A Strange Honeymoon
The early months of the married life of Francis and Maria Sophia were
similar in many ways to those of Marie Antoinette and Louis the
Sixteenth of France. Francis, like Louis, was awkward, timid, and
doubtful of himself. Although brought up in the land of art and beauty,
he had no taste for such things. Like the King of France, he was honest,
just, and deeply religious, but weak and irresolute, and conspicuously
lacking in those qualities naturally looked for in princes of royal
lineage.
Equally marked were the points of resemblance between Marie Antoinette
and Maria Sophia. Both were gay, childish, and impulsive, with
remarkable personal courage and a frankness that was as attractive as it
was dangerous; both were too beautiful not to excite envy, and too full
of high spirits not to cause offence. The Wittelsbach Princess, however,
had qualities the Dauphiness lacked—perfect honesty and the robust
health and splendid vitality brought from her Bavarian Alps. She was a
finished horsewoman, a good shot, a tireless walker, and devoted to
out-of-door recreations of all sorts. Her husband, on the other hand,
was grave, silent, and melancholy. Sports had no attraction for him. He
never hunted, and in spite of his hussar uniform the Neapolitans declare
that he was never known to mount a horse. One point, however, they
shared in common—indifference to luxury and love of simplicity.
At the time of her marriage the Crown Princess could scarcely speak a
word of Italian. Francis’s knowledge of French was very limited, and of
German he was entirely ignorant, so that unrestrained communication
between the young couple was difficult at first. The education of the
Duke of Calabria had done little to prepare him for the lofty position
that awaited him. His stepmother, who completely spoiled her own
children, neglected him shamefully in some ways and was unnecessarily
harsh in others. Overshadowed by his cleverer stepbrothers, who despised
him, and conscious of his own mental and physical deficiencies, the poor
boy had become morbidly shy and reserved. Yet he had many good
qualities. He never forgot the smallest service shown him, and was
invariably kind and courteous even to the humblest. Many tales are told
of his sympathy with the poor and suffering, and even as a child he
would part with his dearest treasure to help any one in distress. But
his appearance was so unprepossessing as to be almost unpleasant; and
the consciousness of this made him appear at his worst with his wife,
whose beauty and vivacity so enthralled him that he became dumb at her
approach and would often hide behind the door when she entered the room,
to avoid speaking to her.
The Neapolitan court was a contrast in more ways than one to the home
Maria Sophia had left, and for which she yearned so longingly. Barely
eighteen years old, overflowing with health and spirits, she found
herself surrounded by an atmosphere of false humility, deceit, and
religious hypocrisy; and although her natural light-heartedness helped
her through many troubles and disappointments in the new life, yet she
could never forget that she was a stranger in a strange land, alone and
almost friendless. Fond as her father-in-law was of her, he was too ill
to be able to do anything toward making her life pleasant, and the
little princesses, while outwardly civil, were stiff and unsympathetic.
With her brothers-in-law she was on a somewhat better footing, for they
were charmed with the zest with which she entered into their sports; but
the Queen from the very first had treated her with the most marked
unfriendliness, correcting her constantly, as if she had been a
schoolgirl, and regarding her most innocent diversions with suspicion.
She even refused to allow her to ride, as she had been used to do at
home; and the young Duchess sorely missed her favorite occupation.
Maria Theresa was a woman of strong will and had been accustomed to
obedience from her family as well as her subjects. She had selected her
most trusted lady-in-waiting to attend her stepson’s wife, hoping that
Nina Rizzo, who was devoted to her mistress, would teach the Crown
Princess to bow to her will as every one else did. But in this she was
mistaken, for though Maria Sophia liked Nina, she remained deaf to all
her exhortations on the subject, firmly determined to preserve her
independence at all costs.
