The Private Theatre of Marie-Antoinette

Here are two images of Marie-Antoinette's private theatre. (Via Tea at Trianon). As shown above, it was redecorated by her niece Marie-Amélie, Queen of the French under the July Monarchy of 1830-1848.  Readers of this blog will remember that Marie-Amélie's daughter, Louise-Marie d'Orléans, was the first Queen of the Belgians.  Marie-Antoinette's design (below) has since been restored, although the monogram above the center stage is actually still Marie-Amélie's. I love both Marie-Amélie and Marie-Antoinette, but I must say that I much prefer Antoinette's beautifully delicate, lighter taste. The heavy scarlet is too oppressive for me.

Portraits of Marie-Amélie

At Lady Reading, there is a discussion, in Italian, of Marie-Amélie of Naples, Queen of the French, with rare miniatures, sculptures, drawings and paintings of her and her family on joyful and sorrowful occasions. Here are a few examples. Above is an image of a younger Marie-Amélie as Duchesse d'Orléans, with her husband, Louis-Philippe, and her two eldest children, Prince Ferdinand-Philippe, Duc de Chartres, and Princess Louise, the future first Queen of the Belgians.

A domestic scene of Marie-Amélie with her fine, growing family. As the image suggests, Louis-Philippe and Marie-Amélie took an attentive and affectionate interest in their children's education.

A delicate miniature of Marie-Amélie, apparently part of a family tree.

The lady at her desk. She worked hard at fulfilling the social and charitable obligations of her high station; she was also a great writer, leaving behind many letters and diaries shedding invaluable light on the personal, political and religious turmoil of her time.

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. 

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.

Maximilian and Carlota: Imperial Tragedy

A blog for researchers, by historical novelist C. M. Mayo, author of The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire.

A touching online exhibit, courtesy of the Woodson Research Center, including samples of Carlota's exquisite handwriting. In the first letter displayed, notable for its beautifully decorated margins, little Charlotte, the first Princess of Belgium, sends tender greetings to her grandmother, the last, exiled Queen of the French, Marie-Amélie. The child regrets that she cannot accompany her mother, Queen Louise-Marie of the Belgians, to England to visit Marie-Amélie. Reunited on paper, we have three generations of remarkable royal ladies.

The Charity of Queen Marie-Amélie

Some may remember my post on the almsgiving of Louise-Marie, first Queen of the Belgians. In this regard, Louise surely learned from the noble example of her mother, Marie-Amélie, Queen of the French. According to her biographer, C.C. Dyson, Marie-Amélie gave away no less than 4/5 of her private income to the poor. Here is a testimony of her charity, from her secretary, Mr. Appert:

"I saw her every day but never without being affected by her perfections and holiness. Neither the religion nor politics of the applicant was considered, but only misery. If there was an insurrection, and cries and threats were heard under the windows, she would say: 'Help as many of these miserable people as you can. Bread is dear, trade bad. Seeing a wife and children starve is enough to turn a man's head. They do much that is wrong, but it is excusable. I am comfortable in these warm rooms, but wretched when I think of so many people in the city suffering from cold and hunger. To give is my only pleasure in the midst of all our troubles. He who invented the saying 'Happy as a king,' had never worn a crown". (The life of Marie Amélie last queen of the French, 1782-1866. C.C. Dyson, 1910, p. 230).

"A Crown of Thorns"

(*This is a follow-up to previous posts "Tragedy and Irony" and "Louis-Philippe: A Villain?", so please read those first.)

A while ago, Jorge asked me how Marie-Amélie felt about her husband's questionable taking of the French throne in 1830. I have touched upon her reaction to the July Revolution in previous posts, but I wanted to address the issue in more detail. I have tried to write this account many times in the past, without success. (There seems to be something about French history that tangles up my thoughts. Almost all the articles dealing with France on this blog have been very, very hard to write.) So, my apologies, this discussion is long overdue today, although perhaps it is appropriate, since this is the anniversary of Louis-Philippe's death. I will try my best to answer Jorge's question. I think Marie-Amélie's attitude to the sad events of 1830 can be summed up by her oft-quoted saying: "Since by God's will this Crown of Thorns has been placed on our heads, we must accept it and the duties it entails" (Dyson, p. 198).

