Long-Lost Brother
The elderly woman put down her needlework and gently rubbed her strained, burning eyes. She was cold and exhausted, yet she had no desire to seek the warm comfort of her bed, for if she were to fall sleep she would only be awakened by the annoying cough that had recently begun to plague her. Normally, a woman her age—she was two years past her seventieth birthday—tended to be concerned with her mortality. This particular old woman, however, had faced death before, and it no longer frightened her.
If any person had a life fraught with calamity and heartache, it was Marie-Thérèse Charlotte de France. Ironically, despite her many misfortunes, her life had a propitious start when she was born at the Palace of Versailles in 1778 to King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette. A fille de France, as the first-born child she had been given the title Madame Royale at birth.
The dauphine later acquired two brothers and a sister, but the older of the boys and the little girl both died at a young age, leaving Marie-Thérèse only one surviving sibling, Louis-Charles, dauphin of France. Alas, he, too, was eventually taken from her. The former princess rarely thought about her brother anymore, for memories of him pierced her heart with grief. He had been such a beautiful little boy, a precious young prince adored by his parents and sister alike.
To give her wrists and fingers relief from sewing, Marie-Thérèse picked up a book and attempted to read, but a severe coughing spell forced her to put it down again. It was just as well, she decided, since the sun was setting and shadows were gathering in the rooms of Schloss Frohsdorf, her Austrian home. The one-time queen consort of the non-proclaimed Louis XIX (albeit her brief reign lasted only twenty minutes) immediately ordered the fires lit. She did not like the night, for she often imagined that ghosts lurked in the dark corners of the castle rooms.
The old woman's long and often unhappy life was filled with many ghosts from her past. The most recognizable were those of her late father and mother, the tragic king and queen of France who lost their heads on the guillotine during the French Revolution. There were also the revenants of her husband Louis-Antoine, her father-in-law Charles X, her brother Louis Joseph Xavier Francois and her baby sister Sophie Hélène Béatrix. Of those Marie-Thérèse had loved and lost over the years, only Louis-Charles did not appear to her from beyond the grave, although the old woman did not attach any special significance to his absence.
She had last seen her younger brother in Le Temple, the prison in Paris where the members of the royal family were held as prisoners after they were forcefully removed from the Tuileries by armed revolutionaries. Shortly after her father was beheaded, royalist supporters proclaimed the boy Louis XVII. This prompted the republican government to separate him from his mother and sister and put him into solitary confinement. Marie-Thérèse was allowed to see the poor child one final time, immediately following his being forced by his jailors to sign a statement attesting to crimes committed by the queen, his mother.
After her mother was executed, Marie-Thérèse was subsequently informed that the ten-year-old Louis-Charles had died in his prison cell. Five people examined the body and testified that the dead boy was indeed her brother, the former dauphin of France. There had been an autopsy that confirmed the child died of consumption, and a human heart, said to be that of Louis-Charles, was later kept by the Spanish branch of the Bourbon family.
Regardless of the official story, rumors persisted that the dauphin had been whisked out of prison by royal sympathizers who substituted a sickly boy in his place. Once the monarchy was restored in 1814 after the fall of Napoleon, nearly a hundred men came forward claiming to be the lost dauphin of France. Among them was Karl Wilhelm Naundorff, who bore such a strong resemblance to the Bourbon family that both the dauphin's nurse and Louis XVI's minister of finance believed his claim.
Marie-Thérèse declined to take a stance in the resulting controversy. In fact, she firmly refused to even meet with any of the men who claimed to be her long-lost brother. Nor did she listen to any of the heart-wrenching and often graphic stories of the harsh treatment her brother received at the hands of Antoine Simon, his jailor. The latter was understandable since what sister wanted to learn of the mental and physical tortures that were inflicted upon a beloved sibling especially one so young?
The poor Louis-Charles's fate, she had decided decades earlier, would forever remain a mystery, and she would seek no clue to solve it.
* * *
The old woman was awake before the first rays of the sun shone in her bed chamber. Her cough had worsened during the night, and she got very little sleep. After her morning ablutions, she rang for the servant to bring her tea, hoping the hot beverage would help break up the congestion in her chest.
When a maid appeared at the door carrying the tea tray, Marie-Thérèse did not recognize her.
"Where is Gabrielle?" the old woman asked.
"Not feeling well today, Your Highness," the servant replied.
Marie-Thérèse watched the strange servant as she poured the tea. There was something about the woman that stirred the embers of the aristocrat's distant memories.
"Where have we met before?"
"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but this is the first time I have been in your presence."
Marie-Thérèse looked closer.
"But you look familiar to me. Perhaps you were once in the service of the royal family?" she asked, referring to the courts of Louis XVIII and Charles X, her uncles.
"No, Your Highness. It must be that I have a common face."
Throughout the day, as Marie-Thérèse did her needlework, she tried to capture the elusive memory but to no avail.
