Chapter VIII

Accession of Francis II and Maria Sophia

Aside from the comparatively small circle at Bari, few of her subjects had ever seen the new Queen, while Francis himself was almost as little known to the people. A few days after their accession, the youthful sovereigns held a levee at the royal palace in Naples. The King in his hussar uniform, and the Queen in her crown and ermine robes, stood under a canopy in the centre of the great hall, while all the high officials, nobles, and dignitaries of the court and kingdom stepped forward to kiss the hands of Their Majesties. As the gorgeously attired procession wound its way past the throne, the sudden appearance of a band of poets striding along in their long black cloaks and broad-brimmed hats formed such a startling contrast to the rest of the glittering throng that Maria Sophia burst into an irrepressible peal of laughter which soon spread to all about her.

Freed at last from the dreadful oppression that had weighed her down as Crown Princess, she quickly recovered her exuberance of spirits, which found expression in various ways. The relations between her and her husband also became much more free and natural after their accession to the throne. Francis had begun, soon after the wedding, to be in love with his wife, although he did not show it. The long system of repression to which he had become accustomed had inflicted permanent injuries on his sensitive nature; but Maria Sophia’s personal charm was so great and her gayety so spontaneous that it was impossible for him to escape her fascination. Under his awkward manner, however, she did not perceive his dawning love for her, while he felt strange in the world of lovers and was unable to express his feelings, except by the eagerness with which he fulfilled her slightest wish. Nor did Maria Sophia hesitate to use her power. Once her own mistress, she quickly cast off the yoke laid upon her by the Queen at Bari and Caserta, and gave unmistakable proof that she, too, had a strong will.

At table she would beg permission to have her favorite dog, Lyonne, in the room. The King always consented; and the huge Newfoundland with her four pups would come tearing in and enjoy themselves during the rest of the meal, leaping madly about the table, and sometimes even upon it, to the indignation of the court and their mistress’s intense delight. Photography had recently come into fashion, and she had herself taken in every possible position and costume, greatly to the disgust of her mother-in-law, who objected strongly to her continual changes of costume and her frequent riding excursions. But the time was past when Maria Sophia allowed herself to be dictated to. Like a young Amazon she dashed about the streets of Naples, exciting universal admiration and amazement at her daring horsemanship.

As Crown Prince, Francis the Second had not been unpopular with the people. His mother had been almost worshipped; and the Neapolitans pitied the sickly boy whose life, even, so it was said, had been attempted by his stepmother. But he was utterly lacking in the qualities necessary for a sovereign. It needed a clear head and a firm hand to guide the ship of state safely through those stormy seas. His judgment was sound enough; but he was good-natured to the point of weakness, and superstitious to an almost fanatical degree. He never let a day pass without hearing mass, and went regularly to confession. One of his favorite occupations was to hold long religious conversations with Father Borelli and other priests who happened to be at court. He talked much of his dead mother, before whose portrait he would kneel for hours in prayer, and he would frequently clasp his head in his hands as if in distress, crying, “Ah, how heavy this crown is!”

One day, soon after his accession, while holding a conference with his minister of finance, Raymondo del Liguoro, the table at which they sat moved slightly, and the minister turned to see what had caused it.

“It was I who shook the table,” said the King. “I had a sudden fit of trembling. That is a bad sign. It means that I shall die soon.”

Liguoro adjured His Majesty to banish such thoughts, as his life was not his own, but belonged to the people over whom he ruled. “I do not value either my life or my kingdom very highly,” replied Francis. “I always think of what is written, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.’”

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The dowager Queen was a truly proverbial stepmother. She had never been able to reconcile herself to having her stepson inherit the united kingdoms while her own sons had nothing; even during her husband’s lifetime she had attempted to secure the succession of her eldest boy to the throne of Sicily. But King Ferdinand would not listen to this. On his death-bed he had extracted a solemn oath from each member of his family to support the rightful heir, and after his death the widowed Queen had flung herself at her stepson’s feet and promised him her allegiance. That she broke this vow has never been historically verified, the only proofs having been generously destroyed by King Francis himself. It happened in this way. Minister Filangieri had long suspected Maria Theresa of being at the head of a conspiracy to depose the young sovereign and place her son, the Count of Trani, on the throne, and at last succeeded in obtaining certain proof of this. He carried the documents at once to the King; but Francis refused to look at them. Without a glance he flung them into the fire, saying, “She was my father’s wife!”

Maria Theresa afterward indignantly denied this, declaring the whole affair a plot to sow discord between her and the King; but, be that as it may, there is no doubt that she was greatly to blame for Francis’s lack of education and training in early youth and childhood. She had brought him up as if he had been a girl, destined to live in retirement, rather than as a man who had a lofty mission to fulfil, emphasizing his natural awkwardness and timidity, and choosing tutors totally unfitted to prepare his mind for the demands of the times and his future position. His whole nature had been cowed and stunted in order that he might be kept subservient to her will.

She had also attempted these tactics with Maria Sophia, but with less success. The Bavarian Princess was far too self-reliant to submit to any such yoke. She was quite as strong-willed as her mother-in-law, besides being far wiser and cleverer. She also had her own political views, which were directly opposed to those of the dowager Queen. The latter was full of the old ideas of absolutism and had no sympathy with the new spirit of liberty, while Maria Sophia openly proclaimed her liberal opinions and urged the King to grant the country more freedom.

History shows that many women have filled the highest and most important positions with credit and honor. England has her Elizabeth, Russia her Catherine, Austria and Hungary their Maria Theresa, Scandinavia its Margareta. Maria Sophia of Naples is yet another example of feminine ability and judgment in political affairs. King Francis had no abler counsellor than his own wife, and had he followed her advice the issue of events might have been very different. But he was blinded by prejudice, by family tradition, by his education, and by court intrigues. As a child he had witnessed the bloody riots in Naples and been taught to regard such outbreaks as criminal attacks on a divinely instituted form of government. Even before his illness, Ferdinand had taken pains to instill his own principles into his son, and almost with his last breath had urged him never to allow himself to be carried away by the stream of liberalism that threatened to overflow Italy. Much as Francis loved and admired his young wife, therefore, he found it impossible to break away from the despotic ideas in which he had been steeped from his infancy, and not until it was too late did he realize the wisdom of her advice.