She was, indeed, initially very distressed, and troubled in conscience, by the idea of displacing the legitimate heir to the throne, the little Henri V, grandson of Charles X. Steeped, from her earliest childhood, in the traditions of sacral, Catholic monarchy, she must also have been very upset by the liberal character of the revolution, and, in particular, by the separation of Church and State. After her husband's accession, she confided to her diary her grief at the sickening news of mobs desecrating churches, crosses and fleur-de-lis. In contrast to her sister-in-law, the formidable Madame Adelaide, who hated the senior Bourbons, for reasons of family tradition and liberal ideology, and enthusiastically welcomed the prospect of her brother's rise to power, Marie-Amélie reacted hysterically to the July Revolution. She shut herself up in her chamber, lamenting: "What a catastrophe. They will call my husband a usurper!"(Dyson, p. 193).  It was proposed that she and her sons and daughters enter the capital in state, in open carriages, but Marie-Amélie protested: "No! No! It would be repugnant to me, it would have an air of triumph, as if I were triumphing over my own relations" (Dyson, p. 196). 

People remarked upon Marie-Amélie's sorrowful appearance. She looked pale and wan, with a tear-streaked face, her usual quiet dignity quite upset. Shortly before her husband's accession, she was saddened to receive a note from her great-niece, little Louise d'Artois, sister of Henri V, saying the family counted on Marie-Amélie to use her influence in the boy-king's favor. There was, however, not much Marie-Amélie could do. Beset with scruples, she did attempt to persuade her husband to take the child in his arms and make a last appeal to the Parisians to accept and acclaim the boy as their sovereign. Louis-Philippe, however, claimed that such an attempt, in the violent political mood of the moment, would merely have provoked the murder of both himself and Henri. Revisiting the episode, in long, self-justificatory monologues, as an old man, he would insist: "I would not even have been able to cross the bridge to reach the Chamber of Deputies. They would have hurled us both into the water..."(d'Huart, p. 548). 

Despite her heartbreak, however, and pangs of remorse, Marie-Amélie gradually reconciled herself to her new position as Queen, by convincing herself that Louis-Philippe had no choice but to accept the throne, and that he was acting from motives of pure patriotism, by sacrificing his domestic peace and comfort to save France from anarchy.  In her journal, she noted that her chaplain had consoled her by telling her that her husband was obeying the call of duty, under the volatile circumstances (d'Huart, pp. 400-401). He was, nevertheless, widely branded as a treacherous usurper, and his consort did her best to persuade people otherwise, writing letters to the sovereigns of Europe in his defense. Marie-Amélie and her children would always stoutly maintain that Louis-Philippe, despite the intrigues of revolutionary conspirators on his behalf, had never wanted to become King.

Marie-Amélie's Jewels

The sapphire, diamond and pearl parure designed for Marie-Amélie, Queen of the French, consort of King Louis-Philippe. (Their eldest daughter, of course, was the first queen of Belgium, Louise-Marie). 

It is said that during (Louis-Philippe's) period of rule, in keeping with his austere policies Queen Amalie did not make use of the crown jewels of France, reassembled by Napoleon I, after the French revolution, and further enhanced by Louis XVIII and Charles X. Queen Amalie only wore her personal jewelry during the 18-year period she served as the Queen of the French. In this context, the Queen Amalie Sapphire, Diamond and Pearl Parure, the subject of this webpage, was most probably part of the personal collection of jewelry that belonged to the queen, that was designed and executed by Bapst, the court jeweler, using jewels purchased by Louis Philippe from the jewelry markets of Paris. The parure was probably inherited later by Queen Amalie's descendants, with whom it remained, until it was acquired by the Louvre Museum of France. This probably explains why the parure still remains intact as it was produced over 160 years ago, for if the parure was part of the crown jewels of France, it would have undoubtedly undergone modification or reset in a different setting, when the jewels passed through the hands of the next queen consort of France, Empress Eugenie de Montijo, wife of Napoleon III, a great connoisseur and collector of jewels, who was known to have reset most of the crown jewels of France to suite her own tastes and the fashions of the time.

