The King
My father was not only a great king--he was a great man.
A king may achieve greatness through possessing the art of surrounding
himself with the right entourage, and thus taking advantage of the
importance which it is then so easy for him to gain. He must be
superior, at least at heart, to have a taste for superiority.
When he came into power Leopold II did not aim at gathering round him
those wonderful intellects who would have inspired him to greatness. He
had not the same chances as Louis XIV, neither had he those men whom his
own example later developed. Belgium was still an adolescent State, the
government of which required very careful and exclusive handling.
She had sprung into being from twin countries, widely different in
character, but united by the same laws. Her national policy is like
a web whose mission it is to hold them together, but such a form of
Constitution is not without its inconveniences.
For a long time the King's secret conviction was, that in order to be
able to endure and strengthen herself, Belgium had urgent need of some
great scheme which would produce in her an amalgamation of effort and
intelligence, and allow her to take one of the highest places among the
nations of the world.
He had carefully studied the map of the world, and his observations
resulted in the unheard-of project of endowing his little kingdom with
immense colonial possessions. He had at the time neither the money nor
the army; he only had the idea, but the idea obsessed him and he lived
for it alone.
The man whom I recall to my mind in thinking of the King is one whose
silence always frightened me when I was a child. Here is an instance of
his taciturn character.
The Queen is seated, holding in her hand a book which she is no longer
reading. She is folding me close to her heart, whilst her eyes follow
the King. The doors of the drawing-room leading to the other rooms are
open, and the Sovereign paces backwards and forwards, his hands behind
his back, almost like an automaton, without glancing at us and without
breaking his interminable train of thought. Silence lies over the
palace; nobody dares enter, for the King has forbidden access to the
Royal apartments. The Queen and I are involuntary prisoners of this
prisoner of his own thoughts.
The King was a fine and strong figure. His imposing personality and his
characteristic physiognomy are familiar even to the new generation, who
have only seen the popular pictures of him; but photographs never did
justice to his expression of sceptical shrewdness. His eyes, as I have
already said, were light brown; at the least opposition they assumed a
fixed expression, and when it rested on my sisters and myself when we
were in fault, the King's glance terrified us more than any reproaches
or punishment.
The King's voice was deep and somewhat muffled in _timbre_, sometimes
it grew nasal; when he was angry it became, like his eyes, as hard as a
stone, but if he wished to please it became soft and emotional. People
still speak of the manner in which he delivered his speech from the
Throne after the death of Leopold I, and his touching opening words:
"Gentlemen, Belgium, like myself, has lost a father."
When he was in a happy mood he became animated, although his humour,
when he was pleased to show it, was always bitter and satirical--and
he possessed it in abundance. I have never forgotten certain of his
opinions touching his Ministers and contemporaries. Some of those who
are still living would be very flattered to know them. Others would not!
The King paid little attention to me or my sisters; his fatherly
caresses were rare and brief. We were always awed in his presence; he
was ever to us more the King than the father.
With regard to his attitude towards the Queen, as far back as I can
remember I always see him as the same self-centred and taciturn man in
his relations with her.
He was constantly away from home, so we little ones were rarely with
both our parents. I alone, on account of my age and the advantage which
it gave me over my sisters, enjoyed a little family life with my father
and my mother before the differences between them arose. But I cannot
recall a single act of kindness or tenderness on his part towards my
mother that I especially noticed in my youth.
I only know that at a certain epoch, when I was about eleven years old,
the King, who like my mother adored flowers, never missed bringing her
some every week which he had gathered himself in the Royal gardens. He
would arrive in my mother's apartment laden with his fragrant harvest
and would say to her abruptly, "Here you are, my good wife."
Stéphanie and I would at once begin to refill the vases--I especially,
for I had been taught by the Queen to love and arrange flowers, those
discreet companions of our thoughts, which bring into the home perfume,
colour, caresses and rest, and which are verily the quintessence of
earth and heaven!
One day at Laeken my father offered me a gardenia. I was simply
stupefied. I was then about thirteen. I hoped for a long time for a
repetition of this paternal graciousness, but in vain!
This prince of genius, whose political conceptions and manner of
conducting negotiations useful to Belgium won the admiration, if not of
those to whom they were advantageous, of at least the high intelligences
of other countries, was singularly thorough in small things. He clung to
his ideas and his personal concerns in a most obstinate manner. I have
seen him look into the management of the gardens at Laeken with the
greatest attention to every detail.
Large, juicy peaches grew on the walls of the gardens, and the King was
very proud of them. I had a passion for peaches, and one day I dared eat
one which was hidden away among the leaves. And that year peaches were
plentiful. But the following day the King discovered the theft--what
a dramatic moment! At once suspected, I confessed my crime and I was
promptly punished. I did not realize that the King counted his peaches!
