Showing posts with label france. Show all posts
Showing posts with label france. Show all posts
Monday, July 21, 2014
Friday, September 13, 2013
Praying to St. Anne
This is not a picture of any of the Belgian royals, but rather of two of the greatest princesses whom they count among their relatives. This large stained glass window was given to the Basilica of Sainte-Anne d’Auray by Henri, Comte de Chambord, the last heir to the elder line of the Bourbons. The window depicts Henri's mother, Caroline of Naples, Duchesse de Berry, and his aunt, Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte, Duchesse d'Angoulême, the daughter of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette. The two women are shown praying to St. Anne, the patron saint of Brittany. Marie-Thérèse and Caroline were the cousin and niece, respectively, of Marie-Amélie of Naples, Duchesse d'Orléans, later known as Queen of the French, as the wife of Louis-Philippe. Marie-Amélie was the mother of Louise-Marie, the first Queen of the Belgians, and the foremother of all the Belgian kings after Leopold I.
Monday, April 2, 2012
A Family Letter
Laeken, 5th October 1844.
My Dearly Beloved Victoria,
I have not much to say about my father's lodging habits and likings. My father is one of the beings most easy to please, satisfy, and to accommodate. His eventful life has used him to everything, and makes any kind of arrangements acceptable to him; there is only one thing which he cannot easily do, it is to be ready very early. He means notwithstanding to try to come to your breakfast, but you must insist upon his not doing it. It would disturb him in all his habits, and be bad for him, as he would certainly eat, a thing he is not used to do in the morning. He generally takes hardly what may be called a breakfast, and eats only twice in the day.
It would be also much better for him if he only appeared to luncheon and dinner, and if you kindly dispensed him altogether of the breakfast. You must not tell him that I wrote you this, but you must manage it with Montpensier, and kindly order for him a bowl of chicken broth. It is the only thing he takes generally in the morning, and between his meals. I have also no observation to make, but I have told Montpensier to speak openly to Albert whenever he thought something ought to be done for my father, or might hurt and inconvenience him, and you may consult him when you are in doubt. He is entrusted with all the recommendations of my mother, for my father is naturally so imprudent and so little accustomed to caution and care, that he must in some measure be watched to prevent his catching cold or doing what may be injurious to him.
About his rooms, a hard bed and a large table for his papers are the only things he requires. He generally sleeps on a horse-hair mattress with a plank of wood under it: but any kind of bed will do, if it is not too soft. His liking will be to be entirely at your commands and to do all you like. You know he can take a great deal of exercise, and everything will interest and delight him, to see, as to do: this is not a compliment, but a mere fact. His only wish is, that you should not go out of your way for him, and change your habits on his account. Lord Aberdeen will be, of course, at Windsor, and I suppose you will ask, as you told me, the Royal Family. My father hopes to see also Sir Robert Peel, Lord Stanley, and your other Ministers. You will probably ask most of them during his stay. He wishes very much to see again those he already knows, and to make the acquaintance of those he does not know yet.
In writing all this I think I dream, I cannot believe yet that in a few days my dear father will have, God willing, the unspeakable happiness to see you again and at Windsor, a thing he had so much wished for and which for a long time seemed so improbable. You have no notion of the satisfaction it gives him, and how delighted he will be to see you again, and to be once more in England. God grant he may have a good passage, and arrive to you safely and well. Unberufen, as you will soon, I trust, be able to see, he is, notwithstanding the usual talk of the papers, perfectly well.... Yours most devotedly,
Louise
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The Prince de Ligne on Marie-Antoinette
The charms of her face and of her soul, the one as white and beautiful as the other, and the attraction of that society hence made me spend five months of every year in her suite, without absenting myself for a single day....
As for the queen, the radiance of her presence harmed her. The jealousy of the women whom she crushed by the beauty of her complexion and the carriage of her head, ever seeking to harm her as a woman, harmed her also as a queen. Fredegonde and Brunehaut, Catherine and Marie de' Medici, Anne and Theresa of Austria never laughed; Marie Antoinette when she was fifteen laughed much; therefore she was declared "satirical."
