18th Cent. Princess Élisabeth Philippine Marie Hélène de France

Princess Élisabeth Philippine Marie Hélene de France

by François-Hubert Drouais

1770

Château de Versailles

Princess Élisabeth Philippine Marie Hélène de France was born on 3 May 1764, at Versailles, France. She was the daughter of Princess Marie Josèphe of Saxony (4 November 1731 - 13 March 1767) and Louis, Dauphin of France (4 September 1729 - 20 December 1765). Her maternal grandparents were Maria Josepha of Austria (8 December 1699 - 17 November 1757) and Frederick Augustus II, Prince Elector of Saxony and King of Poland (17 October 1696 - 5 October 1763). Her paternal grandparents were Maria Leszczyńska, Queen Consort of France and Navarre (23 June 1703 - 24 June 1768) and Louis XV, King of France and Navarre (15 February 1710 - 10 May 1774). Her parents were married on 9 February 1747. For her father, it was his second marriage. His first wife was Infanta Maria Teresa Antonia Rafaela of Spain (11 June 1726 - 22 July 1746). She was the daughter of Elisabeth of Parma, Queen Consort of Spain (22 October 1692 - 11 July 1766) and Philip V, King of Spain ( 19 December 1683 - 9 July 1746). She died three days after giving birth to a daughter, the couple's only child, Marie-Thérèse de France (19 July 1746 – 27 April 1748). Marie Josèphe and Louis had eight children, her siblings were: Marie-Zéphyrine de France (26 August 1750 - 1 September 1755), Louis de France, Duc de Bourgogne (13 September 1751 - 22 March 1761), Xavier de France, Duc de Guyenne (8 September 1753 - 22 February 1754), Louis Auguste de France, Duc du Berry (23 August 1754 - 21 January 1793), Louis Stanislas de France, Comte de Provence (17 November 1755 - 16 September 1824), Charles Philippe de France, Comte d'Artois (9 October 1757 - 6 November 1836) and Marie Adélaide Clotilde Xaviere de France (23 September - 7 March 1802). Her mother had a good relationship with the Royal mistress to Louis XV, Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson, Madame de Pompadour (1721-1764). She was baptized at the day of her birth. Her father, Louis died in 1765. Her mother, Marie died in 1767. Called Madame Élisabeth, she was given to the care of the governess, Comtesse de Marsan. She was already bringing up her sister, Madame Clotilde de France. Her brother, Louis Auguste married Archduchess Maria Antonia of Austria (1755-1793) on 16 May 1770, in the Chapel Royal, at Versailles. Her brother Louis, Count of Provence married Marie Josephine Louise of Savoy, Princess of Sardinia and of the Piedmont (1753-1810) on 14 May 1771. Her brother, Charles Philippe married Marie-Thérèse of Savoy, Princess of Sardinia and of Piedmont (1756-1805) on 16 November 1773. She was the younger sister of Marie Josephine. King Louis XV died on 10 May 1774. He was succeeded by her brother, as Louis XVI with his wife, Marie Antoinette as Queen Consort. In 1775, Madame Élisabeth was confirmed and made her first communion. Her sister, Clotilde married Charles Emmanuel IV of Sardinia (1751-1819) in 1775. The brother of Marie Josephine and Marie Therese. According to a letter Marie Antoinette wrote to her mother, Maria Theresa, "My sister Elisabeth is a charming child, who has intelligence, character, and much grace; she showed the greatest feeling, and much above her age, at the departure of her sister. The poor little girl was in despair, and as her health is very delicate, she was taken ill and had a very severe nervous attack. I own to my dear mamma that I fear I am getting too attached to her, feeling, from the example of my aunts, how essential it is for her happiness not to remain an old maid in this country." On 17 May 1778, when the Court went to Marly, Madame Élisabeth was resigned into Louis XVI's hands by her governess, the Princesse de Guemenee. Comtesse Diane de Polignac became her Lady of Honour and Marquise de Serent her Lady in Waiting. Madame Élisabeth was close to her friends, Madmoiselle de Mackau, Madmoiselle Marie de Causans and Madmoiselle Virginie. "How lovable you are, my heart, to wish to forget that I am princess; nothing could give me greater pleasure than to forget it myself; I say it as I think it. Friendship, you see, my Bombelles, is a second life, which sustains us in this low world." At the age of fifteen, Madame Élisabeth stated, "My education is not finished, I shall continue it under the same rules; I shall keep my masters, and the same hours will be given to religion, the study of languages, belles-lettres, instructive conversations, and to my walks and rides on horseback." Marie Antoinette gave birth to her first child, a daughter, Marie Thérèse Charlotte (1778-1851) on 19 December 1778. Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI had three more children: Louis Joseph Xavier François (1781-1789), Louis Charles (1785-1795) and Marie Sophie Hélène Béatrix (1786-1787). In 1781, the King bought the property of the Princesse de Guemenee, at Montreuil. He asked the Queen, to give her this surprise. Marie Antoinette said; "If you like, we will stop on our way at Montreuil, where you were so fond of going when a child." As soon as they had entered the salon the Queen said; "Sister, you are in your own house. This is to be your Trianon. The king, who gives himself the pleasure of giving it to you, gives me the pleasure of telling you."

