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...

King Leopold II Through His Daughter's Eyes

King Leopold II (1835-1909) was a man of contradictions. Too softhearted to sign a criminal's death warrant, he was nonetheless a ruthless exploiter of Congo natives. Contemptuous of his loyal and long-suffering wife, notorious for his infidelity, he was still capable of deeply respecting other virtuous ladies- most notably his sister-in-law, the Countess of Flanders. Cold and stern, he could surprise his intimates with a gracious gesture. He was a "pious sinner" who lived scandalously for decades, yet always remained a firm believer and, on his deathbed, was very anxious to save his soul by marrying his last mistress and receiving the Last Rites.

His tragic eldest daughter, Louise, recalled him in her memoirs. Startlingly, although she became completely estranged from her father (even suing him in court over an inheritance dispute), she dedicated her memoirs to him in admiring terms as "the great man, the great King." She reiterates these sentiments here- before describing their painful relationship.

My father was not only a great king—he was a great man.

A king may achieve greatness through possessing the art of surrounding himself with the right entourage, and thus taking advantage of the importance which it is then so easy for him to gain. He must be superior, at least at heart, to have a taste for superiority.

When he came into power Leopold II did not aim at gathering round him those wonderful intellects who would have inspired him to greatness. He had not the same chances as Louis XIV, neither had he those men whom his own example later developed. Belgium was still an adolescent State, the government of which required very careful and exclusive handling. She had sprung into being from twin countries, widely different in character, but united by the same laws. Her national policy is like a web whose mission it is to hold them together, but such a form of Constitution is not without its inconveniences.

For a long time the King's secret conviction was, that in order to be able to endure and strengthen herself, Belgium had urgent need of some great scheme which would produce in her an amalgamation of effort and intelligence, and allow her to take one of the highest places among the nations of the world.

He had carefully studied the map of the world, and his observations resulted in the unheard-of project of endowing his little kingdom with immense colonial possessions. He had at the time neither the money nor the army; he only had the idea, but the idea obsessed him and he lived for it alone.

The man whom I recall to my mind in thinking of the King is one whose silence always frightened me when I was a child. Here is an instance of his taciturn character.

The Queen is seated, holding in her hand a book which she is no longer reading. She is folding me close to her heart, whilst her eyes follow the King. The doors of the drawing-room leading to the other rooms are open, and the Sovereign paces backwards and forwards, his hands behind his back, almost like an automaton, without glancing at us and without breaking his interminable train of thought. Silence lies over the palace; nobody dares enter, for the King has forbidden access to the Royal apartments. The Queen and I are involuntary prisoners of this prisoner of his own thoughts.

The King was a fine and strong figure. His imposing personality and his characteristic physiognomy are familiar even to the new generation, who have only seen the popular pictures of him; but photographs never did justice to his expression of sceptical shrewdness. His eyes, as I have already said, were light brown; at the least opposition they assumed a fixed expression, and when it rested on my sisters and myself when we were in fault, the King's glance terrified us more than any reproaches or punishment.

The King's voice was deep and somewhat muffled in timbre, sometimes it grew nasal; when he was angry it became, like his eyes, as hard as a stone, but if he wished to please it became soft and emotional. People still speak of the manner in which he delivered his speech from the Throne after the death of Leopold I, and his touching opening words : " Gentlemen, Belgium, like myself, has lost a father."

When he was in a happy mood he became animated, although his humour, when he was pleased to show it, was always bitter and satirical—and he possessed it in abundance. I have never forgotten certain of his opinions touching his Ministers and contemporaries. Some of those who are still living would be very flattered to know them. Others would not!

The King paid little attention to me or my sisters; his fatherly caresses were rare and brief. We were always awed in his presence; he was ever to us more the King than the father.

With regard to his attitude towards the Queen, as far back as I can remember I always see him as the same self-centred and taciturn man in his relations with her.

He was constantly away from home, so we little ones were rarely with both our parents. I alone, on account of my age and the advantage which it gave me over my sisters, enjoyed a little family life with my father and my mother before the differences between them arose. But I cannot recall a single act of kindness or tenderness on his part towards my mother that I especially noticed in my youth.

I only know that at a certain epoch, when I was about eleven years old, the King, who like my mother adored flowers, never missed bringing her some every week which he had gathered himself in the Royal gardens. He would arrive in my mother's apartment laden with his fragrant harvest and would say to her abruptly, " Here you are, my good wife."

