Queens in Gardens

Young Marie-Henriette

Since I recently posted on Paola, here is the other Queen of the Belgians who suffered serious marital unhappiness. Unlike Paola, though, Marie-Henriette and her fearsome husband never had the opportunity to share love and reconciliation.

Louise-Marie and Marie-Henriette

Grand Ladies has some rare and interesting images of the first two Queens of the Belgians, Louise-Marie of France and Marie-Henriette of Austria.

Marie-Henriette of Austria, Queen of the Belgians

Defending the Saxe-Coburgs: Part II

We must not trust every word of others or feeling within ourselves, but cautiously and patiently try the matter, whether it be of God. Unhappily we are so weak that we find it easier to believe and speak evil of others, rather than good. But they that are perfect, do not give ready heed to every news-bearer, for they know man's weakness that it is prone to evil and unstable in words. ~Thomas à Kempis

With all the discussion of unhappy and unfaithful royal marriages, it is forgotten that there have also been many devoted ones. Notable examples are St. Louis IX of France and Marguerite of Provence, Charles I  and Henrietta Maria of England, Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette, Louis-Philippe and Marie-Amélie, Tsar Alexander III and Empress Maria Feodorovna of Russia, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, Tsar Nicholas II and Empress Alexandra, Emperor Charles I and Empress Zita of Austria-Hungary. Sadly, however, stories of virtue tend to be neglected, while stories of vice are frequently featured in popular accounts of the lives of past monarchs. As a result, many credit lurid rumors about royalty hastily and uncritically, assuming that all kings, more or less, are libertines. In Belgium, these prejudices are feeding the current campaign to portray the reigning Saxe-Coburg dynasty as lascivious and promiscuous. In my opinion, the campaign is often unfair; in a previous post, I gave my thoughts on the attacks on the first three Kings of the Belgians: Leopold I, Leopold II and Albert I. Over the next few weeks, I hope to discuss some of the gossip surrounding their successors: Leopold III, Baudouin I and Albert II.

Leopold III has the general reputation of an inveterate libertine. This image has been reinforced by authors such as Evrard Raskin, Paul Beliën, and, most recently, Leo van Audenhaege. Granted, no man is immune to temptation. Yet, I tend to disbelieve the accusations of promiscuity. Authors such as Roger Keyes, Jean Cleeremans, Georges-Henri Dumont, Jo Gérard and Michel Verwilghen all contradict these charges. However deeply entrenched in the public mind, by endless repetition, the scandalous allegations have often emanated from suspicious sources, at suspicious times. Before the Second World War, Leopold III did not have a reputation for libertinism; quite the opposite. A neutral witness, the American ambassador to Brussels from 1938-1940, Joseph E. Davies, described the young, handsome, athletic King of the Belgians as a noble man of great moral intensity, completely devoted to his duty and to his family, chaste, irreproachable, above even the suspicion of scandal. In The Prisoner at Laeken: King Leopold, legend and fact (1941), written to defend the King from charges of treason during the Nazi occupation, Emile Cammaerts noted his sterling record, prior to the war. In the glare of modern publicity, he argued, Leopold had led a spotless life; how could such a man turn, overnight, into a scoundrel? What sense would such an argument make, if the King had already been known for corrupt habits? In Amours royales et princières: mariages, liaisons, passions et trahisons de la cour de Belgique (2006), Patrick Weber also indicates that the lurid rumors about the King surfaced later in his career. In fact, the legend of Leopold's libertinism evolved amidst a flood of other venomous accusations, amidst the many calumnies promoted by his political opponents, a fact which ought to put us on our guard in the first place. Nor does debauchery accord with the King's lofty, uncompromising idealism, his profound piety, or his spiritual serenity.

There is evidence that Leopold III cared deeply about chastity: his alarm, for instance, during the Nazi occupation, at the prospect of the deportation of young Belgian women to Germany. Appalled by the perils facing these girls, and, in particular, by the threat to their virtue, the King intervened strenuously, and, in large measure, successfully, to ward off the danger of deportation, much to Hitler's fury. In L'éducation d'un prince: entretiens avec le roi Léopold III (1984),  the King, on a similar note, reflected sadly upon prostitution in the developing world. In Échec au Roi: Léopold III, 1940-1951 (1986), Roger Keyes notes that Leopold, like his parents, was worried by the irregular private life of his troubled younger brother, Charles. According to Keyes, Leopold's chastity was one of the reasons why his father preferred him to Charles. In Le mythe d'Argenteuil: demeure d'un couple royal (2006), Michel Verwilghen mentions Leopold's distress at his daughter Marie-Christine's scandals. Most famously, the King insisted on marrying his wartime sweetheart, Lilian Baels. Although the young lady was beneath his station, and the occupation was a constitutionally difficult time for the Sovereign to take a wife, he did so. (Incredibly, he is criticized for this decision; while portraying Lilian as a trollop, many simultaneously blame the King for not treating her as such. The logic of these arguments escapes me). Not only Keyes, Dumont and Gérard, who are sympathetic to the King, but also Jan Velaers and Herman van Goethem, who can be quite critical of him, indicate that the couple's religious and moral principles made marriage imperative.