Princess Élisabeth de France
by Marie-Élisabeth-Louise Vigée-Le Brun

ca 1782

According to the Memoirs of Madame Vigée Lebrun by Marie-Élisabeth-Louise Vigée-Le Brun (1755-1842), "With the exception of the Count d'Artois, whose portrait I never did, I successively painted the whole Royal family: The royal children; Monsieur, the King's brother, afterward Louis XVIII; Madame Royale; the Countess d'Artois; Madame Elisabeth. The features of this last named Princess were not regular, but her face expressed gentle affability, and the freshness of her complexion was remarkable - altogether, she had the charm of a pretty shepherdess. She was an angel of goodness. Many a time have I been a witness to her deeds of charity on behalf of the poor. All the virtues were in her heart, she was indulgent, modest, compassionate, devoted. In the Revolution she displayed heroic courage; she was seen going forward to meet the cannibals who had come to murder the Queen, saying, "They will mistake me for her!"

"To the Marquise de Bombelles. September, 1786. I possess in the world two friends, and they are both far away from me. That is too painful; one of you must positively return. If you do not return, I shall go to Saint-Cyr without you, and I shall still further avenge myself by marrying our protegee without you. My heart is full of the happiness of that poor girl who weeps with joy and you not there ! I have visited two other poor families without you. I pray to God without you. But I pray for you, for you need his grace, and I have need that he should touch you you who abandon me ! I do not know how it is, but I love you, nevertheless, tenderly. Élisabeth Marie."

"To the Marquise de Bombelles. 25 June 1787. The Queen is very kind to me just now; we are going together to Saint-Cyr, which she calls my cradle. She calls Montreuil my little Trianon. I have been to hers the last few days with her, without any consequences, and there was no attention she did not show me. She prepared for me one of those surprises in which she excels; but what we did most was to weep over the death of my poor little niece… I am in a state of enchantment at the enormous gratuity they have given you. I am afraid the king will ruin himself with such liberalities. If I were your husband I would leave it with M. d'Harvelay to prove to M. de Yergennes that you demand more because you have an actual need of it; let him see it is to pay your debts for the embassy, and that as he gives you so little on account, when you get more you will have to employ it in the same way. I began by reading M. de Vergennes' letter first, thinking I was to see superb things, and I was rather shocked. However, after reflecting upon it well, I believe it is not ill-will on his part, but being obliged to give gratuities for the fetes, he is hampered and is forced to diminish this one. Adieu, my heart. I hope your medicine will do you good. Try to calm yourself."

"To the Marquise de Bombelles. 6 June 1788. The king returns upon his steps, just as our grandfather did. ...It seems to me that government is like education. We should not say - will until we are sure of being right. But once said, there should be no yielding of what has been ordained. I think that my sister-in-law would act thus; but she does not yet know the soul of my brother, who fears always to make a mistake, and who, his first impulse over, is tormented by the dread of doing injustice. You will see that the parliament will be recalled within six months, and with it Necker and the States-General; that is an evil we shall not escape, and I wish they had been convoked a year ago that we might have them over and done with. Instead of that everybody wrangles and all are getting embittered. What the king does from clemency they will say he does from fear, for they will not do him the justice he deserves. As for me, who read his heart, I know well that all his thoughts are for the welfare of his people. But he would make that more sure by isolating himself less from his nobles. He is advised to the contrary. God grant he may never repent it! I dare not speak to him openly about many things that I see and that he does not suspect because his soul is so fine that intrigue is foreign to it. Ah ! why cannot I get away and live as I like!"

