Marie-Therese, Child of Terror: The Fate of Marie Antoinette's Daughter

by Susan Nagel

  There were frequent arguments between the King and his brother, d’Artois, and between the King and Marie-Thérèse, and Marie-Thérèse had begun to fight with her own husband, who had grown to admire the parliamentary form of government when he had lived in England. From that time on, although he served his family, he remained a moderate. Husband and wife often toured the regions of France at cross-purposes: she, to remind the royalists that their sacrifices would not ever be forgotten; he, on behalf of Decazes and the government position of compromise. The English statesman, Lord Glenbervie, wrote in his journal on Monday, November 24, 1817: ‘It is universally said that the Duc d’Angoulême is become a proselyte to the Ministers, and that to make this generally known has been the principal object of his late tour. It is a common report that on this account he was very ill received in the Vendée.’

  The King, for his part, continued to show his affection for his New Antigone, always kissing her hand in front of others; however, during one of their arguments, he accused her of becoming akin to ‘Goneril and Regan’, King Lear’s treacherous daughters. She, whom some described as taut and emotionless, would apparently lie down on the floor and cry hysterically, pleading with her uncle to change his politics. The King wanted peace in the country, among his ministers and his family, and even went so far as to instruct his favorite, Decazes, to visit Marie-Thérèse on her birthday with good wishes from the politicians she abhorred.

  That December there was indeed good reason for the King to be in a magnanimous mood: the Duchesse de Berry was pregnant. Marie-Thérèse was so excited about the prospect of a Bourbon heir that she put to one side her misgivings about Marie Caroline and her own longings for a child and decided she would oversee the pregnancy personally. The ebullient King softened to the extent that he allowed the Duc d’Orléans back into the country. Marie-Thérèse was furious. It was Gaston d’Orléans who had joined the Frondeurs against Louis XIV; Philippe d’Orléans who, she believed, had caused her parents to be murdered; and she remained convinced that his son, Louis-Philippe, was nothing more than a menace. Others agreed. James Gallatin recorded in his journal that the Duc d’Orléans, like his father before him, had political ambitions of his own. The Comte de Villèle asserted that the Duc d’Orléans had publicly announced that he would have no trouble donning the tri-colored symbols of the Revolution. According to Villèle, Louis-Philippe had also openly declared his vehement disappointment that, although Wellington’s emissaries had discussed the idea of giving him the crown, it had gone to the senior branch of the Bourbons. Almost immediately upon his return, Louis-Philippe, in an echo of his own father, installed himself at the Palais-Royal (a property returned to him courtesy of the head of the family, Louis XVIII) and set about establishing it as the rallying point for anti-Bourbon dissent.

  While Marie-Thérèse, the Comte d’Artois and the King continued to battle over politics, the Duchesse de Berry was concerned with but one argument: her husband’s refusal to give up his mistresses. Like father, like son. In the 1770s after having married his own Italian bride, the Duke’s father, d’Artois installed one of the most sensual boudoirs imaginable at his Château de Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne in Paris. Replete with mirrors, erotic paintings and a rose-colored bed, d’Artois’s ‘pleasure palace’ provided an escape from the bride he found repulsive. There he seduced a long list of paramours. De Berry, despite finding his wife adorable, nonetheless maintained an exhaustive schedule of extramarital liaisons with the likes of Marie Sophie de la Roche, Joséphine Deux de la Roserie, and a Mademoiselle de Saint-Ange, who were all members of the Comédie-Française, another actress named Résica Lebreton, the ballerina Eugénie Virginie Oreille, and others, including Louise Thiryfoq, who gave birth to a daughter fathered by de Berry.

  James Gallatin recorded in his diary in 1817 an episode in which both he and the Duc de Berry had been involved. The farcical scene, which could have been written by Molière, transpired as follows:

  I had rather an unfortunate adventure some few nights since, but I hope will never get to father’s ears. After going to the opera, a charming little danseuse, whose acquaintance I had only just made, asked me if I would sup with her at her apartment. Much to my surprise I found the greatest luxury – some person evidently in the background. A round table with couverts for two. We had just commenced to sup when I heard a noise in the antechamber. My charmer exclaimed, ‘Mon Dieu, je suis perdue, cachez-vous’ [My God! I am lost! Hide!] I rushed behind a curtain. The door opened, and to my dismay I recognized the voice of the Duc de Berry. He said, ‘So mademoiselle has an amant.’ Clare tremblingly answered, ‘Non, Monseigneur, it was only mamma who I was giving a little supper to as you did not arrive.’ He asked, ‘What has become of her?’ ‘She has gone, Monseigneur, as she was not properly dressed to receive your Highness.’ By bad luck I had left my hat on a chair. The Duke picked it up and said with a laugh, ‘So, madame, votre mere wears a man’s hat, which she has forgotten.’