She defended herself against the intrigues of two parties, each of whom wanted to give her a lover; on which they declared her "inimical to Frenchmen;" and all the more because she was friendly with foreigners, from whom she had neither traps nor importunity to fear.
An unfortunate dispute about a visit between her brother the Elector of Cologne and the princes of the blood, of which she was wholly ignorant, offended the etiquette of the Court, which then called her "proud."
She dines with one friend, and sometimes goes to see another friend, after supper, and they say she is "familiar." That is not what the few persons who lived in her familiarity would say. Her delicate, sure sense of the becoming awed them as much as her majesty. It was as impossible to forget it as it was to forget one's self.
She is sensible of the friendship of certain persons who are the most devoted to her; then she is declared to be "amorous" of them. Sometimes she requires too much for their families; then she is "unreasonable."
She gives little fetes, and works herself at her Trianon: that is called "bourgeoise." She buys Saint-Cloud for the health of her children and to take them from the malaria of Versailles: they pronounce her "extravagant." Her promenades in the evening on the terrace, or on horseback in the Bois de Boulogne, or sometimes on foot round the music in the Orangery "seem suspicious." Her most innocent pleasures are thought criminal; her general loving-kindness is " coquettish." She fears to win at cards, at which she is compelled to play, and they say she " wastes the money of the State."
She laughed and sang and danced until she was twentyfive years old: they declared her *' frivolous." The affairs of the kingdom became embroiled, the spirit of party arose and divided society; she would take no side, and they called her "ungrateful."
She no longer amused herself; she foresaw misfortunes: they declared her "intriguing." She dropped certain little requests or recommendations she had made to the king or the ministers as soon as she feared they were troublesome, and then she was "fickle."
With so many crimes to her charge, and all so well-proved, did she not deserve her misfortunes? But I see I have forgotten the greatest. The queen, who was almost a prisoner of State in her chateau of Versailles, took the liberty sometimes to go on foot, followed by a servant, through one of the galleries, to the apartments of Mme. de Lamballe or Mme. de Polignac. How shocking a scandal! The late queen was always carried in a sedan-chair to see her cousin, Mme. de Talmont, where she found a rather bad company of Polish relations, who claimed to be Leczinskis.
The queen, beautiful as the day, and almost always in her own hair, — except on occasions of ceremony, when her toilet, about which she never cared, was regulated for her, — was naturally talked about; for everybody wanted to please her. The late Leczinska, old before her time and rather ugly, in a large cap called, I think, " butterfly," would sometimes command certain questionable plays at the theatre; but no one found fault with her for that Devout ladies like scandals. When, in our time, they gave us a play of that sort we used to call it the queen's repertory, and Marie Antoinette would scold us, laughing, and say we might at least make known it was the queen before her. No one ever dared to risk too free a speech in her presence, nor too gay a tale, nor a coarse insinuation. She had taste and judgment; and as for the three Graces, she united them all in herself alone. (The Prince de Ligne: His Memoirs, Vol.I, pp 197-201.)
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Place de la Reine Astrid
In Paris, a small grassy triangle commemorates the beautiful Belgian queen who died tragically young in a automobile accident. The monument represents France and Belgium joining in friendship. Hauntingly, the Place de la Reine Astrid is near the infamous Alma Tunnel where Diana, Princess of Wales, also perished in a car crash.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Madame Adélaïde, aunt of Queen Louise-Marie
Educated in liberal ideas by Mme. de Genlis, Adélaïde d'Orléans had made them her own. Long years of exile in a convent in Bremgarten, and afterwards with her aunt Mme. de Conti in Bavaria and Hungary, had separated her from family life. She knew little of her mother, and was subsequently altogether estranged from her, on account of the latter's subjugation by her chancellor, M. de Folmont. After their return to France, she concentrated all her affection on her brother and his family.
