by Susan Nagel
The American Franklin Darlington recalled that, while traveling with Louis’s spies from Kehl on the Rhine across a wooden bridge of boats, he saw a sign on entering Strasbourg that read ‘Ici Commence le Pays de la Liberté’ (‘Here begins the Land of Freedom’) and another that read ‘République Française, Une et Indivisible’ (‘The Republic of France, One and Indivisible’). He, who had accompanied Princess Charlotte de Rohan-Rochefort to meet her doomed lover, sadly noted the irony of the placards that greeted him upon his return to France.
On July 30, 1804, Louis and the Duc d’Angoulême left Marie-Thérèse behind in Warsaw while they traveled to Sweden to convene with all of the French Bourbon Princes at Kalmar Castle in Sweden. Before they left Vassilovitch House, there was an attempt made to poison the three of them that was intercepted by the cook. Marie-Thérèse was understandably anxious as her uncle and husband set out on their journey. She and Louis-Antoine had developed a deep attachment and respect for each other and she wrote to her uncle requesting that he allow her husband to return to her for three days while they waited for news of the other Bourbons. He responded that she was sweet to ask his permission and, as usual, she had charmed him. Louis, who had been a stern critic of Marie Antoinette, was greatly impressed by her daughter, declaring her ‘French, as I am’ – the greatest compliment he would pay anyone, and a comment that was intended to disavow her Habsburg roots. From Sweden he wrote to her of the complications that had arisen surrounding the intended reunion of Bourbon Princes, relying once more on Marie-Thérèse’s sage counsel and discretion.
Well, now I must confide a secret … It is for you alone … there is not one person in the world to which I have given the slightest indication. Yesterday, I received news of my brother. The British government … whatever motive … formally opposes the departure of my brother and the princes. This was the point of the reunion. I do not know whether to head for Riga or Liebgau, because I do not yet know from which of these two ports I will embark. There, only, I will learn if my relatives are coming.
As England had once again severed diplomatic relations with France and the Treaty of Amiens had been broken, Parliament decided that it would now grant a passport to the Comte d’Artois, but only to him, to join his brother and nephew in Kalmar. D’Artois had not seen his brother in over fifteen years. Once assembled, the first, second and third in line to the throne of France issued a joint protest against Napoleon’s actions. King Gustavus IV Adolphus of Sweden had intended to meet the Bourbon brothers in Kalmar to give his support; however, at the last minute he decided to send his emissary and longtime Bourbon ally, Comte Fersen, in his place. While in Sweden, Louis learned that the King of Prussia, terrified of antagonizing Napoleon, had issued his own proclamation ordering the Bourbons to leave Warsaw. Louis petitioned both Czar Alexander and the King of Sweden for asylum: the Czar did not respond; Gustavus Adolphus offered asylum but Louis decided to remain on the continent, and wait.
Napoleon continued to violate Prussian treaty rights, but the King of Prussia was powerless to respond. Queen Louise of Prussia took matters into her own hands. She circumvented her husband and once again, displaying great moral courage, came to the rescue of her friend, Marie-Thérèse. As the Duchesse d’Angoulême prepared to leave Warsaw, Queen Louise wrote to the Czar and to ‘Franz I of Austria’, begging them to take a stand against Napoleon. This was the beginning of what would, one year later, result in the Potsdam Treaty, an alliance that joined Prussia with Russia and Austria against France. For her efforts, Napoleon would call Louise ‘my beautiful enemy’; but, to Marie-Thérèse, whose mother had been like an aunt to the Queen when she was a girl, Louise remained a steadfast friend. Louise of Prussia had also managed to soften the heart of the Czar and in the autumn of 1804 he offered the French royal family refuge once again in Mitau. Although Louis gratefully accepted the offer from the Czar, he and his brother made a pact that they would reunite in England. Before the brothers said goodbye to each other, Louis asked d’Artois to negotiate with George III and the British government toward that end.
In Mitau, the French royal family would not, as they had in 1799–1801, live in the castle of the Dukes of Courland. Instead they would reside in a smaller house with a much smaller pension. King Charles IV of Spain had ceased his payments to Louis, and the Holy Roman Emperor only paid irregularly. Without these allowances it was impossible for Louis to pay for the upkeep of a household. With great sadness, Louis instructed Hüe to cut costs with absolute severity and tell many of their friends that they would have to strike out on their own. Louis, who made it clear to his wife that he could no longer support two households, summoned Marie Joséphine to join him in Mitau.
