by Susan Nagel
Madame la Dauphine seated in the corner of the salon on a sofa, between two windows embroidering a piece of tapestry … She raised her head from her work, and as if hiding her own emotion, addressed me: ‘I am happy to see you, M. Chateaubriand; the king told me you were coming. You have traveled the night? You must be tired.’ I respectfully presented her with the letters from the Duchesse de Berry; she took them, placed them near her on the sofa and said: ‘Sit. Sit.’ She then returned to her embroidery with a rapid machine-like convulsive movement.1
He noted that aside from her eyes being ‘red-rimmed’, they had an extraordinary intensity lending her a beauty ‘that made her resemble the Virgin at Spasimo’ by Raphael. Still stitching, Marie-Thérèse first enquired if Chateaubriand had seen the Comte de Chambord and asked the poet to confirm that Henri was indeed a marvel. Chateaubriand responded that Henri was certainly strong and fine, but, after having witnessed a little temper tantrum, during which the boy’s sister called him ‘a beast’, he smiled and suggested that the Dauphine may have indulged the boy a little. Marie-Thérèse laughingly dismissed that notion. It was clear to Chateaubriand that Marie-Thérèse had a deep mother’s love for her nephew.
Their conversation turned more solemn when he voiced his concerns over the direction of the boy’s education. Marie-Thérèse swept his criticisms aside and then asked wistfully after her ‘sister’, the Duchesse de Berry, saying: ‘She is very unhappy, very unhappy. I feel very much for her. I feel very much for her.’ When Chateaubriand addressed Marie-Thérèse as ‘Majesty’ he observed that she made an involuntary response of pleasure, suddenly appearing to him as if she were wearing a diadem, before quickly recovering, ‘Oh no! I am not Queen.’ ‘By the laws of our realm you are and you will be the mother of Henri V,’ Chateaubriand responded. He then went on to explain his mission. He had come on behalf of the Contessa Lucchesi-Palli and he was to give Marie-Thérèse her sister-in-law’s formal permission to continue the job that the Dauphine had already long assumed. He handed the Dauphine a packet of letters written by Marie Caroline while she had been in prison. The notes were written in lemon juice. Marie-Thérèse had long ago – when she had written and received secret communiqués in Vienna in the late 1790s -learned how to decipher this kind of missive. She placed the notes near a flame, and she and their messenger read them together. In essence, Marie Caroline relinquished her children to their aunt and she begged her sisterin-law to care for them. Marie-Thérèse turned to Chateaubriand and said simply: ‘She is right to count on me.’
Marie-Thérèse understood that her sister-in-law’s gesture was merely that, a gesture, made by a woman powerless to do otherwise. Appreciating Chateaubriand’s difficult errand, Marie-Thérèse treated him graciously. She spent two hours with the writer, after which she explained that, unfortunately, she had to leave because it was time for her régime des eaux. She invited him to come back at 3 p.m. at which time he could join her for lunch.
When he returned that afternoon, many of the Dauphine’s retinue were present also. Chateaubriand met Mr O’Haggerty, the Comte de Trogoff, the Comtesse Esterhazy and her daughter. They all ate together in the drawing room as the house did not have a formal dining room. Chateaubriand was appalled at the poor quality of the food and even more surprised when, after dinner, the Dauphine gossiped with her friends. Apparently, she was not quite the saint he had believed her to be, and he was stunned when she made underhand comments about, among others, the Duchesse de Guiche, whose husband was maliciously rumored to be the Dauphine’s lover. Chateaubriand concluded philosophically that at that moment the princess of thrones and the scaffold ‘descended from the heights of her life to the level of other women’, and proved she was, after all, human.
Chateaubriand and Marie-Thérèse continued to chat while she sewed. At five she went out for a drive in her calèche again asking him to join her later on, at 7 p.m. He returned that evening and it was much of the same – the same people, the same needlepoint, the same chatter. She paid close attention to all her guests, including Chateaubriand, and as he watched her from a side view, he felt an eerie sensation. As he watched Marie-Thérèse bend over her handiwork, he saw an image of the late King on his way to the scaffold. He suddenly realized that she had come to resemble her father, especially in profile.