Her niece, the Queen of the Belgians, in a letter to Queen Victoria, says: "My good, excellent, beloved aunt lived only for her brother. Her devotion was absolute, and utterly unselfish. A heart so true, so noble, so loving is seldom found. She was a second mother to us, indeed few mothers do for their children all she did for us or love them better, and we in return loved and looked up to her".
Mme. de Boigne says: "In Madame Adélaïde I always admired her extreme goodness of heart and great intellectual powers. Her good qualities were her own, her defects due to circumstances in which she was placed in youth".
She was frank and sincere, and with her the inside was worth more than the outside.
Exclusive in her affections, she was a firm friend but a bitter enemy.
Her charities, however, left out no one.
She gave away one-sixth of her income in pensions to poor artists and men of letters, to the widows and orphans of combatants in the July Revolution, and in subscriptions to schools and hospitals, for the families of shipwrecked mariners, or artisans out of work, to cholera patients; pensions also to faithful servants of the House of Orléans, and rendered assistance even to poor Jews.
Her wealth and liberality gave her much influence, and she lived only for the aggrandisement of her brother and his family.
Her father, Philippe Egalité had been kindness itself to her. She was too young to judge the facts and would not acknowledge that his path had been one of crime. In her days of exile and among the émigrés who formed her aunt, Mme. de Conti's court, she found herself everywhere looked upon coldly on account of the name she bore, so she was driven in upon herself and raised a rampart of reserve in self-defence. Her mother's household being unendurable, she left it and joined her brother, and having no one else upon whom to lavish her capacity for affection, she gave her heart wholly to him.
He returned her affection, fell much under her influence, consulted her on all points, and having great respect for her powers of mind, deferred to her opinions.
Their father's life and death were a bond of intimacy between them.
Though both were generally the easiest of companions, upon this point they were irritable, even to rancour. After the Restoration neither of them was ever at ease with Louis XVIII, and least of all with the Duchesse d'Angoulême, daughter of Louis XVI, for whose death their father had voted.
Madame Adélaïde indeed frankly detested the royal family. She may have remembered that in her youth she had been taught to look on the Duc d'Angoulême as her future husband, but the match fell through upon the determined opposition of Marie Antoinette. Again in later life there had been an idea of marrying her to the Duc de Berry, which also collapsed.
Besides all this she was thoroughly at variance with the policy and opinions of the elder branch of the Bourbons; she despised their narrowness and bigotry, "they had learned nothing, and forgotten nothing". She herself was genuinely liberal and modern in her ideas, and she thought a constitutional Monarchy and representative Government was really what was needed for the welfare of France, and she loved her country only less than her brother. For him she was always ambitious. If he was not of the Orléanist faction, Mdme. Adélaïde certainly was; in and out of season she never lost sight of the ruling desire of her life, i.e. to see her brother on the throne of France. Her wealth gave her great influence. She spent it generously, patronised artists and literary men, and employed much labour on her estates, especially at Randan, which was her favourite residence; a whole countryside benefited by her benevolence and adored her, calling her "the good Mademoiselle"... (C. C. Dyson, The life of Marie-Amélie last queen of the French, 1782-1866, 1910, pp. 183-186)
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Portraits of Marie-Amélie
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Thirteenth of July
The Thirteenth of July
Joy here below is ever young and new;
As much as grief grows old, so far 'tis true.
But yesterday the prince was swept from sight;
He hardly sleeps the sleep of endless night;
The angel-wings that bore him through the air,
Close not; of him to speak too soon we dare.
Sad was the day when on that little bier
This death untimely came to wake our fear.
Sad was the sight; the ancient cathedral
Was dressed in black, as for death's festival;
Sad was the noise when all the mourners kneel,
Romancers 'gan to sing, and tales to tell.
And we were silent, we, his childhood's friends,
While toward the somber vault he slowly wends,
Thoughts of the cradle us the coffin lends;
His shade, perhaps, could hear that deep silence
Which round his tomb fell on our hearts and sense.