This great realist had a realistic mind, and materialism carried him on
to idealism. I will not allow myself for a moment to suppose that he did
not believe in God, but certainly he had a different conception of
the Creator from that of the Queen. She suffered greatly through this
attitude of her husband, but he persisted in his way of thinking.
On Sundays he used to attend Mass; he considered it was an example which
he owed to the Court and the people. Sometimes he escorted the Queen
to Divine Service, taking with him "Squib," a tiny terrier of which the
Queen was very fond and which the King always spoke of as one refers to
a person. He called it "The Squib."
It was a sight to see the big man holding the tiny dog under his
arm--the little animal too terrified to move. Thus, one supporting the
other, they both heard Mass seated beside the Queen, who assuredly did
not think this a very religious procedure. When Mass was over, the King,
still carrying Squib, would cross the reception rooms until he reached
the dining-room, when he would gravely deposit the little dog on the
Queen's knee.
With regard to the King's policy, I only knew and understood that
related to the Congo. I knew the alternate hopes and fears which passed
through the mind of the author of this gigantic enterprise. It was the
one topic of conversation around me, and it was always mentioned with
bated breath; but the things which are spoken of in this way are, I
think, those one hears of most.
I know that the Royal fortune and that of my aunt the Empress Charlotte,
which was administered by the King, were employed at one time,
not without some risk, in the acquisition and organization of the
possessions that the Great Powers afterwards disputed with Belgium.
Those were anxious days for the King. He manoeuvred cleverly between
the Powers. History knows the value of his work; she realizes what a
profound politician he was. Official Belgium does not remember, but the
people have never forgotten. I have confidence in the soul of Belgium,
the Belgium who has shown her greatness in the years 1914-1918. King
Leopold II will one day receive the recognition he merits in the country
which he enriched, and which he always wished to fortify against the
dangers of war.
The private failings of the man only harmed himself and his family; his
people never suffered by reason of them. They have even benefited by
the immense wealth which it pleased the King to assign to his country,
regardless of the justice of reserving that portion which belonged
to his daughters, who were excluded by him from the Belgian
family.
[Illustration: _Photo: Numa Blanc_
KING LEOPOLD II OF BELGIUM]
Here we touch on a side of the King's character which is looked upon by
psychologists as unnatural, and is similar to the legislation of which
the Belgian Government availed itself in similar circumstances, a
legislation contrary to the moral laws of justice and equity.
Belgium's excuse--if there can be an excuse for this illegality--was
that the King himself had exceeded his rights.
I have read, over the signature of a journalist, that even before his
marriage the King declared that he would never accept any benefit
from the Royal purse, and that his income, from whatever source it was
derived, should not accrue for the benefit of his descendants.
This is an astounding story and is a pure invention. A king is a man
like other men; the value of his position rests upon his qualifications.
The King could have either ruined or enriched himself. He was a
genius, and for this reason his daughters were able to be--and indeed
were--deprived of a fortune which was partly theirs by right, and which
was used for the development of a commercial enterprise by the colossal
audacity of their father!
But why should the King have wished to disinherit his daughters and
deprive them of his immense accumulation of wealth? The reason must be
definitely stated.
The King had long wished that our fortunes (those of my sisters
and myself) should be reduced to the minimum of what he considered
convenient to assign to us, that is to say, much less than our needs
required, because, after the death of our brother Leopold, he only saw
in us impediments to his own ambition and he was tortured by the fact
that he had no male descendant.
I alone noticed, during the years that followed the death of his son,
that the King on various occasions behaved in a different manner towards
the Queen; he was more amiable and was more frequently in her company.
Having now become a woman I can understand the real reason for this!
Clémentine came into the world; her birth was preceded by many vain
hopes, but when the longed-for child arrived it was once more a girl!
The King was furious and thenceforth refused to have anything to do
with his admirable wife to whom God had refused a son. What a mystery of
human tribulation!
As for the daughters born of the Royal union, they were merely accepted
and tolerated, but the King's heart never softened towards them. At
the same time we were not altogether excluded from his thoughts. The
feelings of our father, so far as we were concerned, varied according
to circumstances, and, notably in my own case, according to the various
calumnies and intrigues. My sister Stéphanie also suffered in this way.
Both of us were married at an early age and, living as we did at a
distance, we were deprived of the opportunity of constantly seeing
the King, so naturally we could not pretend to be the subject of his
constant remembrance. We therefore ran the risk of being easily maligned
by the unscrupulous courtesans who had influence with the King and were
in the pay of our enemies.
Clémentine was in a far better position. She received all the tenderness
the King was inclined to bestow on the only one of his children who
remained with him, one who showered on him a daughter's affection and
who also upheld the traditions of the Royal House, a duty which, in the
absence of the Queen, the daughter of such a mother was alone able to
fulfil.