Maybe the fresh air will clear away the cobwebs, she thought, as she put on her cloak and went outside for a walk.
It was a chilly October day, and she shivered notwithstanding the warmth of her garments.
While in the garden, she spied a young boy making a delivery from the nearby village. The child was about eight years old, the same age as Louis-Charles was when he had been taken to Le Temple prison. The angelic face of her baby brother came to her mind.
I will not think of such things! I will not torture myself with ....
"Agathe de Rambaud!" she exclaimed as she suddenly remembered where she had seen the servant's face.
Agathe had been nurse to the royal children at Versailles, and for seven years had been like a mother to Louis-Charles.
In spite of her advanced years, Marie-Thérèse ran back to the house and into the kitchen.
"Where is the woman who brought me my tea this morning?" she inquired of a group of servants who were busy preparing the evening's meal.
Gabrielle stepped forward and said, "When I brought up your tea, you were bathing, so I left in on the table beside your bed, Your Highness."
The old woman stared at her questioningly.
"No. You were sick this morning, and another woman brought me my tea."
Gabrielle looked uncomfortable. She did not dare correct her mistress for fear of losing her position.
"I must be mistaken, Your Highness," she said weakly.
Marie-Thérèse described the mysterious maid, but neither the French nor the Austrian servants knew of such a woman at Schloss Frohsdorf.
"Perhaps I was dreaming," the old woman said, fearing that this might be the first sign of senility.
When she coughed up blood into her lace handkerchief later that morning, she realized that her physical condition was of more urgent concern than the identity of a servant and immediately sent a man to summon the doctor.
* * *
Marie-Thérèse's cough continued to worsen, and the medicine the local physician prescribed had little effect. Confined to her bed, the old woman slept on and off most of the day. Her periods of sleep were by no means restful ones, though, for her dreams opened up doors to memories that she had tried to keep bolted shut. As the young Madame Royale, she played in the protective shadow of Versailles with her brothers and sister as Agathe de Rambaud stood watch over the royal progeny. This pleasant chapter in her life was over too quickly and was followed by the death of Louis Joseph and Sophie Hélène, the storming of the Bastille, the arrest and imprisonment of the royal family and the execution of her parents.
When a violent coughing spell woke her in the middle of the night from a fitful slumber, she saw a servant place a log on the fire. Marie-Thérèse could clearly see the woman's face in the reflection of the glow from the flames.
"Agathe!"
"That is not my name, Your Highness," the servant said.
"I know you. You were my nurse long ago."
"I'm afraid you are mistaken."
It was not just the face that was familiar, Marie-Thérèse realized. It was the voice as well.
"You are Agathe de Rambaud. Despite the years that have passed, I remember you well."
"I am not the person you speak of," the servant insisted.
"Why do you lie?" the old woman screamed.
"Are you all right, Your Highness?" Gabrielle asked, as she walked into the room.
In the light of the maid's lamp, Marie-Thérèse could see that she and Gabrielle were alone in the room.
"Where did she go?" the old woman asked.
"Where did who go, Your Highness?"
"Agathe. She was here a moment ago, standing by the fireplace."
"I saw no one."
"It must be a plot," the old woman screamed hysterically. "Robespierre must have sent her here, or perhaps it was Napoleon."
Gabrielle looked nervously toward the door. Was the old woman going mad? Should she call someone for assistance? The young maid was spared having to make such a difficult decision, when her mistress collapsed on her bed, coughing uncontrollably.
* * *
The following morning Marie-Thérèse woke with a headache, which she attributed to being cooped up inside the chateau for several days.
"With this dust and wood smoke, it's a wonder I can breathe at all."
Although her doctor had instructed her to remain indoors, she insisted on taking a walk in her garden. Gabrielle offered to accompany her, but the old woman declined.
"I am well enough to go outside alone. In fact, other than this annoying headache, I am actually feeling quite well."
The coughing spell that followed her declaration made the servant doubt her mistress' truthfulness, but if the old woman wanted to go alone, Gabrielle would not argue.
As Marie-Thérèse strolled through her garden, the wind picked up. She tightened her cloak against the cold and turned to go inside. Just then she saw a servant walking along the path that led to the village.
"Agathe!" she called out, but the woman did not reply.
Heedless of the dropping temperature, Marie-Thérèse hurried after the retreating figure.
"Wait! I want to talk to you."
The servant kept walking.
As the old woman neared the edge of the lawn, she heard a child's laughter coming from the wooded area that bordered the property. She turned and caught a momentary glimpse of a young boy. It might have been the child who made deliveries from the village, except that his clothes were those of a prince, not a peasant. The turquoise jacket he wore was similar to one her brother, Louise-Charles, once owned.
Marie-Thérèse looked back toward the path, but she could see no sign of Agathe. It was as though the woman had vanished into thin air.
Again, she heard a giggling from the woods and saw the boy duck behind a large tree.