Some authors, such as Evrard Raskin, have insinuated that Leopold married Lilian merely under "pressure" from the Primate of Belgium, Cardinal van Roey, and from Queen Mother Elisabeth, who did not want a Catholic monarch to "live in sin". (Raskin, however, admitted to lacking precise details as to this supposed episode. Apparently, he had not been authorized access to the Cardinal's archives at Malines, and the Queen's notes were not yet available for study). The King did consult with the Cardinal before the wedding, but what "pressure" could the prelate, realistically, have brought to bear, other than reiterating the laws of the Church, which Leopold and Lilian already knew? Throughout history, monarchs have kept mistresses, and no amount of clerical intervention has been able to prevent it. Van Roey would have been powerless, if the interested parties themselves had not respected Catholic morality. Nor ought we to view Lilian's insistence on marriage as driven merely by ambition, as Raskin also suggested. (As a side note, it's important to realize that Raskin, a former Volksunie deputy, disliked Lilian in any case, on ethnolinguistic grounds, for "betraying" her Flemish roots by opting for French culture. His venom, therefore, is not surprising. I can recommend reading Verwilghen's critique of Raskin's biography of Lilian, in Le mythe d'Argenteuil). The dire political circumstances of Lilian's marriage do not suggest that she accepted the King's proposal out of ambition; quite the opposite. As for Leopold, although few might think it today, he had, in his parents' union, a very pure, very noble ideal of love, which he fervently admired. From his earliest years, he venerated his father; by his own testimony, he desired to emulate him in all matters, public and private. In consequence, as I believe that King Albert I was a virtuous man, I think it's most likely that King Leopold III strove to be so, too.

In fact, perhaps he strove only too hard. Based upon the confidences of one of the King's intimates, in 1937, Victor Serge noted in his diary that Leopold had refused to remarry, following the death of his first wife, Queen Astrid. His scrupulous conscience overwhelmed with guilt at having caused her death, albeit involuntarily, the King had resolved to inflict solitude upon himself forever, as a penance. Of course, he was being overly strict with himself, and he did eventually decide to remarry, but his readiness, for principled reasons, to deny himself even the legitimate consolations of wedlock, gravely undermines the notions of his supposedly irresistible attraction to women, his supposedly voracious, amoral sexual appetites. Serge also described Leopold's life as very pious, dutiful and austere. Later, there were tales of pleasure parties in Paris during this period; I think not. From his youth, as his companion Alfred Willemart noted, Leopold had tremendous self-control. At the age of nine, for example, after dislocating his elbow in a car accident, he bravely underwent a painful operation to reset the bones, his teeth clenched, without a murmur. As a teenager, during the First World War, he gladly shared the dangers and hardships of the Belgian army, as a private in the trenches. It's hard to believe that such a disciplined person would indulge in sensual excess.

It is also worth noting that Leopold was intensely shy and modest, facts which are often overlooked. In her memoirs, his sister Marie-José relates his embarrassment, as a youth, at the feminine attention attracted by his stunning beauty. On on occasion, he blushed to the ears, merely upon overhearing a flirtatious group of girls comment on his good looks. Decades later, it seems, he still felt uncomfortable with such compliments. Marie-José also recalled her brother's embarrassment at the risqué remarks of Lady Asquith during her wartime visit to the Belgian sovereigns. The officers present smiled at her teasing manner, but the young prince blushed. During this period, Leopold was actually known for his reserve around women; before meeting Princess Astrid of Sweden, ladies never seemed to arouse his interest. It seems highly unlikely that he would later become a Don Juan.

(to be continued)

Defending the Saxe-Coburgs

And kings in general...