  I felt it was time for me to discover myself, no matter what the consequences might be. I stepped out from behind the curtain, saying, ‘Monseigneur, it is my hat; I am mademoiselle’s mother.’ He broke into fits of laughter, poor Clare into tears. He laughed so heartily that I could not help joining him; he then became serious and in the kindest manner said, ‘Young man, you have acted in a most honorable manner not to play eavesdropper. Tout est pardonné. Let us sup together.’ Clare rang and ordered another couvert to be laid, and we had a most cheerful supper. When he rose to leave he begged me to accompany him, which of course, I did. Going down the stairs he took me by the arm and said most kindly, ‘Here we have met as Mr Smith and Mr Jones’ … He always speaks English to me, even at Court … I met the Duc yesterday. He burst out laughing and said, with a twinkle in his eyes, ‘Have you seen your friend, Mr. Jones, lately? Mr. Smith, I hear, has gone back to England.’2

  On July 13, the day after these events, a baby girl was born to the Duc and Duchesse de Berry, but died the following day. The heartbroken young Duchess tearfully apologized to her husband for their loss, as well as for the disappointment of having given birth to a girl. The Duc de Berry tried to assuage her grief by gently joking that if the baby had been a boy there would have been those who would have declared him another man’s son. That night, the infant was buried at the foot of the coffin of Louis XVI in the royal crypt at Saint-Denis. Madame de Gontaut-Biron, who had been chosen as governess to the child, recalled in her memoir that she, the Bishop of Amiens and the Dowager Duchesse de Lévis accompanied the tiny casket to its grave. The next morning, Madame Biron recounted every detail of the baby’s funeral to Marie-Thérèse, and when she informed Marie-Thérèse that she had stopped to pray beside the coffin of the late King, Louis XVI, Marie-Thérèse broke down, took the woman’s hand and placed it on her own heart.

  Miles away in Eishausen, Germany, Philip Scharre, the faithful servant of the Dark Count and Countess, also died, taking all information he had about ‘Vavel de Versay’ and his mysterious companion to the grave. The count replaced Scharre with Johanna Schmidt’s husband, who was also instructed to operate under the same secretive conditions. On May 14, 1818, Charlotte, the Duchess of Hildburghausen died. Before she passed away, she gathered her children – including Joseph, the Duke of Saxe-Altenburg; Charlotte, later Princess of Württemberg; Therese, who married King Ludwig I of Bavaria; Louise, who married Guillaume, Prince and Duke of Nassau; and Eduard, who married a Hohenzollern princess – and, as a matter or urgency, made them swear that they would assume the responsibility of maintaining the secret of the identity of the couple who lived in Castle Eishausen and that they would offer the mysterious pair all the protection and assistance they required during their lifetimes.

  Chapter XXI

  Birth, Death and a New Dauphine

  Twice a year, on January 21 and October 16 – dates she dreaded – Marie-Thérèse endured the public anniversaries of her parents’ murders. Whilst mourning past events and the violent
deaths of so many close to her she also feared for the future: the possibility that enemies – and there were many – would strike again. There were constant threats on her life and the lives of her family members stemming from various political factions as well as from the unbalanced who wanted notoriety. To the people of France, she remained a powerful symbol of suffering, but because she remained childless, she was also pitied.

  Marie-Thérèse now focused her hopes on a new heir to the throne. Her sister-in-law became pregnant once again just a few months after the death of her daughter. On September 13, 1818, Marie Caroline gave birth to the son they had all hoped for, but sadly the infant lived for only a few hours. By the end of 1818, Marie Caroline was pregnant once more, and on September 21, 1819, she gave birth to a second baby girl. Although the Duc de Berry already had a daughter named Louise with his English common-law wife, who was now living in Paris with their children, the royal baby was christened Louise. Though of course not heir because of Salic law, this new baby, Princess Louise, was at least healthy, and the family was jubilant.