A few days later, Chateaubriand met again with Marie-Thérèse at the Mühlenbad baths. She was dressed in a shabby, gray silk dress, shawl and old hat. As the Dauphine and the poet took their promenade around the gardens, passers-by stopped to drink from the fountains and took no notice of them. Chateaubriand reflected sadly that every clock in town and every chapel bell measured time because of this woman’s grandmother, and now, she, Marie-Thérèse, the Empress’s namesake, seemed inconsequential. They met again later that day. Marie-Thérèse had written a response to the Contessa Lucchesi-Palli, which she handed to Chateaubriand. The note was dated the very first day of Chateaubriand’s arrival in Carlsbad, yet Marie-Thérèse had not given it to the statesman until the day of his departure. She told him that she had intentionally omitted his name from the note for his own protection, and he recalled that she handed it to him with great caution. It read:
I experienced a great deal of satisfaction, my dear sister to at last receive news directly from you. I feel for you with all my heart. Count on me always when it comes to the constant interest in you and, above all, your dear children, who are most precious to me as ever. My existence, however long it will be in duration, will be consecrated to them. I have not yet been able to deliver your commissions to our family, my health having demanded that I come here to take the waters. But I will discharge them as soon as I return, and believe that we will never, they and I, have but the same sentiments concerning everything. Goodbye my dear sister. I feel pity for you from the bottom of my heart, and I tenderly kiss you.
M.T.
Despite the fact that Marie Caroline had thoroughly embarrassed her entire family, Marie-Thérèse conveyed nothing but love and loyalty toward the children and kindness toward their mother, yet Chateaubriand judged the letter to be cold. His assessment is mystifying, as minutes before he read the note he had acknowledged the extreme care with which she had placed the letter in his hands and the fact that she had taken great pains to reassure her sister-in-law that she and, especially, her children, would be loved. Tensions were growing for the Bourbons as Henri’s thirteenth birthday drew near. Chateaubriand was aware of that, nonetheless he mistook the Dauphine’s political prudence for an act of neglect, which it was not. He then asked the Dauphine if she had any further instructions for him. She replied: ‘Tell your friends how much I love France; that they know well that I am French.’ He reminded her that France had made her suffer, but she countered: ‘No, Monsieur Chateaubriand, do not forget. Tell everyone well that I am French, that I am French.’ As he left Carlsbad, Chateaubriand steeled himself to deliver the unpleasant news to Marie Caroline that her husband’s family would not receive her.
Chateaubriand made his way westward through the Germanic fairytale towns of Weissenstadt, Berneck, Bayreuth, Hohlfeld, Bamberg, Dettelbach and Würtzburg, comparing his journey to the great romantic epics of literary mythology. On through Wiesenbach, Heidelberg, across the Rhine to Manheim, Dunkheim and Frankenstein, Chateaubriand contemplated the scenery as ‘the region of dreams’. That summer thousands would make this same journey in reverse on a pilgrimage to Prague to hail the young man who, turning thirteen in September, should, to those faithful to the ancient laws of France and dreaming of its past glories, rightfully one day be King of France.
When Chateaubriand passed through Bamberg, he was within just a few miles of Hildburghausen where the Dark Count and his now fifty-four-year-old companion still resided at Castle Eishausen. The Count had decided that the couple should remove themselves for the summer to the bucolic retreat called ‘Schulersberg’ just outside the town, which he had recently purchased. There, they could enjoy the tranquil charms of summer away from the p
rying and still curious eyes of their neighbors – and the many who would pass through on their way to hail Henri in Prague.
In France, thousands of people had applied for their passports to make the pilgrimage to Prague but were refused the proper papers. Louis-Philippe made all kinds of threats, even going so far as to station officials at the eastern borders of France in towns such as Strasbourg. As many made their way through the German principalities without documentation, in essence, as refugees, Franz of Austria prepared himself for turmoil and strained relations with the Citizen King. Charles X was unwilling to exacerbate the situation with Louis-Philippe and as soon as Marie-Thérèse returned from her spa treatment he whisked the entire family to the remote town of Buschtierad, in the countryside outside Prague. Some also believed that Charles was jealous of Henri and could not face the throngs of people who came to worship at his grandson’s feet rather than his own.