Now that day comes, than this one year more old,
To rouse our grief and strike our hearts with cold,
We must salute the day of bale untold.
When this young man died in his strength and flower,
From nothingness preserved by havoc's power,
And by his youth and by the ordained hour.
To whom, just God, can any say:
We meet To-morrow? Hope and Death each other greet,
And hand in hand walk over desolate street.
With steady steps one goes, and calm and veiled;
The other's knees upon the road have failed;
Bruised she lags and weeps, her cheek has paled.
O Death, thy steps are slow, but they count full.
Who thought thee blind and inexorable?
Who ever said that thou, implacable,
And drunk with blood, a specter roamed to strike,
And sweep at random, grain of sand most like,
The temples, deserts, fields, and town and dike.
Thou knowest how to choose upon this earth;
'Tis true, to error oft thou givest birth;
Thy hand is not so sure; it is thy worth
To humor some who would thee darkly please,
To spare the madman, prop the impostor's knees,
Let vice grow gray, and sorrow starve and freeze.
But when the noble child of royal race
Flies from the sloth antique of royal place,
Seeks in the studio truth in art to trace,
Creates in dream the fair ideal shape,
With maiden hand doth ope the stone agape,
To let the beauty, let the life escape;
And when this lovely sprite of genius pure—
Her name was Marie, name of sweetest lure—
Over her cherished work doth bend demure,
To paint Jeanne when questioning her heart,
The village child who healed her country's smart
Lends her her piety and modest art;
Then noble hands with ardent labor tired,
No time for rest, but time for prayer required;
Those hands so rich in alms, with visions fired,
Those hands which bitter tears have wiped away,
With sudden shiver, still and icy lay.
From Pisa moves the coffin day by day.
Her brother dead last year, what had he done?
What good to kill—why on that bier a son,
A young man dying, followed by his sire?
What heart so cold on earth, devoid of fire,
As not to shudder, not in silence pause
Before this crime, of chance without a cause?
What had he done but come and follow fate
With us in school, his spirit cultivate,
Reflect with us, with us both work and play,
His rank assume beneath the sun of day,
In greatness of the heart alone arrayed,
And, since he was a prince, acquire his trade?
What had he done but love, and seek to see
What God has done in his great goodness free,
That which already pales in our ennui,
Country, and honor, words to love we seem?
He knew, and gave the poor his pity's gleam,
Love to the bravest, to the pure esteem.
What had he done but what he was to do?
When cannon growled, he waved the banner too;
When France would sleep, unto the camps he flew;
The memory thereof would come, perhaps, with time;
For many times his thought frontiers would climb,
While listening drums that beat the marching chime.
Him what could calumny itself reproach?
More cruel blow can ne'er again encroach.
If not regret, who did not give respect?
Go ask the crowd with hate and envy decked.
No stain upon his brow or on his fame;
No man hath left behind a purer name.
A party man to triumph or to ruin run,
What foe of father dares to hate the son?
Who could to such a tomb an insult call?
A ball, they say, in times of Charles the Tenth,
Upon the throne steps he did stop at length;
Then, since he falls, we let him sleep in strength.
Ah, thus to die, poor prince, at thirty years!
No word from wife, without his mother's tears,
And clasping no one in his arms that throb!
No agony of death, no parting sob!
God only in his heart could read the prayer
Which angels teach to those who dying are.
May God, who hears, me from blaspheming keep!
I do not like this fate so foul and deep,
Which breaks a diadem against a stone,
Because a driver's hand too weak has grown.
O ye, who pass beside that fatal brink,
Look to your steps, and on your loved ones think!
He liked our pleasures, our troubles made him sad;
Of that old book where count of time he had,
His hand with ours had turned many a page.
He lived with us, he was of our own age.
His youthful thought with ancient courage ran;
A king of France to be, he was the man.