I'd rather not dwell on this silliness, but I find I must be strict for a bit. We're witnessing far too much scurrilous stereotyping of the Saxe-Coburg family. The campaign is spurred along by the eager publication of books, such as Paul Beliën's highly disingenuous, vituperative and sensationalist polemic, A Throne in Brussels: Britain, the Saxe-Coburgs and the Belgianisation of Europe (2005), which all too many seem to take at face value. Of course, using sexual slurs to discredit public figures is nothing new. Consider, for example, all the feverish, torrid, and, in fact, false accusations launched against Anne Boleyn, Marie-Antoinette, Queen Maria Carolina of Naples and Queen Louise of Prussia by their political opponents. The same process is underway today, in Belgium. We need not be conspiracy theorists to conclude that many people, in powerful positions, simply do not want this battered little kingdom to exist. There is no other explanation for the endless, paralyzing political problems, the bitter divisions, growing ever greater and ever deeper, that afflict a nation which has weathered the worst storms in history triumphantly. Therefore, it is not surprising that sordid little tales are sedulously spread, to undermine Belgians' respect for their monarchy. The Saxe-Coburgs are portrayed as lascivious, promiscuous creatures by definition. How accurate is this image? 

Let's take a look at the six Kings of the Belgians, and examine some ghostly, shadowy rumors in the sober light of day. Oh, and by the way... the Belgian Royal Family dropped the name "Saxe-Coburg" after the First World War...The constant labeling of the reigning house, often in a rather contemptuous fashion, as the"Saxe-Coburgs", serves, subliminally, to insinuate into people's minds the idea that this is merely a foreign family, artificially imposed upon an artificial state, cobbled together in 1830 merely for extraneous, geopolitical reasons, another highly popularized myth. 

Under Leopold I and Leopold II, the Belgian court still had something of the flavor of the ancien régime. Both kings married strictly for reasons of state. Not surprisingly, in consequence, both kings indulged in amorous adventures, to their pious queens' distress. However unfortunate, though, such behavior was commonplace throughout the royalty and aristocracy of Europe for centuries. It does not prove that the Saxe-Coburgs, per se, were extraordinarily lustful. True, Leopold II undeniably took his marriage vows even more lightly than most monarchs. Even within his family, though, his domestic life was unusually disastrous; his character, judging, most notably, by his dealings in the Congo, unusually corrupt. We cannot ascribe his failings to his entire dynasty. This clearly emerges, for instance, from the fact that his successors, Albert I and Leopold III, tried strenuously to reform the colonial administration, taking a deep, personal interest in the Congo's welfare, in sharp contrast to their predecessor.

I also find that even Leopold II's notorious liaison, in his last years, with the young Parisian courtesan, Caroline Delacroix, who ultimately made off with much of his ill-gotten colonial gains, is over-sexualized in many popular accounts. It is easy to see the King as a lascivious old man, besotted with a voluptuous young woman, and, sadly, this scenario was doubtless true to a considerable extent. Yet, more thoughtful accounts, such as the masterful character study of the pair by Xavier Paoli, suggest a subtler, more complex, more genuine, and, oddly enough, more staid romance. Paoli also makes clear that the lovers, despite everything, retained the glimmerings of a conscience. After the death of Queen Marie-Henriette, Leopold II and Caroline Delacroix took care to regularize their union, if only in God's eyes, through a secret religious marriage. Most sources report that the ceremony took place during the King's last illness, but Paoli thought it might have happened earlier.

We come now to Albert I. In his letters, in the reminiscences of various intimates, he emerges as a deeply pure, pious and prayerful soul, although this is often forgotten today, in the poisonous cynicism that has taken over much of Belgian historiography. For many reasons, I am convinced that every aspersion cast upon his private life is a violent outrage. Raised in the virtuous atmosphere of the Palace of Flanders, by pious and charitable parents, Prince Philippe of Belgium and Princess Marie of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, a quietly devoted couple, Albert had strict, high moral principles instilled in him at an early age, as evinced by many contemporary accounts. 

At 25, he married an enchanting young princess, the sweet, nimble, 24-year-old Elisabeth of Bavaria, daughter of the noted physician and philanthropist, Duke Karl Theodor. The couple shared many humanitarian, social, cultural and intellectual interests. Both highly intelligent and sensitive, husband and wife also had happily contrasting, complementary temperaments. Albert was thoughtful, reflective, reserved, steady, philosophic, realistic, a bit pessimistic; Elisabeth, lively, energetic, spontaneous, imaginative, impulsive, artistic, optimistic. Not surprisingly, then, they fell tenderly, deeply, undeniably in love. This is abundantly proven in their rich correspondence, dating from the time of their engagement and the early years of their marriage. We are far, very far from the floods of tears shed by Louise d'Orléans at her marriage to Leopold I, her terror at the approach of her wedding night; even further from the mutual revulsion of Leopold II and Marie-Henriette of Austria, from the bride's prayer for death to escape her unhappy marriage. 