Stephanie and I would at once begin to refill the vases —I especially, for I had been taught by the Queen to love and arrange flowers, those discreet companions of our thoughts, which bring into the home perfume, colour, caresses and rest, and which are verily the quintessence of earth and heaven!

One day at Laeken my father offered me a gardenia. I was simply stupefied. I was then about thirteen. I hoped for a long time for a repetition ot this paternal graciousness, but in vain !

This prince of genius, whose political conceptions and manner of conducting negotiations useful to Belgium won the admiration, if not of those to whom they were advantageous, of at least the high intelligences of other countries, was singularly thorough in small things. He clung to his ideas and his personal concerns in a most obstinate manner. I have seen him look into the management of the gardens at Laeken with the greatest attention to every detail.

Large, juicy peaches grew on the walls of the gardens, and the King was very proud of them. I had a passion for peaches, and one day I dared eat one which was hidden away among the leaves. And that year peaches were plentiful. But the following day the King discovered the theft—what a dramatic moment! At once suspected, I confessed my crime and I was promptly punished. I did not realize that the King counted his peaches !

This great realist had a realistic mind, and materialism carried him on to idealism. I will not allow myself for a moment to suppose that he did not believe in God, but certainly he had a different conception of the Creator from that of the Queen. She suffered greatly through this attitude of her husband, but he persisted in his way of thinking.

On Sundays he used to attend Mass; he considered it was an example which he owed to the Court and the people. Sometimes he escorted the Queen to Divine Service, taking with him " Squib," a tiny terrier of which the Queen was very fond and which the King always spoke of as one refers to a person. He called it " The Squib."

It was a sight to see the big man holding the tiny dog under his arm—the little animal too terrified to move. Thus, one supporting the other, they both heard Mass seated beside the Queen, who assuredly did not think this a very religious procedure. When Mass was over, the King, still carrying Squib, would cross the reception rooms until he reached the dining-room, when he would gravely deposit the little dog on the Queen's knee.

With regard to the King's policy, I only knew and understood that related to the Congo. I knew the alternate hopes and fears which passed through the mind of the author of this gigantic enterprise. It was the one topic of conversation around me, and it was always mentioned with bated breath; but the things which are spoken of in this way are, I think, those one hears of most.

I know that the Royal fortune and that of my aunt the Empress Charlotte, which was administered by the King, were employed at one time, not without some risk, in the acquisition and organization of the possessions that the Great Powers afterwards disputed with Belgium. Those were anxious days for the King. He manoeuvred cleverly between the Powers. History knows the value of his work; she realizes what a profound politician he was. Official Belgium does not remember, but the people have never forgotten. I have confidence in the soul of Belgium, the Belgium who has shown her greatness in the years 1914-1918. King Leopold II will one day receive the recognition he merits in the country which he enriched, and which he always wished to fortify against the dangers of war.

The private failings of the man only harmed himself and his family; his people never suffered by reason of them. They have even benefited by the immense wealth which it pleased the King to assign to his country, regardless of the justice of reserving that portion which belonged to his daughters, who were excluded by him from the Belgian family...

The King had long wished that our fortunes (those of my sisters and myself) should be reduced to the minimum of what he considered convenient to assign to us, that is to say, much less than our needs required, because, after the death of our brother Leopold, he only saw in us impediments to his own ambition and he was tortured by the fact that he had no male descendant...

Clementine came into the world; her birth was preceded by many vain hopes, but when the longed-for child arrived it was once more a girl!

The King was furious and thenceforth refused to have anything to do with his admirable wife to whom God had refused a son. What a mystery of human tribulation!

As for the daughters born of the Royal union, they were merely accepted and tolerated, but the King's heart never softened towards them...

Princess Stephanie of Belgium

Princess Stephanie was the second daughter of King Leopold II and Queen Marie-Henriette. Born May 21, 1864, she spent a sad childhood at Laeken Castle. Like her sisters, she suffered severely from her parents' marital unhappiness and harsh educational methods. The later Princess Marie-José of Belgium recalled reading, as a little girl, Stephanie's youthful diaries. "She was a melancholy person....from childhood, she dreamed of a great love," Marie-José remembered (Regolo p. 21). Like her sisters (all in their different ways), Stephanie, starved of tenderness as a child, would, as an adult, stubbornly pursue love. Yet she did not win it before many vicissitudes and sorrows.