I think, and say to all who will believe,
No courtier I, nor would that grief deceive,
But empty is a place in history.
A century was there, and a glory,
In this staunch man with sister by his side,
A lovely head with fearless heart to guide.
It had been great, the day when his sword stood
Retempered, washed and bright in strangers' blood,
Had to his native country brought her pride;
The while the child with art preoccupied,
Keeping upon the threshold charity,
Could make the Muse come in with liberty.
Nemours, Aumale, Joinville to battle call!
Glorious that shout along our city wall
The people hear, the ramparts they repeat;
While in the chapel, praying calm and sweet,
Though pale, her eyes with gentle brightness shine,
The sister calleth down bounty divine.
It had been fine, that youth and life so strong,
So warmly loved and waited for so long,
Awaking thus in our mother country.
I speak of it by chance, because I see;
Some one may weep him, having better known,
His wife and friend, and now his widow lone.
Poor prince! In his last moment what a dream!
An hour (how long to Time doth one hour seem?) —
An hour a century with wo could mar!
He was departing, almost for the war.
Father he was, and son; one hour was his;
He would his mother and the children kiss.
'Twas then that death his noble victim sought;
Death spared him on the desert burning hot,
Where Arabs fly, with stealthy step and slow,
About our soldiers whom the fevers mow,
And creep with bloody sword the bush within.
Once more to Neuilly, this was all his sin.
Neuilly! Oh, charming home and memory sweet!
Childish illusions, ah, ye come and fleet!
When by the portal in those alleys green
We children saw the smiling, watchful queen,
Who then could think we must one day return,
To find the veiled head, to see death's urn?
What plans we made at that young age naive,
When all things speak, and heart doth not deceive!
When with such force hath man so much of hope?
Innocent valor, bold with all to cope!
The hour might come, the moment might entrance,
And we were proud and wild: we had our France.
Strange dream! Death came, and all has fallen asleep.
How can a hope so just and fair and deep
Become an useless or a cruel thing?
Last year he died, no funeral hymn we sing:
Where stood that blood-stained shop, a chapel stands.
The rest? What age is in oblivion's hands?
He did not die alone when going to Neuilly.
Of nine of us who marched in company,
How many are dead! Albert, so brave and free,
Mortemart, and thou, brave Laborderie,
Who madest haste to love, this life to know,
The best of all of us, and first to go!
If grief could live, your names would famous be,
O friends! May that sad, gloomy deity,
Whose fires weak light to our time faintly lend,
To you the funeral torches brightness send!
And forlorn hope, of this a somber age,
We must beware in this dark fight we wage;
For France, just now the mistress of the world,
Has been struck down and backward hurled,
And, like Juliet, beneath the arches dark,
In part awake, in part of death the mark,
With staggering step, in rugged purple's folds,
Among the tombs her random march she holds.
July, 1843.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Grandmother of the Kings
Here is a lovely post on a revered ancestress of the Belgian royal family, Maria Amalia of Naples, the "Queen of the French." As readers may recall, I have discussed her quite a bit in the past. Like her Belgian descendants, she had to make the best of political circumstances which often left much to be desired. Like her Belgian descendants, too, she was placed in the awkward position of being a Catholic monarch in a secular state.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
A Tale of Two Brothers
The attempt to suborn the Princess was the sordid culmination of life-long tensions between the two surviving sons of King Albert I. The episode, mentioned by Leopold in Pour l'Histoire: sur quelques épisodes de mon règne (2001) and by Lilian in Un couple dans la tempête: le destin malheureux de Léopold III de Belgique et de la princesse Lilian (2004), had also been discussed, even earlier, by Jacqueline de Peyrebrune, a mistress of Prince Charles, who claimed to have secretly married him, in her Carnets intimes: le jardin secret du prince Charles de Belgique (1993). Nevertheless, upon the publication of Pour l'Histoire, the historian Jean Stengers, an old opponent of Leopold III, accused him of fabricating the scandalous story. Further evidence, however, subsequently emerged from the King's private notes and correspondence with his brother, vindicating his veracity in this sad affair.