Upon becoming engaged to Elisabeth, Albert promised her infinite love, and unfailing fidelity. Albert had an intense commitment, not only to his wife, but, even more importantly, to marriage itself. More than mere love letters, his missives to his bride are ethical lessons, expressing an edifying ideal of conjugal affection, respect, loyalty and collaboration. Not only in his private life, but also in his public life, Albert evinced this commitment to marriage, as the foundation of the family, and, therefore, as essential to the health of society. During his tour of the Congo in 1909, he noted in his diary various criticisms of the colonial legal code, regretting, for instance, that it failed to adequately penalize adultery. It's unlikely that the King would fail to live up to his own principles in a matter he regarded as so important. This was a man so conscientious, that he regularly exposed himself to danger and hardship in the trenches, even beyond the call of duty; on one occasion, he collapsed, with sheer exhaustion, at the side of a road. This was a man so rigorous, so stern, that he preferred to lead his entire nation, which he deeply loved, to devastation and death, rather than betray his international obligations, as shown by an early draft of a wartime letter to his Bavarian brother-in-law, Count Toerring. 

Indeed, for many years, nobody cast doubt on Albert's fidelity. On the contrary, Albert and Elisabeth were revered for their domestic virtues. After the King's ghastly, accidental death at Marche-les-Dames, however, evil tongues soon began to whisper...There were torrid tales of trysts in various castles, of illegitimate children, and even of crimes of passion: it was suggested that the King had been killed by a jealous husband, by an abandoned mistress, or even by the Queen herself (!), in increasingly lurid and improbable scenarios. It seems unfathomably tasteless, and bizarrely at odds with the general mood of awe and sorrow, throughout the world, at the King's passing, to spread such scurrilous stories about a man no longer able to defend himself, who had served his country so magnificently, and who had just died so tragically. 

The gossip, moreover, was unsubstantiated. Although the rumors have persisted to this day, Patrick Weber notes, there's no solid evidence that the King had any affairs, at all. (And Weber is certainly not shy about discussing genuine liaisons, which he invariably relates in an open, non-judgmental fashion; he even wrote a whole book on the topic). Even Paul Beliën, who normally relishes salacious details, resorts to a suspicious vagueness in this matter, while nonetheless boldly proclaiming that Albert became unfaithful towards the end of his life. This idea, however, makes no sense. After so long, so strong a commitment to marriage and family, why would Albert suddenly throw his moral principles to the winds, in his last years? Virtue becomes easier, not harder, with practice. How does gold turn into dross?    

The children of Albert and Elisabeth, King Leopold III of the Belgians and Queen Marie-José of Italy, movingly maintained that their parents' love never dissipated; if anything, it only deepened through the years. Other distinguished, thoughtful and sincere contemporaries of Albert and Elisabeth paint a picture of a very simple, sober, orderly and upright couple, quietly devoted to each other throughout their marriage. Furthermore, in his last years, rather than degenerating, Albert apparently improved. As Charles d'Ydewalle indicates, he became more and more physically austere, giving up smoking his Italian cigars, and drinking nothing but water after 1915. As he grew older, his dislike of gluttony was extended to those who indulged in it. In the light of this temperance; this asceticism, even, debauchery seems incredibly implausible. In her memoirs, Albert's daughter also relates that he began to see problems in a more and more elevated manner during his final years. She describes his efforts to conquer faults of character. Irascible from childhood, often frustrated with the iron fetters of his constitutional position, he nevertheless succeeded in overcoming his fits of impatience. How could he take such care to avoid these venial sins, while blithely committing mortal sins, in the same general period? (Yes, mortal sins; I feel that the permissive attitudes of our day make it hard for some people to understand the gravity of unchastity, for a believing, practicing Catholic, especially in those traditional times). This brings us to a final point: during his last years, it seems, Albert became more and more devoted to God. The wise and noble Abbot of Orval, who knew the King well, mentioned his efforts to be prepared, at any moment, for divine judgment, and testified to his great peace of conscience. He also suggested that the King's private life, if anything, was even more beautiful than his public life; perhaps, because only in private did his faith have free rein. 