"To Mile. Marie de Causans, March, 1789. Yes, certainly, my heart, I will write to you before you enter the novitiate; but I hope that you will not be forbidden to receive letters afterwards. It is true that we shall be hampered by the inspection of a mistress, but that will not prevent me from saying to you what I think. You will perhaps be astonished, my heart, when I tell you that in spite of all the reflections, consultations, and tests that you have made, I am not yet ufficiently convinced of the solidity and reality of your vocation to escape a fear that you have not reflected duly. In the first place, my heart, we cannot know whether a vocation is really the work of God until, with a desire to follow his will, we have nevertheless combated, in good faith, the inclination which leads us to consecrate ourselves to him; otherwise, we run the risk of deceiving ourselves, and of following a transient fervour that is often only a need of the heart which, having no objects of attachment, thinks to save itself from the danger of forming any that Heaven may disapprove by consecrating itself to God. That motive is praiseworthy, but it is not sufficient; it comes from passion, it comes from the desire and need of the heart to form a tie which shall fill it, for the moment, wholly. But, I ask you, my heart, will God approve of that offering ? can he be touched by the sacrifice of a soul that gives itself to him only to rid itself of responsibility ? You know that in order to make any vow of any kind we must have a free, reflecting will, devoid of all species of passion; it is the same in making the religious vows, and even more essential. The world is odious to you; but is that disgust or regret ? Do not think that if it is the latter your vocation is true or natural. No, my heart, Heaven sent you a temptation; you ought to bear it, and not take a resolution to consecrate yourself to God until it has passed. Secondly, my heart, we must have our minds humbled before taking the engagements you wish to take. This is the essential thing, the true vocation. All that concerns the body costs little, one can get used to that; but not so with all that belongs to the mind and heart... If d'Ampurie is not married within three years and is obliged to go to her Chapter, can you trust to her eighteen years and believe that she will always lead a virtuous and decorous life, that she will never need the counsel of a friend, of a sister who stands in place of her mother, and for whom she has all the feelings of a daughter ? Do you think that in abandoning her to herself you fulfil the most sacred duty you have ever had to fulfil, that to a dying mother who relied upon you, who chose you as the one most fitted to replace her, a mother who would certainly not have abandoned her children to the seductions of the world that she might yield to a taste for retreat and devotion which she would never have thought incumbent upon her? No, my heart, it will be impossible for me to think that you fulfil your duty, that you accomplish the will of God by consecrating yourself to him at this time. In the name of that God you seek to serve in the most perfect manner, consult with others once more; but, my heart, let it be with more enlightened persons, persons who have no interests either for or against the course you wish to take; explain to them your position; let yourself be examined in good faith; you would be as wrong to exaggerate your desire as to conceal it. Eeassure me, my heart, by telling me the tests to which you have put yourself. I do not speak of those of the body; those are absolutely null to me because they belong to mere habits; but have you struggled against your vocation ? have you felt perfectly calm and free from all pains of mind? are you sure it is not from excitement that you give yourself to God? ... Do not suppose, my heart, that a convent is exempt from evils in the eyes of a nun; the more perfect she may be, the more she will want to find the same sentiments in others, and you will not be safe from that temptation, for, I admit, it is one. There are very few convents in which charity reigns sufficiently for that fault to be unknown there. Nevertheless, my heart, in whatever position you find yourself, rely upon my friendship and the keen interest that I feel in you, and speak to me with confidence of all that touches you. I dare to say that I deserve it, because of the true feelings that I have for you, and the tender interest inspired in me by all the children of your honoured and loving mother. I kiss you and love you with all my heait. I ask of you the favour not to be satisfied by reading my letter once. My heart is so full of the king's troubles that I cannot write to you of other things. All goes worse than ever. The king alone seems satisfied with the turn that things are taking. Few sovereigns in his place would be; but he has about it all a manner of seeing which is too lucky for him. The deputies, victims of then - passions, of their weakness, or of seduction, are rushing to their ruin, and that of the throne and the whole kingdom. If at this moment the king has not the necessary sternness to cut off at least three heads, all is lost. I do not ask you to return; you might find the roads all bloody. As for me, I have sworn not to leave my brother, and I shall keep my oath."

"To Mile. Marie de Causans, Versailles, July 15, 1789. How kind you are, my heart! All the dreadful news of yesterday did not make me weep, but your letter, bringing consolation into my heart through the friendship you show me, made me shed many tears. It will be sad for me to go without you. I do not know if the king will leave Versailles. I will do what you wish if there is a question of it. I do not know what I desire as to that. God knows the best course to take. We have a pious man at the head of the Council (Baron de Breteuil) and perhaps he will enlighten it. Pray much, my heart; spare yourself, take care of yourself, do not trouble your milk. You would do wrong I think, to go out; therefore, my dear, I make the sacrifice of seeing you. Be convinced of how much it costs my heart. I love you, dear, more than I can tell. At all times, in all moments I shall think the same. I hope the evil is not as great as they think it. What makes me believe this is the calmness at Versailles. It was not very certain yesterday that M. de Launay was hanged; they had mistaken another man for him in the course of the day. I will attach myself, as you advise, to the chariot of Monsieur, but I think its wheels are worthless. I don't know why it is, but I am always ready to hope. Do not imitate me; it is better to fear without reason than to hope without it; the moment when the eyes open is less painful."