Throughout the Royal Question, Charles collaborated with Leopold's opponents. His regency lent the trappings of legitimacy to their revolutionary efforts to prolong the King's incapacity to reign after his liberation from German captivity. During this period, Charles made little effort to defend Leopold from the false accusations of cowardice and treason on the part of British, French and Belgian authorities. Many try to justify Charles' behavior, arguing that his compliance with the government and the Allies protected the peace of the country and enabled the monarchy to survive. Perhaps he did act, at times, out of patriotism, but why connive at such a base proposition as attempting to suborn Princess Lilian? Such an action reflects malice. As a result, I suspect that the Prince's motives throughout his regency were far from pure.Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Tiara of Marie-Thérèse
A while ago, I mentioned the sapphire, diamond and pearl parure of Marie-Amélie of Naples, Queen of the French, the revered mother of Louise d'Orléans, the first Queen of the Belgians. Here is a brief article on the famous emerald and diamond tiara of their cousin, Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte, Duchesse d'Angoulême, the only surviving child of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette. More HERE.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Gabrielle de Polignac
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Madame Royale (2010)
Monday, October 25, 2010
Louis XVI's Words To Marie-Thérèse
Since we recently commemorated the death of Marie-Thérèse of France, I wanted to share this moving message, addressed by the doomed monarch to his 11-year-old daughter on the occasion of her First Communion, April 8, 1790. (Via The King and I ).
C'est du fond du coeur, ma fille, que je vous bénis en demandant au Ciel qu'il vous fasse la grâce de bien apprécier la grande action que vous allez faire. Votre coeur est innocent et pur aux yeux de Dieu, vos voeux doivent lui être agréables. Offrez-les-lui pour votre mère et pour moi. Demandez-lui qu'il me donne les grâces nécessaires pour faire le bonheur de ceux sur lesquels il m'a donné l'empire, et que je dois considérer comme mes enfants ; demandez-lui qu'il daigne conserver dans ce Royaume, la pureté de la religion, et souvenez-vous bien, ma fille, que cette sainte religion est la source du bonheur et le soutien dans les adversités de la vie. Ne croyez pas que vous en soyez à l'abri. Vous êtes bien jeune ; mais vous avez déjà vu votre père affligé plus d'une fois. Vous ne savez pas, ma fille, à quoi la Providence vous destine ; si vous resterez dans ce Royaume ou si vous irez en habiter un autre. Dans quelque lieu que la main de Dieu vous pose, souvenez-vous que vous devez édifier par vos exemples, faire le bien toutes les fois que vous en trouverez l'occasion. Mais surtout, mon enfant, soulagez les malheureux de tout votre pouvoir. Dieu ne nous a fait naître dans le rang où nous sommes que pour travailler à leur bonheur et les consoler dans leurs peines. Allez aux autels où vous êtes attendue, et conjurez le Dieu de miséricorde de ne vous laisser oublier jamais les avis de votre père.
***
It is from the depths of my heart, my daughter, that I bless you, asking Heaven to grant you the grace to appreciate well the great action you are about to perform. Your heart is innocent and pure in the eyes of God, your prayers must be pleasing to Him. Offer them to Him for your mother and for me. Ask Him to give me the graces necessary to bring about the happiness of those over whom He has given me dominion, and whom I must consider as my children; ask Him to deign to conserve in this Kingdom, the purity of religion, and remember well, my daughter, that this holy religion is the source of happiness and the support in the adversities of life. Do not believe you are safe from them. You are quite young, but you have already seen your father afflicted more than once. You do not know, my daughter, what Providence has destined for you; whether you will remain in this Kingdom or go to dwell in another. In whatever place the hand of God puts you, remember that you must edify by your example, do good as often as you find the occasion for it. But above all, my child, relieve the unfortunate with all your power. God has caused us to be born into the rank where we are only to work for their happiness and to console them in their pains. Go to the altars where you are expected, and beseech the God of mercy never to let you forget the advice of your father.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
October 19, 1851: The Death of Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte of France
I came across Marie-Thérèse's will on a website devoted to her beloved nephew, Henri V of France, the "Comte de Chambord." It is interesting to compare her last wishes with those of her father and mother:
+WILL+
OF MARIE THÉRÈSE OF FRANCE,
DAUGHTER OF KING LOUIS XVI
AND OF QUEEN MARIE ANTOINETTE,
WHO DIED AT FROHSDORFF,
+OCTOBER 19, 1851+
Following the example of my parents, I forgive, with all my soul, and without exceptions, all those who may have harmed or offended me; sincerely asking God to extend to them His mercy, as well as to me, and supplicating Him to accord me pardon for my faults.