(to be continued)

Queen Marie-Henriette in Spa

After a dramatic and tragic life, she tried to find peace and comfort in quiet retirement with her circle of friends and her love of horses, music and theatre. Les Musées de la Ville d'eaux  discusses the last years of the consort of King Leopold II at the Hôtel de Midi in Spa. (The article is in French, but still readable in other languages via Google Translate).

The Belgian Queens

A tribute to the six women who have served as Belgium's queen consorts:

• Louise-Marie of Orléans (1812-1850)
• Marie-Henriette of Austria (1836-1902)
• Elisabeth of Bavaria (1876-1965)
• Astrid of Sweden (1905-1935)
• Fabiola de Mora y Aragón (1928-present)
• Paola Ruffo di Calabria (1937-present)

Death of Leopold I

On December 10, 1865, the first King of the Belgians, Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, died after a lingering illness. Although he had ruled a predominantly Catholic country for over 30 years, he remained firmly Protestant to the end. Charles d'Ydewalle, biographer of Leopold's grandson, King Albert I, gives a melancholy account of Leopold's passing:

The death-bed of Leopold I was a sad one, with something puritanical and cold about it. In his death agony, he called: "Charlotte...Charlotte..." but no one knew whether he was calling to his daughter, the Empress of Mexico, or to that first Charlotte of Claremont and those enchanted years whose happy memories once more unfolded before his darkening eyes.

"Do you regret the sins you have committed, Sire?" asked his daughter-in-law. He sighed heavily, and answered: "Yes..."

"In the name of the love you bear for the Queen's memory," went on the wife of Leopold II, "will you not be converted to her religion so that you may meet her again in Heaven?"

"Nein..." he whispered.

Thus died the first King of the Belgians.

The same day, the Monitor eulogized the deceased Sovereign, whose political and diplomatic abilities had secured Belgium's place among the independent nations of Europe and had won him the title "Nestor of Kings."

Brussels, December 10, 1865.

An immediate mourning is about to spread over Belgium.

The first of our kings, the founder of our national dynasty, his Majesty Leopold I, died this morning at the Palace of Laeken, at a quarter before twelve o'clock, surrounded by his august family, whose grief we will not attempt to portray.

History will tell what was the sovereign who, in the times of grave uncertainties, did not hesitate to respond to the wish of the nation, by coming to strengthen and fix its destinies ; who, during a reign of nearly thirty-five years, at an epoch so troubled as was ours, knew how to call to himself the love and veneration of the Belgian people, and to win the high esteem and respect of sovereign monarchs and peoples ; who, true to his solemn pledges, was minutely scrupulous in the observance of our constitutional compact, and in reward for this duty, so religiously fulfilled, and the services which he did not cease to render to the country, carries with him the gratitude of a whole nation united to bless his memory; who, finally, leaves to the august heir of the crown, with his great and noble example, a free, happy, and prosperous kingdom, which has acquired its place among the family of European nations.

Belgium will long weep the loss she has sustained ; she will ever preserve the remembrance of a King who was for her a devoted friend, a constant support; but her too just regrets will not cause her to forget her legitimate hopes.

The country does not die, and if on all sides is raised the doleful cry—

The King is dead! —

All Belgians, mastering their affliction, and rallying round the throne, will re-echo the shout

—Long live the King !

Majestic Marie-Henriette

A wonderful painting of Marie-Henriette of Austria, future Queen of the Belgians at the wedding of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales (future Edward VII) and Alexandra of Denmark in 1863.

Blanche Delacroix, "Baroness Vaughan"

Blanche Zélie Josephine Delacroix (1883-1948) was a young Parisian courtesan who became the mistress and, eventually, the morganatic second wife of King Leopold II of the Belgians. She was a woman of the people, dark, handsome in a coarse way, no raving beauty, but lively and charming. Leopold, nearly 50 years her senior, met Blanche, otherwise known as "Caroline", when she was 16 years old, and fell madly in love with her. It seemed to be the first time that the King, infamous for his disastrous marriage and long series of casual affairs, had become deeply attached to a woman.

Cold and miserly with his wife and daughters, he lavished endearments, gifts and properties upon the girl. To the great scandal of the Belgians and the court, he eventually titled her, unofficially, "Baroness Vaughan." To Blanche, the King was probably initially merely a conquest beyond her wildest dreams, but, on her side, too, genuine affection appears to have developed. In her memoirs, she lamented that she and Leopold's valet were the only ones to mourn the death of the violently unpopular King in 1909.

