Читать книгу The Uncrowned King - Baroness Emmuska Orczy - Страница 6
ОглавлениеI
The years rolled on. Louis XVII, King of France, spent them in obscurity within the peaceful walls of the monastery at Gmünd.
For reasons which are not all to their credit, his relatives, including his only sister, chose to ignore his existence. In spite of proofs—some of them absolutely irrefutable—they professed disbelief in the boy’s escape from prison, and openly accepted the revolutionary government’s account of his death and burial. In point of fact, they classed the legitimate head of their house with the numerous impostors who at this time sprang up like mushrooms, all claiming to be the one and only Dauphin, son of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, escaped from the Temple prison. This was a deliberate as well as a monstrous act of injustice, for the Bourbon family knew well enough that the real Louis XVII was alive, but they put their attitude down to political necessity, and to the question of physical fitness. Undoubtedly the maltreatment which the young King had suffered as a child and the many horrors which he had witnessed did impair his health; those who knew him best went so far as to say that his mind was slightly affected. Be that as it may, Louis XVII himself made no move to establish his claim to the throne, even though he had a number of faithful adherents and many friends who worked ceaselessly on his behalf. His two uncles were successively crowned Kings of France as Louis XVIII and Charles X respectively. The first died childless; the eldest son of the other was also childless and the second was murdered. France for the best part of the nineteenth century was in a perpetual state of political turmoil. One revolution followed another; one form of government after another was set up and swept away. Charles X, the last of the Bourbon kings, was driven into exile. Still the family clung to its original policy and continued to ignore its legitimate head, in spite of the fact that his sister, the Duchesse d’Angoulême, made a solemn declaration on her death-bed that she had known all along that her brother was alive. Perhaps it was impossible after the lapse of time to go back on that policy. Too many lies had been told in the past, too much injustice perpetrated. To confess to these would have brought about humiliation and discredit. And so Charles X, going into exile, abdicated in his own name and that of his eldest son in favour of his grandson, the Duc de Bordeaux, and he it was whom the royalist party, and what was left of the Bourbon family, acknowledged as their legitimate King Henri V by the grace of God, and secretly hoped and prayed for the death of the recluse of Gmünd, their one and only rightful King.
II
Close on forty years had gone by since the Prior of the Dominican order at Gmünd had laid the rightful King of France on the altar steps of the monastery church, while the monks sang a Te Deum to Almighty God. Forty years, during which many sanguine expectations led to bitter disappointment and many fervent hopes ended in frustration. True, there were some loyal hearts who never lost faith in the ultimate triumph of the cause, and men like Cardinal Beneventy continued to toil in that cause, for they believed in its righteousness as they did in that of their religion. He it was who, after his enthronement as Archbishop of Esztergom and Primate of Hungary, brought pressure to bear on the Emperor of Austria and on the Pope on behalf of the claims of Louis XVII, both from the political and the financial point of view.
But time went on. Louis XVII passed from youth to middle age. When scarcely fifty he seemed an old, old man, delicate in health, dispirited and disillusioned: repudiated by his nearest kin, with an ever-diminishing number of adherents, overshadowed by impostors, he appeared content to live his life in solitude and peace, cared for by the monks. He had a serious illness about this time and was tended through it by a highly skilled nurse, the sister of one of the probationers. This lady who was destined to play such an important part in the subsequent history of the Bourbons was Spanish by birth. She was the widow of an English army officer named Bertrand and had one child, a baby boy, named Cyril, whom she brought with her to Gmünd. She had learned the art of sick-nursing in England, and it was generally conceded that her skill and devotion saved the life of the illustrious patient on that occasion.
III
Cardinal Beneventy made note of all these events in his diary and among the entries relating to this particular period I found two which are extraordinarily interesting, because they reaffirm the truth and authenticity of the subsequent drama. In one of these notes he says:
“Lady Bertrand has certainly an excellent influence over His Majesty’s health and spirits. He seems much brighter: more cheerful. He sleeps better and enjoys the food which this devoted lady prepares for him with her own beautiful hands. I thank God for her advent amongst us.”
Lady Bertrand! She was the widow of the English army officer. The sister of one of the probationers at Gmünd! She was the trained nurse and devoted lady who came to take charge of the august sufferer and helped him to regain his health and spirits!