I thank all the FRENCHMEN who have remained attached to my family and to me for the proofs of devotion that they have given us, for the sufferings and pains they endured because of us.
I pray God to pour out His blessings on FRANCE, which I have always loved, even in the midst of my bitterest afflictions.
Having always considered my nephew HENRI and my niece LOUISE as my children, I give them my maternal blessing. They have had the happiness to have been raised in our holy religion, may they always remain faithful to it, may they always be worthy descendants of SAINT LOUIS! May my nephew consecrate his happy faculties to the accomplishment of the great duties which his position imposes upon him! May he never depart from the ways of moderation, justice and truth!
Saturday, October 16, 2010
October 16, 1793: The Execution of Marie-Antoinette
16th October, 4.30 A.M.
It is to you, my sister, that I write for the last time. I have just been condemned, not to a shameful death, for such is only for criminals, but to go and rejoin your brother. Innocent like him, I hope to show the same firmness in my last moments. I am calm, as one is when one's conscience reproaches one with nothing. I feel profound sorrow in leaving my poor children: you know that I only lived for them and for you, my good and tender sister. You who out of love have sacrificed everything to be with us, in what a position do I leave you! I have learned from the proceedings at my trial that my daughter was separated from you. Alas! poor child; I do not venture to write to her; she would not receive my letter. I do not even know whether this will reach you. Do you receive my blessing for both of them. I hope that one day when they are older they may be able to rejoin you, and to enjoy to the full your tender care. Let them both think of the lesson which I have never ceased to impress upon them, that the principles and the exact performance of their duties are the chief foundation of life; and then mutual affection and confidence in one another will constitute its happiness. Let my daughter feel that at her age she ought always to aid her brother by the advice which her greater experience and her affection may inspire her to give him. And let my son in his turn render to his sister all the care and all the services which affection can inspire. Let them, in short, both feel that, in whatever positions they may be placed, they will never be truly happy but through their union. Let them follow our example. In our own misfortunes how much comfort has our affection for one another afforded us! And, in times of happiness, we have enjoyed that doubly from being able to share it with a friend; and where can one find friends more tender and more united than in one's own family? Let my son never forget the last words of his father, which I repeat emphatically; let him never seek to avenge our deaths.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Last Letter of Queen Louise-Marie
Cher, cher ami,
Ce testament te sera remis lorsque je ne serai plus, lorsque mon coeur, ce coeur qui n'aura jamais battu que pour toi, aura cessé de battre, lorsque mes yeux qui aimaient tant à te contempler seront fermés par la mort et que mon âme seule pourra veiller sur toi, lorsque enfin je n'aurai plus d'espoir de te revoir que dans ce monde inconnu, objet de tes préoccupations et de tes voeux et où, je l'espère, Dieu nous fera la grâce d'être éternellement réunis. Puisses-tu trouver dans l'expression de mes dernières volontés et deviner par-delà les mots une faible partie de l'affection et de la reconnaissance que j'éprouve pour toi et qu'aucun langage humain ne pourra jamais rendre. Puisse Dieu se charger de la dette de ma reconnaissance et te remercier de ta bonté pour moi en te bénissant et en te protégeant en toutes choses comme mon coeur le désire et le lui demande sans cesse. Puisses-tu être heureux que je l'ai été par toi et près de toi. Puisses-tu être aimé, apprécié, chéri, admiré, j'allais presque dire adoré par beaucoup comme tu l'as été par moi. Puissent tes enfants être toujours pour toi une source de