Louis-Philippe: A Villain?

I used to take a negative view of Louis-Philippe, due mostly to his troubling taking of the throne from his cousins during the July Revolution of 1830. Amidst tumult and tragedy,  Charles X attempted to abdicate in his grandson's favor and charged Louis-Philippe, as regent, to proclaim the little boy's accession. Ignoring these instructions, however, Louis-Philippe had himself proclaimed king in the child's place. I tended to dismiss him as a treacherous usurper, an unscrupulous villain.

Recently, however, I have been reconsidering this view. We do have to explain why a noble, wise woman like Marie-Amélie would love Louis-Philippe so deeply. From the beginning of their romance, she praised him in the highest terms, calling him good, virtuous, admirable, loyal, upright. We also have to explain why the Neapolitan sovereigns, who had every reason to consider Louis-Philippe an enemy, allowed their daughter to marry him. They must have sensed goodness in the young man. The Queen, for her part, clasped his face between her hands and looked long and hard into his eyes. Finally, she told him she ought to detest him, as he had fought for republican France, but she could not help liking him. "Tell me the whole of your role in the Revolution," she stipulated, "I forgive all in advance, on condition of knowing all."

In tracing Marie-Amélie's life, Princess Henriette of Belgium forcefully defends Louis-Philippe, whom she felt legitimists had treated unfairly. During the Bourbon Restoration, she contends, the Duc d'Orléans, who had loyally rallied to the idea of monarchy, sincerely desired to serve king and country, and could have been a splendid help to the royal family, had he not been constantly calumniated by their entourage. According to Henriette, Marie-Amélie suffered deeply from the incessant attacks on her husband, since she knew they were unjustified; Louis-Philippe may have been a liberal, he may have disagreed with the senior Bourbons, but he harbored no treacherous designs to foment revolution or usurp the throne. Henriette attributes such rumors to malicious attempts to sow the seeds of discord in the royal family. In 1830, she asserts, Louis-Philippe did not take the throne out of ambition, but out of a genuine concern to spare France the horrors of yet another revolution.  The danger was that a regency of Louis-Philippe might be impossible, as the revolutionaries might not accept another descendant of the elder branch of the royal family as king.

Henriette's assessment of Louis-Philippe, as a man of integrity, courage and patriotism, coincides with the impressive testimonies of his wife, Marie-Amélie, and his eldest daughter, Louise, Queen of the Belgians. Their letters are full of touching expressions of love, esteem and veneration for Louis-Philippe. Naturally, family loyalty is undoubtedly at work here (and even in Henriette's account), but nonetheless, these ladies were privileged witnesses. In 1848, after the February Revolution had driven the Orléans into exile, Marie-Amélie wrote sorrowfully to Louise: "(M)y heart breaks to think of the ingratitude and injustice of men. Your father was not ambitious for this slippery (throne). He had accepted it to save France from the misfortunes she is suffering from now. He had used it for these 18 years to render her happy and prosperous, amidst repeated attempts on his life and, at the end of all this, to reward his self-sacrifice, in his old age: calumny, exile, proscription, despoliation." In 1850, after Louis-Philippe's death in England, Louise, deeply afflicted by his loss and by the scornful criticism of the late king in the British press, wrote: "I have lost the best of Fathers and my consolation is that his end was painless, gentle, Christian, courageous, worthy of his life and of his heart, so great and so true, and- alas! - so little known."

I am no expert on Louis-Philippe, but I think that such deeply felt testimonies, coming from those who knew him best, ought to be taken seriously. This is not to say, though, that taking the throne from the legitimate heir did not disturb Marie-Amélie's conscience. Becoming queen was certainly a troubling tragedy for her, as I hope to explore further, in a final post on this remarkable lady.

(to be continued)

References:

La jeunesse de Marie-Amélie reine des Français, d'après son journal. 1935.
Le journal de Marie-Amélie, Duchesse d'Orléans:1814-1822. 1938.
Kerckvoorde, Mia. Louise d'Orléans, reine oubliée. 1991.
Lassère, Madeleine. Louise reine des Belges: 1812-1850. 2006.