At 15, Stephanie was courted by Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria-Hungary. The Belgian Sovereigns were determined on this prestigious match, and urged their daughter to accept Rudolf's hand. In 1881, the couple were married in Vienna. Their marriage initially seemed happy, and, in 1883, they had a daughter, Elisabeth ("Erszi"). Stephanie was a conscientious Crown Princess, often fulfilling official duties for the (frequently absent) Empress Elisabeth.
Sadly, however, Rudolf and Stephanie drifted apart. The Princess' deep piety and conservative opinions placed her in opposition to the Prince's liberal notions. Rudolf also led a dissolute life; as a result of his infidelities, Stephanie is believed to have contracted venereal disease. In any case, she became infertile. Meanwhile, she also suffered from a difficult relationship with her hostile mother-in-law, Empress Elisabeth. In 1889, her marriage ended in the infamous Mayerling tragedy. According to the official version, Rudolf and his young mistress, Marie Vetsera, committed suicide in a doomed lovers' pact at the Mayerling hunting lodge; the later Empress Zita, however, asserted they were murdered by French or Austrian agents as a result of a political plot.

The scandal arising from the tragedy was deeply humiliating to Princess Stephanie, and isolated her further from the Austrian court. To escape the situation, she undertook extensive travels through Europe. She also worked on her memoirs and oversaw the compilation of a history of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy ( a project begun by Rudolf). The final volume was published in 1902.

In 1900, Stephanie re-married. The choice of her heart was a Hungarian nobleman, Count Elemér Lonyay. Her parents were furious. King Leopold refused to recognize a mere count as his son-in-law, and disinherited Stephanie, stripping her of her Belgian royal titles. After Queen Marie-Henriette's death in 1902, Stephanie and her older sister, Louise (also disgraced and disinherited), tried to sue their father in court, demanding a share of their mother's wealth, but in vain. Later, after King Leopold's death in 1909, the princesses would sue the Belgian state, unsuccesfully attempting to obtain part of their father's fortune.

During World War I, Stephanie entered the service of the Red Cross. After the return of peace, she lived an extravagant life. As a result of gambling debts and disastrous business ventures, she lost most of her money during the 1920's. More vicissitudes would follow; during World War II, Soviet troops invaded her property in Hungary. She and her husband took refuge in the Benedictine abbey of Pannonhalma. Here, on August 23, 1945, Stephanie died. Estranged from her daughter, she willed much of her remaining wealth, as well as her personal archives, to the abbey. Her memoirs were eventually published under the title I Should Have Been Empress.

A sad life, but apparently her second marriage was happy, I certainly hope so!

References:

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

Regolo, Luciano. La regina incompresa, tutto il racconto della vita di Maria José di Savoia. 2002.

Queen Louise-Marie in Historical Costumes

Louise-Marie of Orléans, first Queen of the Belgians, was famous for her piety and sobriety. Yet, she also had a lively side; she was a witty, keen observer and loved dancing and parties. During her reign, the balls of the court of Brussels were famous throughout Europe. Apparently, the Queen also enjoyed dressing up as historical characters. Here we see her as Joanna of Aragon, Elisabeth of Bourbon, Marie of Burgundy and Margaret of Austria.

Princess Louise-Marie of Belgium

The most tragic Belgian princess was undoubtedly Louise-Marie, eldest daughter of King Leopold II and Queen Marie-Henriette. She was born February 18, 1858, and named after her venerated grandmother, the first Queen of the Belgians, Louise-Marie of Orléans. Unfortunately, however, she did not inherit her grandmother's steady good character. A flighty and willful temperament, combined with grief and frustration, drove her to a debauched and unstable lifestyle that brought her misery, disgrace and ruin.

Like her sisters, Stephanie and Clementine, Louise suffered from an unhappy childhood, marked by her parents' matrimonial discord. The girls' upbringing was cold and harsh. Their father was a glacial, autocratic, distant figure; bitterly disappointed by the loss of his son and heir, he had little love to spare for his daughters. Their mother was naturally blithe and charming, but, suffering deeply from her husband's coldness and flagrant infidelity, became a much grimmer character. She imposed an iron discipline on her daughters, insisting on impeccable conduct and severely punishing any transgression. (Stephanie, in her memoirs, later recalled being forced to kneel for protracted periods of time on dried peas with bare knees, and being locked up in a dark room for hours or even days). The girls received an "English upbringing," sleeping on hard beds, taking cold baths and living in spartan rooms.