After the death of Queen Marie-Henriette, in 1902, the King gave his mistress a luxurious villa in Laeken. Strangely down-to-earth, she diligently looked after the books and accounts, presiding over her establishment like a bourgeois housewife. During this period, she bore two sons, Lucien (b. 1906) and Philippe (b. 1907). Although their paternity has never been definitively established, the King eagerly accepted them as his own. For decades, he had been tormented by his lack of a male heir, and now, in the evening of his life, he was overjoyed to have two boys in rapid succession. Abandoning his normally glacial, haughty stance, he doted on the children.

At some point, Leopold married Blanche in a secret, religious ceremony. The most widely accepted version is that the wedding took place at Laeken during the King's final illness. At the eleventh hour, Leopold wanted to save his soul by regularizing his union with Blanche and receiving the Last Rites. He was 74, his bride 26.

The King left much of his fortune to Blanche, providing for her for the rest of her life. Leopold's daughters, and, indeed, Belgian public opinion, were outraged by this settlement, but could do nothing to prevent it. The young woman departed Belgium in triumph, and began a new life. In 1910, she re-married. Her new husband was Antoine Durrieux, one of her long-standing admirers, who adopted her sons. Philippe (unofficially titled "Count of Ravenstein") died in 1914, Lucien ("Duke of Tervueren") in 1984.

Today, nothing remains of the notorious Madame Vaughan, once the talk of Belgium, except a few faded photographs...sic transit gloria mundi.

References:

Charles d'Ydewalle. Albert and the Belgians: Portrait of a King. 2005.
Xavier Paoli. Their Majesties as I Knew Them. 1911.

Patrick Weber. Amours royales et princières. 2006.

Queen Marie-Henriette Through Her Daughter's Eyes

In her memoirs, Princess Louise of Belgium recalls her mother, Queen Marie-Henriette. Despite her praise of her piety and virtue, Louise sadly did not follow her mother's example, leading a wild and scandalous life. She also became completely estranged from her family (including her mother). In view of this, Louise's tender account of the Queen is all the more striking and surprising.

I can still see the Queen as I saw her when I lay in her arms as a child, so long has my adoration for her survived, so long has my belief in another world remained sacred to her memory.

The Queen was of medium height and of slender build. Her beauty and grace were unrivalled. The purity of her lines and her shoulders merited the expression " royal." Her supple carriage was that of a sportswoman. Her voice was of such pure timbre that it awakened echoes in one's soul. Her eyes, a darker brown than those of the King, were not so keenly luminous, but they were far more tender; they almost spoke.

But how much less her physical perfections counted in comparison with her moral qualities. A true Christian, her idea of religion was to follow it rigorously in every detail, without being in the least narrow-minded. She had a philosophical and an assured conception of God, and the mysteries of the Infinite. This faith enlightened her doctrine and strengthened her piety.

People who cannot, or who will not, study the problem of religion, easily persuade themselves that it is absurd to subject themselves to the laws of confession and to its signs and ceremonies. The sincere Christian is the woman who is par excellence a wife and a mother, but to some bigots she is merely an inferior being, who has fallen into the hands of priests—but they would doubtless be very pleased all the same to have her as the guardian angel of their own home.

Religion did not in the least deter the Queen from her obligations to the State, or from her taste for Art, or from indulging in her favourite pursuit of sport.

She received her guests, she presided over her circle, she attended fetes with a natural charm peculiar to her, which I passionately admired from the moment when I was old enough to follow in her wake.

The Queen dressed with an inborn art which was always in harmony with her .surroundings. A woman in her position has to set out to please and win the hearts of people, and she is therefore obliged more than anyone else to study her toilette. The Queen excelled in this to such perfection that she was always held up as an example by the arbiters of Parisian fashion.

At any time fashion is peculiar, or at least it seems to be; if it were not so there would be no fashion; but la mode is not so varied as one thinks. Considered as novelties, her innovations are nothing more or less than little discoveries and arrangements with which the serpent, if not Eve, was already familiar in the Garden of Eden.

The Queen followed la mode without innovating fashions—that is the affair of other queens—queens of fashion, for which they have reasons, not dictated by Reason. But the Queen adopted and perfected fashions. It was miraculous to see how she wore the fairy-like lace which is the glory and charm of Belgium. I have always remembered one of her gowns, a certain cerise-coloured silk, the corsage draped with a fichu of Chantilly—one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life.