Tragedy and Irony

Marie-Amélie of Naples, Duchesse d'Orléans, with her eldest son, the Duc de Chartres.

The other day, I received two thoughtful comments from Jorge, asking about Marie-Amélie's feelings regarding her husband's troubling taking of the throne during the July Revolution of 1830, and her mother Maria Carolina's feelings regarding her daughter's marriage to the son of the infamous revolutionary, the Duc d'Orléans, who had brought so much sorrow to her sister, Marie-Antoinette. I was delighted by Jorge's remarks, cutting to the heart of the tragedy and irony of Marie-Amélie's life. In the next few posts, I hope to examine these questions.

It is a touching tribute to the capacity for love and forgiveness of both the Queen of Naples and her daughter that the marriage of Marie-Amélie and Louis-Philippe was able to take place. After all, the young princess was, in a sense, marrying the enemy. Her mother, Maria Carolina of Austria, was the favorite sister of Marie-Antoinette, so the royal court of Naples had very close and cordial family ties to Versailles. Maria Carolina raised all her children with a profound respect for the Catholic monarchy of France, the foremost in Europe. Alongside the language, history and literature of their native land, she ensured that Amalia and her siblings learned to appreciate those of France. The Queen even spoke French most of the time with her children. At an early age, Amalia, for her part, was destined to marry her cousin, the Dauphin, and eventually become Queen of France.

Tragically, Amalia's little fiancé died in 1789. His death ominously concided with the beginning of the French Revolution, ushering in a whole series of traumas that would profoundly mark the young Amalia, a thoughtful, sensitive girl. In her old age, she would still vividly recall the horror and deep mourning in Naples at the executions of her uncle and aunt, Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette. Her face flooded with tears, the Queen of Naples had solemnly assembled her children to tell them the terrible news that her own sister, the Queen of France, had been beheaded, before leading them all into the royal chapel to pray together for her soul. Everyone was appalled by the treachery of the Duc d'Orléans, who had voted for the death of the King, his own cousin. In the years to come, the proud, forceful, energetic and determined Maria Carolina would champion the cause of the Bourbon monarchy against all odds, generously supporting French émigrés while battling Napoleon with crusading ardor. The war brought many sorrows to the people and royal family of Naples. In 1798, Amalia, her parents, and siblings were forced to flee Naples and take refuge in Sicily.

In the light of all this, it is astonishing that Amalia fell in love with Louis-Philippe, himself a radical, and, moreover, the son of the royal regicide. It is even more astonishing that Amalia's parents permitted the marriage. How was this possible? Based on her Journal, it appears that Amalia and her parents, despite everything, decided Louis-Philippe was a good and noble man. It is this question I hope to discuss further in the days to come...

(to be continued)

St. Alphonsus Liguori and Marie-Amélie

As revealed in her Journal (see HERE and HERE), Marie-Amélie, Queen of the French, was a woman of profound Catholic faith. With such a pious mother, it is not surprising that her daughter Louise became known as the "Holy Queen" of Belgium. At the court of Naples, religious principles and spiritual fervor were instilled in Marie-Amélie from an early age. Her mother, Maria Carolina of Austria (typically for the Habsburgs) was an ardent Catholic and took pains to raise her children in the same tradition. One of Marie-Amélie's most cherished youthful memories was the visit of St. Alphonsus Liguori to the royal palace. At the Queen's request, the holy and valiant founder of the Redemptorist Congregation had come to bless her family. The little princess Amalia had hitherto been fragile, and later attributed to the saint's blessing the good health she enjoyed for the rest of her long life.

(Image:  Bottom feature of the right stained glass window in the north transept of Carlow Cathedral, Ireland, showing St Alphonsus kneeling before the Most Holy Sacrament. Created by Franz Mayer & Co. in the 19th century. Photo by Andreas Borchert).