"Who are you?" she shouted and headed in his direction.
The boy darted from tree to tree, going deeper into the woods. Several times the old woman lost track of him, but then she would hear his laughter and continue her pursuit.
The impromptu game of hide and seek had continued for more than an hour when Marie-Thérèse realized the sun was going down.
I ought to be heading back, she thought.
But when she turned around, she could no longer see the castle.
"I'm lost!" she cried.
The little boy's laughter punctuated her dire exclamation.
Marie-Thérèse wandered aimlessly until she was too exhausted to go on. The forest around her was dark and cold, and the wind howled through the trees. She huddled against a thick tree trunk, trying to keep warm inside her cloak, but it did little good. It was not only the cold temperature that afflicted the poor woman. Her headache had worsened, and she could not stop coughing. Finally, she gave in to her misery, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
* * *
When the sun rose the following morning, Marie-Thérèse was on the verge of death. She tried to stand but lacked the strength. Barely conscious, she prayed someone from Schloss Frohsdorf found her before she expired, as she wanted to die in her own bed.
The laughter of the little boy returned to taunt her. Apparently, he had grown tired of playing games and came out from behind the trees. When she looked up at his face, she could not distinguish his features because the sun was behind him, creating an aura around the child.
"Who are you?" she asked, squinting her eyes against the blinding brightness.
"Have you forgotten me?"
The voice belonged to the long-dead dauphin, Louise-Charles.
"Help me, dear brother," she cried. "I am not well."
"I know. You are dying," the child laughed.
"You sound pleased," she observed with great sadness.
"Why shouldn't I be?" the child asked angrily. "I am glad you are dying. I am only disappointed that you did not suffer as I did."
"Surely you do not blame me for your fate."
"You were allowed to stay with Mother, but I was taken away, crying and screaming for her. She let them take me."
"Mother begged them to let you stay with us. She held you tightly in her arms even though they threatened to kill her if she did not let go."
"But she did let go when they said they would hurt you."
"There was nothing she could do. Those men were armed. They would have killed her and me and still have taken you away."
"She always loved you, not me. I once heard her tell you that I belonged to France, but that you belonged to her."
"That decision was not hers. As the surviving male child, you were destined to be king. From the moment our brother, Louis-Joseph, died, you belonged to France. But Mother always loved you. It broke her heart when the soldiers took you away. She wept and prayed for you right up until they led her to the guillotine."
"I wish they would have executed me, too," the boy said, his voice full of misery. "It would have been better than being in that terrible prison where I was beaten, whipped, starved and humiliated because I was born a Capet."
"I am so sorry for all that you had to endure," Marie-Thérèse sobbed.
"Are you? Then why did you not look for me? And what about the men who claimed to be me? You did not even talk to them. You did not care if I was alive or dead."
"That is not true!" the old woman insisted. "I did not want to get my hopes up. I did not want to let myself believe you were still alive and then have to lose you all over again. The Revolution tore France apart, and you, a poor innocent child, fell victim to the terror and death wrought by men like Robespierre and Saint-Just. But even during all the madness, I never stopped loving you, my dearest brother."
The child suddenly fell to his knees, buried his face in his sister's cloak and wept.
"Do not cry, little one," the old woman tenderly cooed, hoping to comfort the boy. "It is all in the past."
His anger and resentment spent, Louis-Charles at long last forgave his elderly sister. When the spirit picked up his head to bid her goodbye, Marie-Thérèse saw not the angelic features of her long-lost brother, the former dauphin of France, but the skeletal remains of a child who had been dead for more than half a century.
The grief she had held at bay now enveloped her. She would have added her sobs to her brother's had she not been gripped by a fit of coughing.
* * *
Gabrielle wiped her eyes with her apron, and whimpered, "I knew I shouldn't have let her go out by herself."
"Your mistress is a strong-willed woman," the doctor said. "If she wanted to go out for a walk, there's nothing you could have done to stop her."
They waited most of the morning for word from the search party. It was almost noon when the coachman returned and announced that Marie-Thérèse had been found, alone and unconscious, in the woods.
The former fille de France died in her bed of pneumonia three days later, never having regained consciousness. Her body was buried next to her that of her uncle, Charles X, and her husband, Louis XIX. Meanwhile, the remains of her brother lay in a common grave in France while his heart was kept in Spain.
It would be another century and a half before DNA tests confirmed the organ was indeed that of the lost dauphin. Afterward, the heart of the martyred prince was taken from Spain and laid to rest at the Saint-Denis Basilica near the graves of his parents, Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI. It can only be hoped that somewhere little Louis-Charles is now happily playing with his brother and sisters under the loving eyes of his parents and his nurse and enjoying the childhood that was taken from him in Le Temple Prison.
Although based on actual people and historical events, the story itself is fictional. The image in the upper left corner is of Louis-Charles (Louis XVII), the son of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI.
Salem has so many siblings, I sometimes think they grow on trees.