King Louis XVIII and his nephew traveled back to mainland Europe through a violent storm. Once they disembarked at Riga, the Duc d’Angoulême, who had been ill most of the time while on board, asked his uncle for permission to visit his wife before the men headed off to Russia. Louis, forbidden to enter Warsaw, remained near the coast while his nephew headed south to see Marie-Thérèse. At the beginning of December, the couple said their farewells and d’Angoulême rejoined his uncle for Mitau. In Paris, on December 2, using the Holy Ampulla containing the chrism that had anointed the Kings of France for over a millennium, Napoleon crowned himself ‘Hereditary Emperor of the French’. Marie-Thérèse, like all royalists, was outraged. She felt that Napoleon’s action was the defilement of all of her ancestors, but it also strengthened her sense of purpose. After the New Year, with the Abbé Edgeworth and a handful of courtiers to accompany her, Marie-Thérèse set out on the perilous journey in the middle of the Russian winter to join her uncle and husband in Mitau. It was the same journey in reverse that she had taken three years ago. As she told doubters, she was intent on continuing the fight.
The journey had been arduous once again, and Marie-Thérèse arrived at Mitau in April 1805. On the 29th she wrote to Czar Alexander’s mother, Sophie Dorothea of Württemberg (called Maria Fedorovna by the Russians) ‘Madame, my sister and cousin … The moment when, thanks to the friendship of your august son, I am at last reunited with my husband, with my uncle, is that which I chose to thank Your Imperial Majesty.’ Their household now included the King, Queen, the Duc d’Angoulême, his Duchess and a skeleton staff. In the summer of 1805, the court in Mitau was once again in mourning, this time for the death of Marie-Thérèse’s mother-in-law, Marie-Thérèse de Savoie, the Comtesse d’Artois, who had been living in Germany, far away from her own husband and his mistress.
In Paris, the remains of Marie Antoinette and King Louis XVI had been found, placed together and marked. Pauline de Tourzel, the adored friend of both Marie-Thérèse and Louis Charles, had visited the Madeleine cemetery (near the site of the guillotine on the recently named Place de la Concorde) and plucked a flower from the graveside. In Mitau, Marie-Thérèse received a long letter from Pauline and with it the flower. Marie-Thérèse was unutterably grateful and wrote that she would never forget Pauline’s act of kindness.
Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte of France was now truly European. She had lived in Vienna, Russia, and Poland. She learned that her particular fate more than most was closely tied to whichever way the political winds blew. One day, a king would offer them a castle and allowance. The next day that same king might be deposed or in exile himself. Departures would be sudden and great adaptability was required. For much of the time, her husband went off to join some regiment for the cause of the Bourbons and he would find her in a new home upon his return. Their marriage was one of friendship, tenderness and mutual respect, but it was certainly not one of passion.
From the time of her daring flight from the Temple Prison aged seventeen, like the biblical Esther, Marie-Thérèse had followed her adopted parent. She had sacrificed her own personal needs for the principle of divine right. She saw it as a statement to the world that the King of France was sovereign over all of his subjects, and although her devotion to that principle made her a living symbol of reacti
onary politics, and thus dangerous to many, it was her firm stance that legitimized Louis XVIII, and he knew it. When she was a little girl, she had longed to be the most significant person in her father’s heart, and for a while she, typically, resented her own mother. Now, as the adopted daughter of the new King in exile, her uncle, she had achieved that position, at the center of the heart of the King of France. They were father and daughter, political allies as well as conspirators, and for all intents and purposes, there were three in her marriage. And she was still childless.
Rumors abounded that her husband was homosexual; others claimed he had mistresses. Some explained his inability to father a child was due to a medical condition. There was a dark story that had circulated, which Louise de Condé had written of to her father, that Marie-Thérèse had been drugged in prison and that these poisons had made her sterile. Louise said the Temple Prison guards had bragged about it and claimed that they had once and for all put an end to the Bourbons. Most put these stories down to mere braggadocio; others remained convinced they were true.