The second entry is more remarkable still. It is dated nine months after the other. As a matter of fact, it is the keystone on which rests the whole edifice of this amazing chronicle. To all appearances it is the rough draft of what was evidently a circular letter which His Eminence addressed to various noblemen and gentlemen in France, Austria and Italy, who were affirmed Legitimists. It runs thus:
“My dear Friend
This is to apprise you that His Majesty Louis XVII by the grace of God King of France and of Navarre has this day contracted holy matrimony with Inez di Gama, widow of Sir Mark Bertrand, late Captain of Artillery in the English Army. I had the privilege of pronouncing God’s blessing upon this union on Thursday last the 17th of May in the Priory Church of Gmünd. His Majesty deigned to sign the register with his own hand.
“I am my dear friend
“Your brother in God
“Louis Beneventy, Archbishop.
“Gmünd, May 21st, 1833.”
IV
For some years after this (he did not receive the Cardinal’s hat till much later) Archbishop Beneventy’s entries in his diary and records of events connected with the fortunes of Louis XVII are very scrappy. There are many references to the activities of the widowed Duchesse de Berry on behalf of her son the Duc de Bordeaux, whom one section of royalists looked upon as their only legitimate King, and His Eminence’s mordant wit does not spare that adventurous and unfortunate lady; indeed, he seems to have derived a certain grim satisfaction from her repeated failures in her son’s cause.
Only here and there could I find a few notes concerning Louis XVII and his family—not many, but they are important.
“A son has been born to His Majesty the King of France. God be praised.”
“I had the joy of holding Monsieur le Dauphin at the baptismal font. He has been given the names of Louis, Antoine, Marie, Charles, Aimé. Tears came to my eyes when they rested on the future King of France.”
“His Majesty is in failing health. The devotion of the Queen Consort to him is marvellous to behold.”
“Monsieur le Dauphin has been sick with measles and is making a slow recovery. Alas! he has inherited His Majesty’s weak physique. Outwardly he is the image of his mother, but has nothing of her strength of character or of her ambition. Sometimes I wish he was more like his half-brother. Young Bertrand is a fascinating boy. He too is the very image of his mother, but in character as well as in looks. I am sorry for the child as His Majesty detests him, and even his mother seems to have little love for him.”
This is the first reference I found in His Eminence’s papers to this Cyril Bertrand, and I was left to guess who he was. Later on, however, the Cardinal speaks of him again.
“Young Bertrand shows that he has English blood in his veins, for he is a very fine horse-man, and an athlete. He seems very fond of Monsieur le Dauphin, and does his best to brighten his life for him and to infuse in His Royal Highness a love of outdoor games. Monsieur le Dauphin, I am sorry to say, does not respond very readily to his half-brother’s affection. He thinks him rough and rude. The boys are extraordinarily alike, both being so like their mother. But in character they are very different. Young Bertrand is only two years older than Monsieur but is much broader in build and much stronger.”
“His Majesty’s health has become very precarious. He has had a serious hæmorrhage. The Queen Consort has sent to Vienna for Professor Scanzoni, the greatest authority on lung trouble.”
“Young Bertrand has developed a rare talent for painting. I do my best to encourage it.”
“Have suggested to His Majesty that young Bertrand be sent to Vienna to study painting under Piloty. But the Queen Consort opposed this strenuously, and His Majesty said some very bitter things about the lad. Strange how the unfortunate boy is disliked by the royal family. I must say I like him. He has some very lovable qualities, though I quite see that his English brusqueness and arrogance must often jar on His Majesty’s sensitiveness.”
“Professor Scanzoni has diagnosed lung trouble in His Majesty. He declares there is no immediate danger to that precious life.”
“Bertrand has run away from home. No one knows what has become of him.”
“His Majesty’s illness has taken a turn for the worse. Special prayers are daily offered up for him in every Catholic church throughout France and Austria.”
The final entry in this set of diaries is dated the 15th of February, 1849.
“The King is dead. Long live the King.”
Louis XVII was dead. To every diehard royalist, his son was now Louis XIX, King of France.
Strangely enough after that momentous entry, there is a gap of eleven years during which His Eminence seems to have lost touch with the head of the royal family of Bourbon. At any rate, during those eleven years there is not a single reference to the King of France or to the Queen Mother in any of his notes, letters and diaries. There was nothing that gave me the slightest clue as to what happened after the death of Louis XVII, what became of his widow, or where His Majesty Louis XIX spent those intervening years. Of “young Bertrand” too, not another word.
For many days I was left wondering whether my romantic story would have to come to an inconclusive end. Then suddenly, when I had almost despaired of disentangling the threads of this “strange and eventful history,” I came across the loose notes dated 1860, which gave me all the data I could possibly wish for.
And that is how the rest of the story came to be written.