Queen Marie-Henriette, however, was, at least, a more loving parent than King Leopold. Sincerely concerned for her children's spiritual welfare, she tried (with varying success) to inculcate her profound (even if stern and rigid) piety in the young princesses. She told them stories of her happy youth in Hungary, and entertained them by playing Hungarian gypsy music. She gave them a glimpse of her glamorous official life- before leaving for a state occasion, she would sometimes visit the girls, clad in her finery, a fairy-tale vision of regal splendor that moved little Louise to tears.

At 17, Louise married her second cousin, Prince Philip of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. It was, typically for the period, a purely political match, traumatic from the start. Even the wedding night was a fiasco, as nobody had instructed the poor girl in her marital duties. Traumatized, she fled the bridal chamber, escaping to the Laeken greenhouses. Philip tried to make his bride relax with alcohol and erotic art and literature. Under his tutelage, the timid and naïve young girl was transformed into a glamorous and sophisticated woman of the world. The couple settled at the Viennese court and had two children, Leopold and Dorothea. Sadly, repeating her parents' mistakes, Louise was a cold and distant mother. Her marriage also proved deeply unhappy. Like her mother, Louise found herself married to an autocratic and promiscuous man. Lively and spirited (and, apparently, quite oblivious to morality and propriety), she rebelled by flirting with abandon and taking lovers.

In 1895, Louise became romantically involved with a Croatian officer, Count Geza Mattachich, ten years her junior. They began a passionate affair. Louise wanted to divorce Philip and live freely with Geza. Her parents were horrified by the public scandal. The cynical King Leopold advised her to keep her affairs discreet, while the pious Queen Marie-Henriette desperately tried to remind her of her duties to God and family. It was all in vain. Louise was determined to live openly with her lover, and eloped with him to Nice. Prince Philip pursued the pair and challenged Mattachich to a duel, but was wounded and returned home in disgrace.

Meanwhile, Louise's extravagant expenses had landed her hopelessly in debt. Her estranged family refused to help. Desperate for money, she was forced to publicly sell all her belongings. Even so, she was short of funds and resorted to buying jewelry on credit and then selling it immediately at half price for cash. She even forged her sister Stephanie's signature on promissory notes when the shops refused to accept her own. Nevertheless, she could not satisfy her creditors, who finally burst into her home and seized everything they could find.

The lovers decided to return to Austria in secret. They took refuge in Mattachich's step-father's castle in the Croatian mountains. The authorities, however, discovered their whereabouts and plotted to arrest the pair. Mattachich was ordered to Zagreb for a medical check-up, apprehended upon his arrival, and, without any evidence, sentenced to six years' imprisonment for embezzlement. To halt her escapades, Louise was forced into a lunatic asylum. During her confinement, she was largely ignored by her family. Stephanie maintained secret communication with her sister, and her aunt, the Countess of Flanders (mother of King Albert I) tried to help her, but her other relatives abandoned Louise to her fate.

After four years in jail, Mattachich was rehabilitated and released. He traveled to Linderhof, Saxony, where Louise was confined, and engineered her escape. Together, the lovers fled to Paris. Utterly destitute, they lived in an attic. Emperor Franz Josef tried to persuade King Leopold to pay his daughter's debts, but he coldly replied: "My daughter is dead." After Queen Marie-Henriette's death, in 1902, the miserly King denied his daughters their share of their mother's inheritance. Louise and Stephanie sued their father in court, demanding half his capital, but lost the case. The princesses, however, had gained popular sympathy, and, to appease the violent criticism of his financial dealings, Leopold offered Louise a country estate and an annuity of 50,000 francs if she would leave her lover. She obstinately refused.

In 1907, a court in Gotha finally granted Philip and Louise a divorce. The lovers continued to struggle with financial problems. When King Leopold died in 1909, he left most of his fortune to his last mistress (whom he had, eventually, married morganatically), Madame Vaughan, and to Belgium (via a new foundation, the "Royal Trust.") The princesses were denied their share, and Louise and Stephanie tried to contest the settlement by suing the Belgian state. Again, they lost in court, but, in 1913, the government assigned them a sum of 6 million francs. The outbreak of World War I, however, delayed the payment of the money. During the war, Louise and Geza suffered many vicissitudes, living first in Germany and later in Hungary.