  By 1819, the relationship between the King and Marie-Thérèse had become so fraught that he refused to allow her to visit her beloved Bordeaux. He was jealous of her popularity there and also afraid that her political campaigning would backfire on his own administration. So she remained in Paris, under his thumb. She sometimes visited Madame de Chanterenne and other friends and also spent a great deal of time with her brother and sister-in-law, often stopping by the Élysée Palace to play her favorite game, ‘loto’.1

  On December 19, to celebrate Marie-Thérèse’s forty-first birthday, the de Berrys asked the Théâtre du Vaudeville to put on the plays M. Champagne and La Somnambule. On New Year’s Day, 1820, the royal family held their customary grand couvert at the Tuileries, and, on January 21, as usual, there was a mournful service at the royal crypt at Saint-Denis in memory of the late King Louis XVI. Although the entire family knew it took days for Marie-Thérèse to recover from the anniversary of the 21st, the de Berrys rather insensitively organized two balls to ring in carnival season, the first just two days later on January 23, at the Élysée Palace.

  Shrove Tuesday, the last opportunity to frolic before the subdued Lent season, was approaching when on Sunday night, February 13, the Duc and Duchesse de Berry attended a performance at the Opéra, then on the rue de Richelieu. Marie Caroline appeared radiant. The de Berrys adored attending cultural events, while the Duke also found it a convenient place to recruit mistresses. This evening promised to be particularly stunning. To celebrate the end of a madcap month of masked balls, the program was to include two ballets, Le Carnaval de Venise and Starzer’s Les Noces de Gamache, and the opera Le Rossignol. The first presentation was wildly popular in Paris at the time and was received with thunderous applause. During the intermission, the de Berrys left their box to visit the Duc and Duchesse d’Orléans in theirs. The curtain was about to go up on Les Noces de Gamache starring one of the Duc de Berry’s mistresses, Virginie Oreille, when Marie Caroline informed her husband that she was exhausted and needed to go home. He, along with Marie Caroline’s first equerry, the Comte de Mesnard, and her lady-in-waiting, Madame de Béthisy, escorted the Duchess to her carriage. The Duc de Berry waved goodbye from the doorway. Suddenly, Marie Caroline saw her husband stagger: he had been stabbed. Marie Caroline, without thinking that she might be the assailant’s next victim, fought with Madame de Béthisy to get out of the carriage. She rushed to her husband’s side and held him in her arms. Mesnard ordered the carriage driver to summon the Comte d’Artois, the King and the Duc and Duchesse d’Angoulême to the theater. Madame de Gontaut had also been awakened and was instructed to bring the infant Princess Louise to her father’s side. By the time they all arrived, the Duke had been moved to a private room upstairs at the opera house.

  Outside, crowds gathered to wait for news. The eminent author and statesman François-René de Chateaubriand made his way inside the theater via a door on the left. He found himself in an ante-chamber among members of the audience who had refused to evacuate the house. Chateaubriand spied the Duc d’Orléans and later wrote that he had a ‘badly disguised expression of jubilation behind the contrite face he imposed; he saw himself closer to the throne’.2

  Marie Caroline sobbed and whispered constant words of love while her husband lay gravely wounded. Marie-Thérèse quietly prayed and tried to be of service. Two doctors arrived, but there was little they could do as the knife had punctured a lung. James Gallatin, who was among the small group of people in attendance, was stunned when he heard de Berry, barely audibly, telling his wife, ‘Stay calm for the sake of the child that you carry.’ He had revealed their secret. The Duchesse de Berry was pregnant once again, though they had not yet told the family. Marie Caroline sent for her husband’s English common-law wife and two daughters, and embracing the girls in front of their father, she assured him that they would always be her children as well. Madame de Gontaut-Biron recalled that she was overwhelmed by Marie Caroline’s poise, and was equally awestruck when the Duchesse d’Angoulême interjected and said: ‘We will all adopt them.’ The King would later ennoble the two English girls ‘Comtesse de Vierzon’ and ‘Comtesse d’Issoudun’ and provide them with incomes.

