Accession of Francis II and Maria Sophia
Aside from the comparatively small circle at Bari, few of her subjects
had ever seen the new Queen, while Francis himself was almost as little
known to the people. A few days after their accession, the youthful
sovereigns held a levee at the royal palace in Naples. The King in his
hussar uniform, and the Queen in her crown and ermine robes, stood under
a canopy in the centre of the great hall, while all the high officials,
nobles, and dignitaries of the court and kingdom stepped forward to kiss
the hands of Their Majesties. As the gorgeously attired procession wound
its way past the throne, the sudden appearance of a band of poets
striding along in their long black cloaks and broad-brimmed hats formed
such a startling contrast to the rest of the glittering throng that
Maria Sophia burst into an irrepressible peal of laughter which soon
spread to all about her.
Freed at last from the dreadful oppression that had weighed her down as
Crown Princess, she quickly recovered her exuberance of spirits, which
found expression in various ways. The relations between her and her
husband also became much more free and natural after their accession to
the throne. Francis had begun, soon after the wedding, to be in love
with his wife, although he did not show it. The long system of
repression to which he had become accustomed had inflicted permanent
injuries on his sensitive nature; but Maria Sophia’s personal charm was
so great and her gayety so spontaneous that it was impossible for him to
escape her fascination. Under his awkward manner, however, she did not
perceive his dawning love for her, while he felt strange in the world of
lovers and was unable to express his feelings, except by the eagerness
with which he fulfilled her slightest wish. Nor did Maria Sophia
hesitate to use her power. Once her own mistress, she quickly cast off
the yoke laid upon her by the Queen at Bari and Caserta, and gave
unmistakable proof that she, too, had a strong will.
At table she would beg permission to have her favorite dog, Lyonne, in
the room. The King always consented; and the huge Newfoundland with her
four pups would come tearing in and enjoy themselves during the rest of
the meal, leaping madly about the table, and sometimes even upon it, to
the indignation of the court and their mistress’s intense delight.
Photography had recently come into fashion, and she had herself taken in
every possible position and costume, greatly to the disgust of her
mother-in-law, who objected strongly to her continual changes of costume
and her frequent riding excursions. But the time was past when Maria
Sophia allowed herself to be dictated to. Like a young Amazon she dashed
about the streets of Naples, exciting universal admiration and amazement
at her daring horsemanship.
[Illustration: _FRANCIS SECOND
King of Naples_]
As Crown Prince, Francis the Second had not been unpopular with the
people. His mother had been almost worshipped; and the Neapolitans
pitied the sickly boy whose life, even, so it was said, had been
attempted by his stepmother. But he was utterly lacking in the qualities
necessary for a sovereign. It needed a clear head and a firm hand to
guide the ship of state safely through those stormy seas. His judgment
was sound enough; but he was good-natured to the point of weakness, and
superstitious to an almost fanatical degree. He never let a day pass
without hearing mass, and went regularly to confession. One of his
favorite occupations was to hold long religious conversations with
Father Borelli and other priests who happened to be at court. He talked
much of his dead mother, before whose portrait he would kneel for hours
in prayer, and he would frequently clasp his head in his hands as if in
distress, crying, “Ah, how heavy this crown is!”
One day, soon after his accession, while holding a conference with his
minister of finance, Raymondo del Liguoro, the table at which they sat
moved slightly, and the minister turned to see what had caused it.
“It was I who shook the table,” said the King. “I had a sudden fit of
trembling. That is a bad sign. It means that I shall die soon.”
Liguoro adjured His Majesty to banish such thoughts, as his life was not
his own, but belonged to the people over whom he ruled. “I do not value
either my life or my kingdom very highly,” replied Francis. “I always
think of what is written, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.’”
* * * * * * * *
The dowager Queen was a truly proverbial stepmother. She had never been
able to reconcile herself to having her stepson inherit the united
kingdoms while her own sons had nothing; even during her husband’s
lifetime she had attempted to secure the succession of her eldest boy to
the throne of Sicily. But King Ferdinand would not listen to this. On
his death-bed he had extracted a solemn oath from each member of his
family to support the rightful heir, and after his death the widowed
Queen had flung herself at her stepson’s feet and promised him her
allegiance. That she broke this vow has never been historically
verified, the only proofs having been generously destroyed by King
Francis himself. It happened in this way. Minister Filangieri had long
suspected Maria Theresa of being at the head of a conspiracy to depose
the young sovereign and place her son, the Count of Trani, on the
throne, and at last succeeded in obtaining certain proof of this. He
carried the documents at once to the King; but Francis refused to look
at them. Without a glance he flung them into the fire, saying, “She was
my father’s wife!”
Maria Theresa afterward indignantly denied this, declaring the whole
affair a plot to sow discord between her and the King; but, be that as
it may, there is no doubt that she was greatly to blame for Francis’s
lack of education and training in early youth and childhood. She had
brought him up as if he had been a girl, destined to live in retirement,
rather than as a man who had a lofty mission to fulfil, emphasizing his
natural awkwardness and timidity, and choosing tutors totally unfitted
to prepare his mind for the demands of the times and his future
position. His whole nature had been cowed and stunted in order that he
might be kept subservient to her will.
She had also attempted these tactics with Maria Sophia, but with less
success. The Bavarian Princess was far too self-reliant to submit to any
such yoke. She was quite as strong-willed as her mother-in-law, besides
being far wiser and cleverer. She also had her own political views,
which were directly opposed to those of the dowager Queen. The latter
was full of the old ideas of absolutism and had no sympathy with the new
spirit of liberty, while Maria Sophia openly proclaimed her liberal
opinions and urged the King to grant the country more freedom.
History shows that many women have filled the highest and most important
positions with credit and honor. England has her Elizabeth, Russia her
Catherine, Austria and Hungary their Maria Theresa, Scandinavia its
Margareta. Maria Sophia of Naples is yet another example of feminine
ability and judgment in political affairs. King Francis had no abler
counsellor than his own wife, and had he followed her advice the issue
of events might have been very different. But he was blinded by
prejudice, by family tradition, by his education, and by court
intrigues. As a child he had witnessed the bloody riots in Naples and
been taught to regard such outbreaks as criminal attacks on a divinely
instituted form of government. Even before his illness, Ferdinand had
taken pains to instill his own principles into his son, and almost with
his last breath had urged him never to allow himself to be carried away
by the stream of liberalism that threatened to overflow Italy. Much as
Francis loved and admired his young wife, therefore, he found it
impossible to break away from the despotic ideas in which he had been
steeped from his infancy, and not until it was too late did he realize
the wisdom of her advice.