Once he learned that the royal family had departed Prague for the little town of Buschtierad, the Vicomte de la Rochefoucauld made his way there toward the end of July 1833. De la Rochefoucauld, whose father, the Duc de Doudeauville, had been a trusted advisor to Louis XVIII and Charles X, had been given an assignment by the editor of the journal Paris, ou le livre des Cent-et-un, to cover the royal family at the time of Henri’s coming-of-age. The editor knew that de la Rochefoucauld would be afforded a rare kind of access to the Bourbons.
De la Rochefoucauld described his journey as a vista of immense plains, scenery that made one sad. He rode past the rows of apple trees to the secluded house, which he deemed ugly, and walked beneath the cloisterlike arches to pay his respects to his father’s dear friend. He informed the royal family that he was there to write a story and, because of his father’s longstanding and very close friendship with Charles X, they all agreed to cooperate. De la Rochefoucauld was disappointed to learn that the house was filled to the brim and he would have to stay elsewhere. However, the King invited him to dine with the family the next day, and ‘on leaving, I went to offer my homage to Madame the Dauphine, to whom I asked for a particular audience’.
De la Rochefoucauld spent a week with the royal family at Buschtierad, observing them separately and together at dinners, at Mass and in their daily activities. He was aware that it was a sensitive time for them because of the strain caused by Marie Caroline. He noted that the family observed a simple daily routine: at ten in the morning, they would convene for breakfast; dinner with their entourage would be at six in the evening. After breakfast, the royal family would separate for their own tasks. At two in the afternoon, Marie-Thérèse and Louis-Antoine would go for a carriage ride together. He observed Henri at his lessons and agreed with Chateaubriand that the choice of Jesuit tutors was a mistake.
When de la Rochefoucauld interviewed Marie-Thérèse, he probed her to ascertain her views on the splinter group that wanted her husband to return immediately to France with troops to claim the throne for himself. She insisted that neither she nor her husband had any designs on the throne, that it belonged to Henri, and advised those people who wished them to take up arms to ‘arm themselves with patience’ – meant also as criticism of her sister-in-law. She told him: ‘We so love France … we so love the French people. They have banished us, but all of our prayers are for them and France; speak from time to time of us, so that they do not forget us in our exile. How long to endure this punishable exile!’ When de la Rochefoucauld voiced his opinion that Henri ought not to be supervised by Jesuits, Marie-Thérèse countered that he was learning valuable lessons about discipline from the priests. While many people might think wearing the crown enviable, she explained, it was in fact, ‘a heavy burden, and a prince renders it dignified through his virtue and reason’. She told de la Rochefoucauld that it was very important to her that Henri possessed those values above all, and reiterated:
Who would, today, envy the crown? A crown is a terrible weight to bear. One has called me ambitious: all of my ambition is for the happiness and glory of France … a journal dared to say that I was not French … what a cruel injustice! That is the only injury that could wound me. Oh! Believe and repeat that I am French, uniquely French, French before everything. All of my sentiments are French, all of my thoughts, all of my prayers are for France. We are raising the Duc de Bordeaux for France, but it is France alone that could and ought to reclaim him.
De la Rochefoucauld spoke with Marie-Thérèse for many hours. He believed that she was very open and frank with him and that no subjects were out of bounds. There was one request she made to de la Rochefoucauld that was not allowed on the record, involving a favor. The rest of their conversation was reported for posterity.
Although the King had appointed Marie-Thérèse Regent of France she had, as she explained to her secretary Baron Charlet, accepted the position not out of ambition but out of duty. However, Marie Caroline was not going to surrender her position as mother to a future King of France that easily. When she realized that Chateaubriand had failed in his mission to reconcile her with her children and family, she recruited the help of the elderly, retired Comte de La Ferronays. In August 1833, de La Ferronays arrived in Buschtierad to re-open negotiations on her behalf. The Count, a loyal ally of the Bourbons, reported that during these discussions, while Charles remained stubbornly opposed to forgiving his errant daughter-in-law, it was Marie-Thérèse who worked at softening the King’s heart. She was the ‘pacifier’, and it was she who convinced the King to at least consider dialogue with young Henri’s mother.