A Traumatic Year

1815 was a hard year for Marie-Amélie. Along with the senior Bourbons, the Orléans had returned to France, after Napoleon's fall in 1814, but his tumultuous return to power soon forced them into exile yet again. Until 1817, Louis-Philippe's family would live at the "Orleans House," in Twickenham, England. On December 31, 1815, in a sober, prayerful spirit, Marie-Amélie recapitulated the joys and sorrows, the hopes and fears of the past year. By now, of course, Napoleon had been decisively defeated at Waterloo, but Marie-Amélie still had alot on her mind.

Je remercie Dieu de tout mon coeur de m'avoir fait voir la fin de cette année. L'ayant commencée sous les auspices les plus heureux et les plus brillants, je craignais seulement d'être trop heureuse et que la prospérité, dont je jouissais, les vanités qui m'entouraient ne m'éloignassent de mes devoirs. Elles ont été de courte durée et un coup de foudre inattendu m'a fait mieux comprendre le néant des choses de ce monde. La nuit de mon départ fugitif de Paris demeure un des épisodes les plus douloureux: anéantie par le voyage le plus difficile, tourmentée de la santé de Louise, inquiète du sort de mon mari, j'ai passé un mois des plus pénibles de ma vie; ma santé en a été altérée et c'est seulement dans la tranquille solitude de Twickenham que je me suis remise, les agitations pour le sort de la France, les deux voyages de mon mari à Paris, la calomnie qui ne cesse de le persécuter ont été et sont encore pour moi une source continuelle d'inquiétudes.

Au milieu de ces épreuves j'ai cependant ressenti une vraie consolation en voyant mon bien-aimé Père tranquillement rétabli sur son trône et le beau rôle rempli par Léopold, toujours si brave. Cela a été mêle d'amertume par la triste pensée que ma chère Maman n'en a plus joui.

Je termine cette année dans une douce tranquillité, menant une vie retirée et paisible qui me conviendrait mieux que tout autre, si je pouvais oublier que je suis épouse et mère et que cette maison n'est pas la nôtre.

Je me résigne entièrement à la volonté divine; regrettant de n'avoir pas mieux profité des croix qu'Elle m'a envoyées durant l'année qui fini, je veux commencer l'autre pleine de confiance en Sa miséricorde qui fera toutes choses pour notre vrai bonheur et m'aidera à remplir tous mes devoirs comme il convient.

***

 I thank God with all my heart for enabling me to see the end of this year. Having commenced it under the happiest, most brilliant auspices, I feared only to be too happy, and that the prosperity I enjoyed, the vanities that surrounded me might distract me from my duties. They were of short duration, and an unexpected bolt of lightning helped me to better understand the nothingness of the things of this world. The night of my flight from Paris remains one of the most sorrowful episodes: exhausted by the most difficult journey, tormented by the ill-health of Louise, anxious about the fate of my husband, I passed one of the most painful months of my life; my health deteriorated and it is only in the tranquil solitude of Twickenham that I have recovered; the agitations for the fate of France, my husband's two journeys to Paris, the calumny that unceasingly pursues him were and still are for me a continual source of anxieties.

In the midst of these trials, I have, nonetheless, found true consolation, in seeing my beloved Father (Ferdinand IV, King of Naples) tranquilly re-established on his throne, and the noble role played by Leopold (her brother), always so good. This was mingled with bitterness at the sad thought that my dear Maman (Maria Carolina of Austria, Queen of Naples, who had died in 1814) no longer enjoyed it.

I end this year in a sweet tranquillity, leading a retiring, peaceful life, which would suit me better than any other, if I could forget that I am a wife and mother and that this house is not ours.

I resign myself entirely to the will of God; regretting that I have not better profited from the crosses He has sent me during the year that is coming to an end. I wish to begin the next full of confidence in His mercy, which will accomplish all things for our true happiness and assist me to fulfill all my duties as is right. (Le journal de Marie-Amélie, Duchesse d'Orléans, 1938, pp. 142-143)

Stories of Marie-Amélie

Princess Henriette of Belgium enriches her account of the life of her great-grandmother, Marie-Amélie of Naples, Queen of the French, with a number of touching family anecdotes. Apparently, the memory of 'la bonne reine' was kept very alive among the Orléans. Here are a few vignettes, from her days as Duchesse d'Orléans, illustrating her character...