The Queen would often adorn the gowns worn by her at her receptions with garlands of fresh flowers. She knew how to wear them, and what a delight it was to my sisters and myself when we were told to go into the conservatories and prepare the garlands of roses, dahlias, or asters which our beloved sovereign was going to wear.

A perfect musician, the Queen was equally brilliant in her execution of a Czarda, an Italian melody or an air from an Opera, which she interpreted in a soprano voice, the possession of which many a professional singer would have envied her.

One of her great pleasures was to sing duets with Fauré, the illustrious baritone, a well-bred artist who never presumed on his position. The Queen and Fauré were wonderful in the famous duets from Hamlet and Rigoletto. ... I think of her singing even now with emotion. But all this belongs to the past; it is far away.

The Queen received the best artistic society on the same footing as the best Belgian society at her private receptions. She closely followed all the doings at the Theatre de la Monnaie and the Theatre du Pare. She interested herself in deserving talent. She was not ignorant of the anxieties and difficulties of a career of which four hours, so to speak, are lived in the realms of illusion, and the remaining twenty face to face with reality. She frequently showed her solicitude for artists in the most delicate and opportune manner. The memory of her kindness lives in many hearts. In the theatrical world gratitude is less rare than elsewhere. One can never speak too highly of the good that exists in the souls of these people, who appear so frivolous and easy-going on the surface. Corneille always had a good word for them.

The Queen loved horses with the appreciation of a born horsewoman; she liked to drive high-spirited animals, and I have inherited her taste. She knew how to control the wild Hungarian horses which were only safe with her. Refreshed with champagne, or bread dipped in red wine, they flew like the wind; one might have said that she guided them by a thread, but in reality she made them obedient to the sound of her voice.

She groomed her horses herself and taught them wonderful circus tricks. I have seen one of them ascend the grand staircase of Laeken, enter the Queen's room and come down again as though nothing had happened. What amused her most was to drive two or four different animals at once who had never been harnessed, and who were so high-spirited that no one dared to drive them. By dint of patience and the magnetic charm of her voice the most restive animal eventually became docile.

Her life was so ordered that she found time for everything—maternal cares were first and foremost with her; she looked upon these as sweet duties, of which I was her first burden...

My mother made me think deeply. Thought was my first revelation of a real existence. I began to look further than the throne and a title for the means of moral and intellectual superiority, I became a definite personality; I wished to form my own ideas so that in after life I could always be myself.

The Queen helped to mould my character by abundant reading, chiefly in French and English—principally memoirs. I was never, or very rarely, allowed to read a novel. The Queen read deliciously, giving the smallest phrase its full value; the manner in which she read aloud was not only that of a woman who knew how to read, but it also displayed a penetrating intelligence—in fact, it was more like speaking than reading, and it seemed to come from a heart which understood everything.

The Queen was gay and entrancingly charming with her intimate friends. She was always like this, in her excursions in the country, at croquet parties, at her own receptions, and in her box at the theatre. Her good humour was in accordance with the promptings of a generous and expansive nature...

The Queen took no part in politics except to discharge her duties as a sovereign. On a man like the King, feminine influence could not be exercised by a wife and mother.

It was impossible for the Queen to find in her husband the perfect union of thought, the intimacy of action and the entire confidence which, in no matter what household, are the only possible conditions for happiness, and the first deception which she experienced was followed by others which became more and more cruel.

The trial which caused the Queen to be inconsolable and which had such painful consequences, was the death of her son Leopold.

My mother could never be comforted for the loss of the heir to the Throne, this child of so much promise, who had been given and retaken by Heaven. This was the sorrow of her life. She even alluded to it in her admirable will.

From the day of his death, her health, always so robust, gradually changed little by little. Her soul began to break away from earthly things and lose itself more and more in prayer and contemplation. She lived only in the ardent hope of meeting her son in heaven.

The Queen was always a saint—and she soon became a martyr. She suffered immensely through the aloof greatness of the King, who existed solely for his Royal duties, although he would occasionally suddenly indulge in some unbridled pleasure after his arduous work. His was a nature of extremes which a tender soul could not understand, and hence arose misunderstandings and their tragic consequences. Against such a fate, which could only become more and more unhappy, there was nothing to be done. Earthly life is doomed to know implacable disillusions.

But however much the Queen suffered she never diminished her Heaven-inspired kindness. She would sometimes give way to her sorrow and allow the cries of her wounded soul to be heard! She would even attempt to defend herself by some action of which the public was cognizant but which it failed to understand. But she always returned to the feet of Christ the Consoler...