After the return of peace, the pair moved back to Paris. Louise wrote her memoirs, attempting to clear her name. In 1923, Geza died. On March 1, 1924, Louise passed away. Defiant to the end, she clasped a picture of Geza to her heart as she lay dying. Shortly before, she had written: "I knew much misery, humiliation, and physical pain, but I also knew love, and whatever adversities I faced, when you had real love in your life you can say you truly lived."

May God have mercy on her. Louise's wild life reminds us that truth is stranger than fiction!

References:

Princess Louise of Belgium: "Eve after the Fall of Man," published at The Royal Articles.

Louise, Princess of Belgium, My Own Affairs, translated by Maude M.C. Ffoulkes: 1921

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

Joyeuse Entrée, Liège, 1935

In 1935, King Leopold III and Queen Astrid of the Belgians made their second round of Joyeuses Entrées into the different Belgian cities. On July 7, they visited Liège. Astrid wore a beautiful, pale, shimmering dress and was her usual radiant self. It turned out to be a very happy occasion, although it began as a difficult moment...these were troubled times, darkened by political turmoil, economic crisis and high unemployment rates. The crowds were initially grim and gloomy, but Astrid's winsome spontaneity relaxed the atmosphere and cheered everyone's spirits.

In her memoirs, Astrid mon amie, the Queen's best friend, Anna Sparre, remembered the day. As the royal party were settling into the car, and preparing to set off for Liège, Astrid, acting on a sudden inspiration, arrived with her youngest son, little Prince Albert, (titled "Prince of Liège"), in her arms. Leopold was worried about bringing the baby along, but Astrid smilingly insisted: "Yes, we're taking him...Liège is his city." Leopold yielded, and the car took off.

On the balcony, Astrid proudly lifted up the little prince. Wild enthusiasm instantly swept through the people of Liège. Cries rang out: "Long live Albert! Long live Belgium! Long live the King! Long live the Queen!"

Sadly, she would not live long. The very next month, this lovely young Queen's life would end tragically. Yet, the royal couple's Joyeuse Entrée is certainly a memory to cherish.

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.

Favorite Royal Women?

Queens, consorts, princesses, heroines... history is full of fascinating royal women. Who are your favorites and why?

Golden Wedding of King Albert II & Queen Paola

Today, King Albert II and Queen Paola of the Belgians celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary, making them the longest married Belgian royal couple. On July 2, 1959, Prince Albert of Belgium, second son of King Leopold III and Queen Astrid of the Belgians, married Donna Paola Ruffo di Calabria, daughter of Prince Fulco Ruffo di Calabria, a First World War flying ace, and Countess Luisa Gazelli. In 1993, upon the death of Prince Albert's childless older brother, King Baudouin I, Albert and Paola succeeded to the Belgian throne. Their marriage has known painful and tragic times, but today they are a devoted couple. Congratulations to the King and Queen on this happy occasion!

A video clip of the wedding of Prince Albert and Princess Paola.

More images of the royal couple.

Political Testament: Part IX

The last section of the Political Testament of King Leopold III stressed his concern to maintain Belgium's independence and defend her interests against possible encroachments by any other power. The background was that the Belgian government-in-exile, without the King's approval, had signed accords with the Allies (for instance, they sold Congolese uranium, at a low price, to the USA, for use in the atomic bombs that later destroyed Hiroshima). Leopold feared that the agreements would compromise Belgium's essential interests, and contended that treaties without the King's signature lacked validity.

En ce qui concerne le statut international, j'exige, au nom de la Constitution, que la Belgique soit rétablie dans son indépendance intégrale, et qu'elle n'accepte d'engagement ou d'accord, de quelque nature que ce soit, avec d'autres Etats, qu'en pleine souveraineté et moyennant les contreparties nécessaires.

J'entends aussi qu'il ne soit porté aucune atteinte aux liens qui unissent la colonie à la métropole.

Je rappelle au surplus qu'aux termes de la Constitution un traité n'a de valeur que s'il est revêtu de la signature du Roi.

In what concerns our international status, I insist, in the name of the Constitution, that Belgium be re-established in her full independence, and that she accept no engagement or accord, of any kind whatsoever, with other states, except in full sovereignty, and while obtaining the necessary return.

I also intend that there should be no attack on the bonds uniting the colony to the mother country.

In addition, according to the terms of the Constitution, a treaty has no value unless it bears the King's signature.