joie et de consolation. Puisse ta mort être douce comme celle du juste et tes derniers moments embellis par le souvenir de tout le bien que tu as fait à moi et aux autres. Puisses-tu, pendant l'éternité, jouir de ce bonheur immatériel et sans bornes pour lequel ton âme a été créée plus que toute autre et puissé-je te servir, toi et ceux que tu as aimés, ou seulement te voir de loin dans cette éternité bienheureuse et avoir la certitude de ton bonheur, même sans le partager. Tels sont, cher ami, mes derniers et mes plus chers voeux car il n'y a pas un battement de mon coeur ni une pensée de mon âme qui ne soit à toi et pour toi. Mon affection pour toi, cette affection qui a été, je puis le dire, la vie de ma vie, le mobile et l'essence de mon existence ici-bas doit même, je le sens, être immortelle comme l'âme que Dieu m'a donnée pour L'adorer, Le servir, Le prier et apprécier Ses bienfaits et doit, comme elle, survivre à ce corps de boue. Quel que soit le moment où Dieu tout-puissant m'appellera à Lui et quelque déchirement que la pensée seule de me séparer de toi me fasse éprouver, je ne puis que bénir Son nom, adorer Ses décrets, m'y soumettre et Le remercier du bonheur si grand et si peu fait pour la terre qu'Il m'a départi en m'unissant à toi. D'ailleurs, que ma vie soit longue ou courte, j'aurai toujours assez vécu si je t'ai été bonne à quelque chose, ne fût-ce qu'un instant.
***
Dear, dear friend,
This will shall be given to you when I shall be no longer, when my heart, this heart which will never have beaten except for you, shall have ceased to beat, when my eyes, which so loved to contemplate you, will have been closed by death, and my soul alone shall be able to watch over you, when, finally, I shall have no more hope of seeing you again, except in that unknown world, the object of your concerns and your wishes, where, I hope, God will grant us the grace of being eternally reunited. May you find, in the expression of my last wishes, and be able to guess, beyond words, a meagre part of the affection and the gratitude I feel towards you, and which no human language will ever be able to express. May God take charge of the debt of my gratitude and thank you for your kindness towards me, by blessing you and protecting you in all things as my heart desires and as I ask Him without ceasing. May you be happy that I have been happy because of you and close to you. May you be loved, appreciated, cherished, admired, I was almost going to say adored, by many, as you have been by me. May your children be always for you a source of joy and consolation. May your death be sweet like that of the just man and your last moments made beautiful by the memory of all the good you have done to me and to others. May you, in eternity, enjoy that immaterial happiness, without limits, for which your soul, more than any other, was created, and may I be able to serve you, you and those you have loved, or, at least, see you from afar in that blessed eternity and have the certitude of your happiness, even without sharing it. These, dear friend, are my last and dearest wishes, for there is not a beat of my heart nor a thought of my soul which is not yours and for you. My affection for you, that affection which was, I can say, the life of my life, the motive and the essence of my existence here below, must also, I sense, be immortal, like the soul God gave me to adore Him, to serve Him, to pray Him and to appreciate His benefits and must, like it, survive this body of mud. Whatever the moment when almighty God may call me to Him, and whatever anguish, which only the thought of being separated from you may cause me to feel, I can only bless His name, adore His decrees, submit myself to them and thank Him for the happiness, so great and so little made for this earth, which He granted me by uniting me to you. And whether my life is long or short, I will always have lived long enough if I was at all good for you, even if only for an instant.
(cited by Madeleine Lassère in Louise reine des Belges: 1812-1850, 2006, pp. 258-259)
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