Marie-Thérèse longed for a child. She also longed for an end to the steady stream of petitioners claiming to be her beloved little brother, Louis Charles. Some were so persuasive, having knowledge of the details of life at Versailles, that even women who had lived at court were convinced and they would beg Marie-Thérèse to see ‘her brother’. Although she desperately missed her brother, and longed to believe he was still alive, she knew that there would be dire political consequences if she agreed to meet with any of them. Their stories, printed in newspapers around the world, created a fever of uncertainty and speculation, all of which continued to take a tremendous psychological toll on Marie-Thérèse. She suffered mental anguish in private; but, in public, she stayed steadfast to her uncle’s purpose.
Marie-Thérèse remained in Mitau, turning twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight as events unfurled in Europe that changed the continent’s geography with breakneck speed. In 1805, Archduke Karl had become the Holy Roman Empire’s Minister of War and, although he led his troops valiantly, it was futile. Napoleon occupied Vienna, was crowned King of Italy and bludgeoned the armies of both Russia and Austria at Austerlitz. In 1806, Napoleon placed his brothers Joseph and Louis on the thrones of Naples and Holland respectively. On August 6, 1806, after losing some Germanic states to the newly formed Confederation of the Rhine, Emperor Franz was forced to abdicate his imperial throne, ending the thousand-year-old Holy Roman Empire. In the autumn of 1806, Napoleon and his Marshals Ney, Augereau, Soult, Murat and Bernadotte humiliated Prussia with their successful campaigns through Jena, whose intellectuals had engendered the early phase of German Romanticism. After the decimation of Jena, Napoleon began his march toward Eastern Prussia and the Russian frontier. Jena, Coburg and Meiningen were behind him.
In January 1807, in Thuringia, Germany, the Ducal Commissioner, Senator J. C. Andrae, arrived at the Englischer Hof hotel in the small town of Hildburghausen, not far from Jena, to tell its owner that important visitors would shortly be arriving. The proprietor, Frau Weber, inferred that the Senator had been sent by no less than Charlotte, Duchess of Hildburghausen, sister of Queen Louise of Prussia. Frau Weber was instructed to observe great secrecy and meet unusual demands. The visitors would arrive at midnight on February 7. They were to have their own manservant and would not require staff employed by the inn. Frau Weber was ordered to prepare the second floor, have all rooms as well as the staircase completely illuminated, though neither she nor any of her staff were to be present to greet their guests. Andrae, with great firmness, insisted that the guests be accorded privacy. Frau Weber asked how long they intended to stay, but she obtained no fixed date. She would be apprized weekly.
At midnight on February 7, as scheduled, an elegant coach arrived at the Englischer Hof. Inside sat a man in livery, a middle-aged, seemingly aristocratic man, and a woman in her twenties. They presented no passports, which suggested to the inn’s owner that their visit had been arranged by the ducal court. Sometimes during the day, the man would emerge from the inn with the younger lady on his arm. She was always heavily veiled. When they went driving in their coach, the curtains on their windows were always drawn. The local citizenry was intrigued. A few letters addressed to ‘Vavel de Versay’ were delivered to the inn, but an even larger quantity were made out to ‘Philip Scharre’, their manservant. As gossip spread, townspeople compared notes. They had heard of a similarly described mysterious couple who had fled Ingelfingen four years earlier. Their descriptions tallied, and it was determined that these visitors were the very same wanderers now residing in the Englischer Hof.
People began to stroll by to try to catch a glimpse of the mysteriously veiled woman. Attached to the inn was a butcher’s shop, and on a few occasions, the middle-aged traveler was alarmed to see a hotel servant and the butcher, with blood on his hands, staring up at the second-floor windows. In August, the man and his young companion left that hotel, moved to another in the town called the Herzogliches Gästehaus, and after a while moved again, with the assistance of Commissioner Andrae, to another guesthouse called ‘Radefeld House’. Frau Radefeld, however, claimed that she would not allow anyone in her house whose identity she did not know, at which point Frau Radefeld was summoned to a meeting with Duchess Charlotte of Hildburghausen. When the couple’s landlady emerged from her meeting with the Duchess, she had been persuaded of the necessity of keeping the couple’s identity a secret.