Meanwhile the King grew steadily worse, and the cloud over the palace
darkened. The young princes tried to relieve the gloom and pass away the
time by walks about the town, running races in the palace courtyard, and
playing tricks on the gentlemen of the court, pastimes in which they
were frequently joined by Maria Sophia. One day she went down to the
shore and, with the help of an old boatman, succeeded in catching a
whole basketful of fish which she bore home in triumph and had cooked
for the royal table. Another time she promised her brothers-in-law to
make them some Bavarian pancakes. A portable grate was secured and
placed over a charcoal fire, and the Princess set to work. But no
frying-pan or ladle was to be had. At this moment the mayor of Bari made
his appearance, in gold-laced coat and knee breeches, to pay his
respects at court. Maria Sophia was no longer in a quandary. In her own
lively way she begged the official to go down into the market-place and
get her the needed utensils. The obliging mayor hastened to do her
bidding, and soon returned with the desired articles; but the result of
the Princess’s culinary labors was most unsatisfactory after all, for
the pancakes proved uneatable. Large holes were burned in the tablecloth
and napkins, and amid shouts of laughter Maria Sophia abandoned any
further attempts to shine as a cook in Italy. The mayor carried the
frying-pan and ladle home with him as souvenirs of the merry scene, and
they are still preserved as relics in his family.
Amid the general sadness that prevailed, however, these lively outbreaks
became less and less frequent, and the young Duchess hailed with joy the
news that the court was to move to Caserta. Nina Rizzo had often told
her of the beauties of that place, and she eagerly looked forward to
their departure as an hour of deliverance. The journey was long
deferred, however, as the King’s sufferings were so acute he would not
allow himself to be moved. A monk at length succeeded in persuading the
sick man to consent, and he was carried on a mattress to a steam frigate
which was to convey him from Bari to Portici in order to avoid any stop
at Naples. From Portici to Caserta the five hours’ journey caused the
unfortunate sovereign such torture that the Archbishop of Naples ordered
continuous prayers to be offered for him in all the churches. Once amid
these new surroundings—the lofty halls and salons of the palace, the
enchanting park and gardens—Maria Sophia’s spirits rose, and she felt
almost happy again. But it was not for long. Between the Queen’s
animosity and her husband’s weakness, she soon relapsed into her old
loneliness and helplessness. Almost her only diversion now was her
family of parrots. She had ten, and her laughter over the ludicrous
results of their attempts to speak German was the sole evidence that her
natural gayety was not entirely suppressed and crushed.
Meanwhile the Queen’s supposed treasonable designs were freely discussed
throughout the kingdom. It was said that on the King’s death she
intended to seize the double crown for her own son, and that many of the
police officials were ready to support her plans; also that the Crown
Prince was forcibly excluded from his father’s sick-room. There was no
truth in this latter report, however; for although Francis had indeed
been carefully kept from taking any part in affairs of state hitherto,
now at the eleventh hour, Ferdinand insisted upon having his son with
him constantly, and giving him instructions for future guidance; these
the Crown Prince copied on a sheet of paper and used frequently to
consult after he became King. On the tenth of April Ferdinand made his
last will and testament, leaving equal portions of his property to each
of his children, with a large share to his wife, and a twelfth part to
be divided among religious institutions.
In spite of the statements already published in regard to the amount and
distribution of his estate, Ferdinand was popularly believed to own
enormous sums in private, mainly derived from confiscation of the
property of political criminals. His fortune was said to amount to three
hundred million ducats. As a matter of fact, however, the King’s actual
property was scarcely more than seven million ducats, although he owned
a great number of jewels and other valuables.
On the twelfth of April Ferdinand received the last sacrament; but he
lived on for more than a month. The superstitious Neapolitans expected
his death to occur on the fifteenth of May, the anniversary of the riots
there in 1848, of which the King had taken advantage for his shameful
persecution of his subjects; but it was not till the twenty-second of
May that his sufferings were finally ended. A frightful storm broke out
during the hour of his death and this was looked upon by many as a bad
omen for the new reign.