One anecdote was recounted by Marie-Amélie's daughter, Louise, Queen of the Belgians, and by her son, Louis, Duc de Nemours. One afternoon, while the Orléans were staying at their beautiful and beloved estate of Neuilly, Marie-Amélie was returning from a round of charitable visits. She was accompanied by her eldest girls, Louise and Marie, by the Duc de Nemours and by her youngest daughter, Clementine. As she was approaching the gates of Neuilly, two ruffians suddenly sprang up in her path. Seizing little Clementine in her arms, she told the three other children, anxiously clinging to their mother, to fear nothing. Blocking her way, the men called out raucously: "Who goes there? Who are you?" Fixing them with her calm, blue gaze, Marie-Amélie replied: "A mother, let me pass." The men yielded to this proud, courageous creature: "Pass, then, with the little ones."

According to another story, some humble women were warmly admiring the little Duc de Nemours (all the Orléans children were quite enchanting, blond and beautiful). "This is my son, Louis," Marie-Amélie explained. "May God make him another St. Louis, King of France!" cried the women, transported with enthusiasm. "Saint- yes, King- no," was his mother's wise reply.

In 1815, after Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo, came the news of the execution of one of his generals, Marshal Murat, who had usurped the Neapolitan throne from Marie-Amélie's father, King Ferdinand IV. During an ill-fated attempt to reconquer Naples, Murat had been captured and shot by Ferdinand's forces. Upon hearing of the tragic end of her family's deadliest foe, Marie-Amélie silently retired to her oratory, where she spent a long time in prayer. That night, as she took her children on her knees, prior to evening prayers, she told them repeatedly: "God teaches us, above all, to forgive our enemies." Her eldest son, the spirited, fierce little Duc de Chartres, responded:  "Yes, but we cannot love them!" "Yes," replied his mother,"we must try to love them in God, and not to wish them ill. If they have done wrong, vengeance is God's alone." Marie-Amélie's words, and the solemnity of her tone, made a deep, unforgettable impression on little Louise. Only later would she realize that it was for Murat her mother had sought prayers...

Death of a Child

One of the most moving passages in Marie-Amélie's Journal concerns the death of her third daughter, the baby princess Françoise (1816-1818).

Si préparés que nous ayons été à ce cruel événement, il n'en est pas moins douloureux; je suis mère, et c'est la première fois que je perds un enfant, juste douze ans, jour pour jour, après ma bien-aimée soeur Toto (Marie-Antoinette de Bourbon-Naples, Princesse des Asturies). Ma seule consolation est la certitude qu'elle est désormais un ange au ciel, qu'elle y jouit d'un inaltérable bonheur et qu'elle est à l'abri des vicissitudes de ce monde. Même si je pouvais je ne lui rendrais pas la vie, ce serait de ma part égoïsme, puisqu'elle est assurée de posséder cet heureux sort que je souhaite à tous ceux qui sont l'objet de mes plus tendres, de mes plus profondes affections.

As prepared as we had been for this cruel event, it is not, for that reason, less painful; I am a mother, and it is the first time I have lost a child, only twelve years, to the day, after my beloved sister Toto (Maria Antonia of Bourbon-Naples, Princess of Asturias). My only consolation is the certainty that she is henceforth an angel in heaven, that she enjoys, there, an unalterable happiness and that she is safe from the vicissitudes of this world. Even if I could, I would not restore life to her, it would be selfishness on my part, because she is assured of possessing that happy lot that I wish for all those who are the object of my most tender, my most profound affections. (Le journal de Marie-Amélie, Duchesse d'Orléans:1814-1822, 1938, p. 210)

Amélie and Henriette

I was fascinated to read the account of Marie-Amélie of Naples (1782-1866), Queen of the French from 1830-1848, by her great-granddaughter, Princess Henriette of Belgium (1870-1948), Duchesse de Vendôme. In two moving and thought-provoking volumes, La jeunesse de Marie-Amélie reine des Français, d'après son journal: (1800-1814) (1935), and Le journal de Marie-Amélie, Duchesse d'Orléans:1814-1822 (1938), Henriette piously and tenderly traces the life of her illustrious forebear, ending eight years before her rise to the throne.