Marie Caroline, meanwhile, approached Chateaubriand once more, in Paris, and implored him to meet her in Italy. He was not at all optimistic that he could be of any further service but at the beginning of September he set out to join the Countess in Venice. When he arrived, he discovered that Marie Caroline had set off for Ferrara instead. It seemed that Charles X’s aide-de-camp, Blacas, had worked in concert with the Austrian statesman Metternich and the royal governor of Lombardy to deny the Princess visas that would bring her closer to her children. In Ferrara, a crowd and armed guards awaited Contessa Lucchesi-Palli’s arrival. As she descended from her carriage she loudly announced to the waiting Chateaubriand: ‘My son is your king! Help me pass.’ Inside the Hotel des Trois-Couronnes, Marie Caroline pleaded her case to Chateaubriand. They then proceeded to Padua where the Countess was told that she could not go any further. Since she could not set foot on Austrian soil, she begged Chateaubriand to go to Prague once again on her behalf. She wanted the Bourbons to formally proclaim her son their King on his thirteenth birthday, and she needed to see her children. After much cajoling, Chateaubriand acquiesced and set out for Prague.
In Udine, Chateaubriand had a chance encounter with the Comte de La Ferronays who informed him that he had just left the Bourbons, who were in Buschtierad, not Prague. At Buschtierad, Marie-Thérèse received the writer warmly and, on the evening of September 27, two days before Henri’s thirteenth birthday, Charles X, mildly ill, greeted Chateaubriand from his bed. The King accepted the note from Marie Caroline, read it, and exploded. ‘What right does this woman have to dictate what I do?’ he railed. ‘She is nothing … she is merely Madame Lucchesi-Palli, a woman unknown to my family. She no longer has any domain over her children; the French code does not recognize secret marriages; the code dispossesses her of guardianship upon this second marriage.’ Charles then informed Chateaubriand that he had no intention of ever setting eyes on Marie Caroline again.
When the time came, on September 29, for Charles X to acknowledge his grandson’s majority he did so with a small, simple announcement. Those who had arrived in Prague expecting a grand celebration and formal declaration were disappointed and angry. Fervent legitimists, determined to be with Henri on this day, had made the arduous journey to Prague and then found their way to Buschtierad. When she learned that there were French citizens who had made this pilgrimage, Marie-Thérèse opened the doors of their home, greeted as many of them as she could, and welcomed them all to celebrate with Henri
.
On that same day, thanks once again to Marie-Thérèse, Chateaubriand was able to write to the Contessa Lucchesi-Palli from Prague that, despite the King’s initial fury, there was good news. Marie-Thérèse had convinced the King to see his daughter-in-law. Charles, who either feigned ignorance that Marie Caroline was not allowed on Austrian soil or, less likely, had not been told by his ministers of this fact, advised Chateaubriand that the entire royal family were going to travel to a town in the central Austrian region of Styria called Leoben, and, if Marie Caroline were to travel there – and the King would arrange for her to do so – they might meet. The King’s minister, Blacas, invited Chateaubriand to accompany the royal family; ironically, however, the author of Atala, an epic tale of adventure, rescue and suicide, decided that he wanted no further part of this particular family drama, and returned to Paris.
Chateaubriand imagined that fireworks would erupt among the Bour bon family, and he was right. Their reunion took place at the Hotel Emperor in Leoben on October 13. En route to Leoben, the King informed his grandchildren that not only had their mother remarried, but she had had a baby. Henri and Louise were so shocked that they refused to see their mother. According to Comte Montbel, the boy at first remained immobile and silent and then he shouted that he was now an orphan:
No! No! Now what remains is my grandfather, my uncle and my aunt to guide me with their good advice and their good examples… for the present, I will only be silent toward my mother. What am I to do with this M. de Lucchesi? I hope that no one expects me to see a man like that! My mother has a baby, but this infant cannot be my sister, and if there are more babies, what would you expect me to do with these urchins?