Marie-Henriette of Austria, Queen of the Belgians

The most unhappy Queen of the Belgians was surely Marie-Henriette, consort of King Leopold II. Family tragedies and a miserable marriage filled her life with painful trials, and one can only hope she found peace in a better world.

Born August 23, 1836, in Budapest, Marie-Henriette was the daughter of Archduke Joseph of Austria, Palatine of Hungary, and his third wife, Dorothea of Württemberg. Her childhood, amidst a large family in the Hungarian countryside, was happy, and she grew up into a handsome, vigorous, lively girl, an accomplished horsewoman.

At 17, Marie-Henriette married Prince Leopold, eldest son and heir of King Leopold I of the Belgians. It was a political match, intended to shield Belgium from possible French aggression. In addition, it was hoped, the Hapsburg connection would securely establish the new Belgian dynasty among the prestigious Catholic monarchies of Europe. The spouses' temperaments, however, clashed from the start. Only weeks after her wedding, the bride wrote to her painting master:

...I am an unhappy woman. God is my only support. My poor mother begins to perceive what she did when she arranged my marriage. She only sought my happiness, but now she sees the opposite is the case. If God will hear my prayer, I will not live longer...

Despite her wish, this was only the beginning of nearly 50 years of grief. Pragmatic necessity (chiefly, the quest for an heir) united the couple during the early years of their marriage, but the death of their only son, at age 10, bitterly disappointed the King and strained the royal couple's fragile bond. When a further attempt at producing an heir merely resulted in the birth of their (third) daughter, Clementine, all hopes of marital harmony were shattered. Selfish, cynical, and cruel, Leopold was notoriously unfaithful, and Marie-Henriette was the first to suffer from his long series of scandals, which outraged Belgian public opinion and seriously damaged the royal family's reputation.

As Queen, Marie-Henriette was largely excluded from political affairs. She devoted her time principally to charity and philanthropy, and became a great patroness of art and music. In 1867, however, two years after her husband's accession, she was entrusted with an important political mission. Her sister-in-law, the unfortunate, deranged Empress Carlota of Mexico, was sequestered by the Hapsburgs at Miramar, and the Belgian queen had to arrange for her return to Belgium. She negotiated ably with the Austrians, accompanying Carlota on her journey home and kindly caring for her after her arrival.

The Queen has been described as a difficult character. She was certainly intractable with her daughters, pressuring the two eldest, Louise and Stephanie, into marriages which would prove disastrous, and reproaching the youngest, Clementine, merely for her independent spirit. Yet, some of her authoritarian parenting may simply have been normal for the period, and her deep personal unhappiness (eventually, despite her strong character and profound religious faith, she attempted suicide) probably contributed to her difficult behavior. In any case, her endurance of decades of loneliness and grief was admirable, as were her charity and great piety, which won her the Golden Rose of Virtue from Pope Leo XIII.

In 1895, Marie-Henriette finally separated from her husband, leaving the Belgian court and settling at Spa. Clementine assumed the role of the country's "first lady," while her mother lived in quiet retirement. In her solitude, she entertained herself with her life-long passions, art, music (she was a talented player of the piano and the harp), horses, and dogs. She also had a circle of intimates; one of her favorites was her nephew, Prince Albert, later King Albert I of the Belgians.

The Queen's last years, however, were darkened by illness and the tragic outcome of her eldest daughters' marriages. Louise's union with a Saxe-Coburg relative proved deeply unhappy, and the impetuous princess scandalized Europe by eloping with a lover and leading an extravagant and dissolute life; for a few years, she was even confined to a lunatic asylum. Stephanie's marriage to Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria also proved unhappy, and ended in the Mayerling tragedy. Decades of grief and disappointment took a heavy toll on their mother's spirits and health. Prematurely aged and emaciated, surrounded by her last faithful friends, she died of heart failure on September 19, 1902.

References:

Gubin, Eliane & Dupont-Bouchat, Marie-Sylvie. Dictionnaire des femmes belges. 2006.

Weber, Patrick. Amours royales et princières. 2006.

"A Queen's Unhappy Life: Misery of the Late Marie Henriette of Belgium Revealed in Letters", published in the New York Times, October 4, 1902.

"Tragedies of the Belgian Royal Family," by Ivan C. Waterbury, in Hearst's International: The World Today, Vol. III, no. 1, 1902, pp. 2042-2043.