an amiable child. He is not one of
those pretty little prodigies who are an honour to their mothers, and of
whom people say: ‘What a clever child! What wit! What grace!’ He has a
kind heart, I know; he has wit, I believe; but nobody knows and believes
this save myself. He is timid, wild, uncommunicative, easily scared.
What will he become? I have no idea. Often at his age a child in his
position understands that he must make himself agreeable, and, little as
he is, sets himself to play his role. Mine hides himself in his mother’s
skirt and lowers his eyes. But I love him, just as he is. I even prefer
him this way. I like a savage better than a comedian.”
August, 1844.
The Count de Paris has signed the birth certificate of the Princess
Françoise de Joinville. It was the first time that the little prince had
signed his name. He did not know what was wanted of him, and when the
King handed him the certificate and said “Paris, sign your name,” the
child refused. The Duchess d’Orleans took him on her knee and whispered
something to him. Then the child took the pen, and at the dictation of
his grandfather wrote upon the certificate L. P. d. O. He made the O
much too large and wrote the other letters awkwardly, and was very much
embarrassed and shy.
He is charming, though, and adores his mother, but he hardly knows that
his name is Louis Philippe d’Orleans. He writes to his comrades, to his
tutor, and to his mother, but he signs his little missives “Paris.” It
is the only name he knows himself by.
This evening the King sent for M. Regnier, the prince’s tutor, and gave
him orders to teach the Count de Paris to sign his name.
1847.
The Count de Paris is of a grave and sweet disposition; he learns well.
He is imbued with a natural tenderness, and is kind to those who suffer.
His young cousin of Wurtemberg, who is two months older, is jealous of
him; as his mother, the Princess Marie, was jealous of the mother of
the Count de Paris. During the lifetime of the Duke d’Orleans little
Wurtemberg was long the object of the Queen’s preferences, and, in the
little court of the corridors and bedchambers, it was the custom to
flatter the Queen by comparisons between the one and the other that were
always favourable to Wurtemberg. To-day that inequality has ceased.
The Queen, by a touching sentiment, inclined towards little Wurtemberg
because he had lost his mother; now there is no reason why she should
not lean towards the Count de Paris, seeing that he has lost his father.
Little Michel Ney plays with the two princes every Sunday. He is eleven
years old, and the son of the Duke d’Elchingen. The other day he said to
his mother:
“Wurtemberg is an ambitious fellow. When we play he always wants to be
the leader. Besides, he insists upon being called Monseigneur. I don’t
mind calling him Monseigneur, but I won’t let him be leader. One day I
invented a game, and I said to him: ‘No, Monseigneur, you are not
going to be the leader. I will be leader, for I invented the game, and
Chabannes will be my lieutenant. You and the Count de Paris will be
soldiers.’ Paris was willing, but Wurtemberg walked away. He is an
ambitious fellow.”
Of these young mothers of the Château, apart from the Duchess d’Orleans,
Mme. de Joinville is the only one who does not spoil her children.
At the Tuileries, everybody, even the King himself, calls her little
daughter “Chiquette.” The Prince of Joinville calls his wife “Chicarde”
since the pierrots’ ball, hence “Chiquette.” At this pierrots’ ball
the King exclaimed: “How Chicarde is amusing herself!” The Prince de
Joinville danced all the risquée dances. Mme. de Montpensier and Mme.
Liadères were the only ones who were not decolletees. “It is not in good
taste,” said the Queen. “But it is pretty,” observed the King.