To tell the story, Henriette draws primarily on Amélie's diaries, translated into French from the original Italian and quoted amply throughout the text, supplemented by Henriette's historical commentary and oral family tradition. The first volume describes Amélie's youth as a Neapolitan princess maturing amidst the tragic and tumultuous era of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, her marriage to Louis-Philippe, Duc d'Orléans, and her early years as a wife and mother in Sicily. In 1814, the fall of Napoleon makes possible the return of the exiled Bourbons to France. The second volume discusses Amélie's life under the Bourbon Restoration (1814-1830), during the reign of Louis XVIII.

I was deeply impressed and touched, both by Amélie and by Henriette. Both appear to have been very noble, refined souls, of profound faith and ardent charity, all too often afflicted by suffering and tragedy. I had very much wanted to write a fuller review of Henriette's account, but it is quite subtle and complex, and there are too many aspects to cover in a single post. Instead, over the next week or so, I will be doing a series of posts on different themes in the work and sharing some of my favorite passages. Meanwhile, I leave you with these lovely portraits of Amélie and Henriette, and Henriette's beautiful dedication of her first volume. It brought tears to my eyes:

Dedié

tendrement et douloureusement

 à la mémoire de mon bien-aimé Frère,

ALBERT Ier, ROI DES BELGES

 qui m'a encouragée à publier ces pages.

Il a poussé jusqu'au sublime

 l'esprit du devoir

que notre arrière-Grand'Mère légua

 à sa descendance.

Dedicated

 tenderly and sorrowfully

 to the memory of my beloved Brother,

ALBERT I, KING OF THE BELGIANS

who encouraged me to publish these pages.

 He elevated to the sublime

 the spirit of duty

 that our great-Grandmother bequeathed

to her descendants.

(*I have since discovered a third volume, continuing the story to 1830, and dealing with Amélie's life during the reign of Charles X)

Parents of Queen Louise-Marie

The father and mother of the first Belgian queen, Louise-Marie of Orléans. This little princess of the cadet branch of the House of Bourbon was born in exile in Palermo in 1812. A few years later, her family were allowed to return to France. In 1830, during the July Revolution, Louise-Marie's father ascended the throne, upon displacing the elder line of the French royal house. In 1832, Louise-Marie was married off (not all that happily) to Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, the first monarch of the new Kingdom of Belgium.

The "Citizen King" of the French, Louis-Philippe of Orléans (1773-1850). (His father, of course, was the infamous revolutionary, "Philippe Egalité," who cast the deciding vote sending his cousin, Louis XVI, to the guillotine). Apparently, Louise-Marie, despite her famed kindness and generosity, had a keen eye for the faults and failings of those around her (I've even seen her described as a "merciless observer"). Upon arriving in Belgium, she was rather too outspoken in her criticisms of her new subjects, and her father had to warn her to be more tactful and diplomatic.... Oddly enough, the Queen passed away only a few months after her (now deposed) father's death in exile.
Louis-Philippe's wife, Marie-Amélie of Naples. Her somewhat skeptical expression reminds me of portraits of her daughter. I think Louise-Marie strongly resembled her mother, too, in her piety and charity.

I once had a conservative, religious person look at me in horror when I mentioned that the first Queen Consort of the Belgians (and, therefore, the subsequent generations of the Belgian royal family) were descended from the Orléans. Some seem to act as though the entire Orléans line were painted with the brush of indelible guilt and infamy. Yet, the radical background of the family, the regicide of Philippe Egalité and Louis-Philippe's questionable taking of the throne simply cannot be blamed on later people like poor Louise-Marie! She was, by all accounts, a devout, upright woman, a loyal wife and mother, and a generous Queen. She was an innocent person! Also, I find her very interesting, as she seems to have combined a critical, realistic mind with a charitable heart (rare!)

Marie-Amélie of Naples

Queen of the French. Her eldest daughter was the beautiful and pious Louise-Marie, first Queen of the Belgians. The painting above, by Nicolas Gosse, dates from 1831 and forms part of the collection of the Belgian Royal Household.