  In the middle of the night, the Duc de Berry asked for a priest. By dawn he was dead. James Gallatin recalled the private moment of grief:

  Monsieur de Brissac … motioned me to kneel and, handing the brush from the holy-water bowl, motioned me to sprinkle the corpse, which I did. I would not believe the Duke was dead. He was still sitting up in a large gilt armchair, his head supported by a cushion … It was a sight I will never forget.3

  Distraught, Marie Caroline told Madame de Gontaut-Biron that she was to raise Princess Louise herself as she wished to die alongside her husband. Marie-Thérèse and Madame de Gontaut-Biron escorted the pregnant young widow back to her home and into her bedroom. Still drenched in her husband’s blood, she grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off her hair, screaming, ‘Charles! Charles! No hand but thine will caress my head.’ Handing the clump to Madame de Gontaut-Biron, she directed: ‘Give this hair to my daughter and tell her I cut it off the day her father died.’ Marie-Thérèse and Madame de Gontaut-Biron helped undress the nearly delirious Marie Caroline and tried to persuade her to get some sleep. The young widow refused to sleep in any chamber but her husband’s. The family, worried about Marie Caroline’s health and the safety of her unborn child and her daughter, insisted that she move from the Élysée Palace, a place where she had known only love and happiness, into the Tuileries.

  The Duke’s assassin was a saddler named Louis-Pierre Louvel. A fanatical Bonapartist, Louvel had openly sworn that he would murder the last of the Bourbon line able to produce an heir. Louvel was arrested and in June was sent to the guillotine. D’Artois and Marie-Thérèse blamed the King’s minister, Decazes, and his liberal policies for the incident. Decazes, the handsome young Minister of Police, had, in that capacity, repressed royalist protests against the Charter. He had become so influential over Louis that he was able to persuade the King to dismiss the House, which led to a moderate majority in parliament.4 As the man who had roused the ire of the ultra-royalists, ironically, his new, moderate assembly had voted for fewer powers for the police. When interviewed by the police, the usually apolitical Marie Caroline railed against Decazes. The entire family pressured Louis to dismiss his most trusted advisor, but the King would not yield. On February 18, Marie-Thérèse went down on her knees, and in a vitriolic explosion of passion, told the King that she would no longer dine with him and that she was considering leaving Paris. The King understood this to be a veiled threat that she and her husband would head for the southwest, which might lead to insurrection. At last, but with great reluctance, Louis relented and dismissed Decazes. Four days after the emotional scenes at the Tuileries, the Duc de Berry was entombed in the royal crypt at Saint-Denis; his entrails were buried in Lille and his heart at Rosny, his country hom
e in Rosny-sur-Seine, outside Paris.

  The Tuileries Palace was draped in black and the royal family went into deep mourning. After the King surrendered his favorite, the Chamber of Deputies responded by convening to discuss the future of the monarchy. It was initially proposed that Salic law be abolished in order to allow Marie-Thérèse to ascend the throne upon Louis XVIII’s death. The dignitaries then abandoned that suggestion, opting instead to postpone their decision and wait for the birth of the Duchesse de Berry’s baby, due at the end of September or early October.

  In April there was further violence. Explosives were detonated at the Tuileries and Louvre palaces. The Duchesse de Berry tried desperately to convince the police that she was the intended target and produced threatening letters to substantiate her claims. It was soon discovered, however, that it was the Duchess herself, with the assistance of a servant, who had fabricated the entire drama. She was terrified that her husband’s enemies were still at large in Paris and thought that her scheme would get her better protection. James Gallatin remarked in his diaries that the Duchesse de Berry had confessed to her priest that it was she herself who had arranged for the explosives. The King instructed the police to forget the incident, the royal family excusing her as ‘Italian’ and prone to melodrama.

  Her claims, however, were not unfounded. Two men were actually found and charged with having conspired to detonate explosives near the Duchesse de Berry’s apartment: they had hoped, it was claimed, to frighten the Duchess into having a miscarriage. To make matters worse for the grieving Duchesse de Berry, one of her late husband’s mistresses, Marie Sophie de la Roche, gave birth to a baby boy, christened Charles Ferdinand, whom she claimed de Berry had fathered. That spring, as Marie Caroline walked along the Seine, evidently pregnant, the public pitied her and she prayed desperately for a son.