Frau Radefeld was instructed that there must be no noise at Radefeld House. The mysterious visitors adopted a mundane routine while there. Vavel de Versay accompanied his young companion on walks. She never removed her veil. When they went driving in their coach, the curtains were always drawn. They employed a cook, a local woman, Johanna Weber, who was forbidden to enter any of the quarters except for the kitchen, and each night, instead of living at Radefeld, the cook went home. From her conversations with the man of the couple, Frau Radefeld determined that he was a cultured man but that his German was not that of a native-born. Once, she asked a question about the young woman and the man simply ignored her. She was never allowed to speak with the young lady, and she realized that she was not even permitted to mention the young woman’s existence. In order to comply with the directives of the Duchess of Hildburghausen, Frau Radefeld housed her own sons, during their vacation from school, in other accommodation so that they would not disturb the young woman. Sometimes, Frau Radefeld would hear the man’s voice through the walls in the house, and she understood that he was not speaking in German. Sometimes, late in the evening, she would also hear another sound through the walls: the young woman sobbing.
The casualties inflicted by Napoleon’s armies in Prussia and on the Russian front were staggering and many of the injured and infirm soldiers arrived daily in Mitau. Marie-Thérèse and the Abbé Edgeworth ministered to the unfortunate men. As a result of his service, Edgeworth contracted typhoid. Despite warnings from her uncle and husband that she could catch the disease, Marie-Thérèse nursed the priest who had been with her father during his last hours until she was exhausted. She insisted that she had no concern for her own health, but that she owed the Abbe a great debt. Abbé Edgeworth died with Marie-Thérèse by his side on May 22, 1807. Dorothea, the Duchess of Courland, who would later become the Duchess of Dino – and live in Paris with her great-uncle-by-marriage and lover, Talleyrand – wrote in her journal that everyone in Mitau social circles remarked that sadness made Marie-Thérèse even more beautiful, and that despite her own grief, she continued to visit friends and to be extremely considerate to all.
That spring, the Czar arrived in Mitau to discuss his own sad news with King Louis XVIII. He was on his way to Tilsit, he said, to meet with Napoleon, who had been victorious in Eylau and Friedland. As defeat for the Russian Empire seemed imminent, he was going to make concessions to the Emperor of the French. The Czar informed Louis that it was no longer safe to be a Bourbon anywhere on continental Europe and the King of Swed
en would give Louis and his family asylum. On July 7, 1807, the Czar of Russia signed the Peace of Tilsit; and, in August, King Louis XVIII and the Duc d’Angoulême, leaving their wives barely supported in Mitau, hurriedly boarded a frigate, the Troja, placed at their disposal by King Gustavus IV Adolphus, and crossed the seas to Stockholm. A storm lasted for days, forcing the Troja to dock much farther south in Karl-skrona. Marie-Thérèse was frantic to hear of their safe arrival and wrote to her uncle’s minister, Saint-Priest, begging for news. One small detail in this letter reveals an unusual level of emotional intimacy between husband and wife. Marie-Thérèse repeatedly refers to Louis-Antoine as ‘my husband’, instead of addressing him by the title ‘the Duc d’Angoulême’ or ‘the Prince’, as was the custom for members of the nobility. In their six years of marriage, the extraordinarily trying circumstances in which they had been forced to live as man and wife, together and apart, had, it seems, drawn them closer.
Although the King of Sweden was, as ever, very hospitable to his French guests, Louis and d’Artois were still determined to go to England, where they felt they could recruit powerful support for their cause. The Duc de Berry arrived at Kalmar, surprising his uncle and brother, and the three men together boarded a packet boat called the Troya for England. Although Louis had written to his ‘cousin’, George III, he had not received formal permission to reside in England. In fact, the King had sent officials up and down the east coast of England with orders to refuse the boat that contained the King of France. When the boat was about three miles off Great Yarmouth in East Anglia, British officials boarded the Troya and informed Louis, who had imagined himself in London, that his boat would be permitted to land with the proviso that he and his party head straightaway for Scotland where Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh had been made ready for their arrival. Louis angrily informed the English envoys that he would ask neither his wife nor the Duchesse d’Angoulême to live in Scotland. Fortuitously, the Marquis (later Duke) of Buckingham intervened and offered the ‘French colony’ residence at his ancestral home, Gosfield Hall, about forty-five miles northeast of London.