"To Mile. Marie de Causans, Paris, October 8, 1789. My date alone will tell you to what a point our misfortunes have come. We have left the cradle of our childhood what am I saying? left ! we were torn from it. What a journey! what sights! Never, never will they be effaced from my memory... What is certain is that we are prisoners here; my brother does not believe it, but time will prove it to him. Our friends are here; they think as I do that we are lost." 

 Princess Élisabeth de France

by Marie-Élisabeth-Louise Vigée-Le Brun

Princess Élisabeth was confined with her brother, Louis XVI and his family in the Tuileries Palace. She accompanied them on the flight on 10 June 1792, was arrested at Varennes and brought back to Paris. Élisabeth was present at the Legislative Assembly when Louis XVI was suspended, and was imprisoned in the Temple with the Royal family. It was decided that Louis XVI should be brought to trial for treason on 3 December 1792. A deputation from the Commune brought an order on 7 December 1792, that the Royal family should be deprived of "knives, razors, scissors, penknives, and all other cutting instruments." Shortly afterwards Madame Elisabeth was mending the King's coat, and, having no scissors, was compelled to break the thread with her teeth. Looking at her tenderly, he exclaimed; "What a contrast! You wanted nothing in your pretty house at Montreuil." She answered; "Ah, brother, how can I have any regret when I partake your misfortunes?" Louis XVI was executed on 21 January 1793. Marie Antoinette was executed on 16 October 1793. Marie Antoinette's last letter, written in the early hours of her execution day, was addressed to Élisabeth, but never reached her, the two Princesses were kept in ignorance of the Queen's death. Madame Elisabeth remained with their daughter, Madame Royale in the Temple prison. She was the daughter of France last consulation in the Temple prison. According to Madame Royale, "My aunt kept Lent strictly. She never breakfasted, but dined on a cup of milk-coffee (it was her breakfast, which she saved); and, for supper, she ate only dry bread. She, however, desired me to eat what was brought me, because my age did not require that I should fast; but, as for herself, nothing could be more exemplary than her way of life. Though they had done all they could to deprive her of the means of obeying the dictates of her conscience in these particulars, she had not, on that account, neglected any of the duties of religion." Élisabeth was separeted from her niece on 9 May 1794, and transferred to the Conciergerie. According to Madame Royale, "Until the 9th of May nothing extraordinary happened. On that day, at the moment we were going to bed, the outside bolts of the doors were drawn, and a knocking was heard. My aunt begged of them to wait till she had put on her gown; but they answered that they could not wait, and knocked so violently, that they were near bursting open the door. When she was dressed, she opened the door, and they immediately said to her, "Citizen, come down.""And my niece?"
"We shall take care of her afterwards." She embraced me; and, in order to calm my agitation, promised to return. "No, citizen," said they, "you shall not return: take your bonnet, and come along." They overwhelmed her with the grossest abuse. She bore it all patiently, and embraced me again, exhorting me to have confidence in Heaven, to follow the principles of religion in which I had been educated, and never to forget the last commands of my father and mother. She then left me. Down stairs they detained her a considerable time in searching her (though they found nothing), and in writing an account of their proceedings. At length, after a thousand insults, she was put into a hackney-coach, with the crier of the revolutionary court, and taken to the Conciergerie, where she passed the night. The next morning they asked her these questions.

What is your name?
Elisabeth, of France.
Where were you on the 10th of August?
In the palace of the Thuilleries, with my brother.
What have you done with your jewels?

I know nothing about them; besides, these questions are wholly useless. You are determined on my death. I have offered to Heaven the sacrifice of my life; and I am ready to die - happy at the prospect of rejoining in a better world those whom I loved upon earth." Élisabeth was accused of assisting the King's flight, of supplying emigres with funds, and of encouraging the resistance of the Royal troops on 10 August 1792. She was condemned to death. According to Madame Royale, "They condemned her to death. She asked to be placed in the same room with the other persons who were to die with her. She exhorted them, with a presence of mind, an elevation of soul, and religious enthusiasm, which fortified all their minds. In the cart she preserved the same firmness, and encouraged and supported the women who accompanied her. At the scaffold they had the barbarity to reserve her for the last. All the women, in leaving the cart, begged to embrace her. She kissed them, and, with her usual benignity, said some words of comfort to each." When she was strapped to the board, her shawl fell off, exposing her shoulders, and she cried to the executioner, just as she was guillotined, "In the name of decency, Monsieur, cover my bosom!" Madame Royale wrote, "Her strength never abandoned her, and she died with all the resignation of the purest piety. Her soul was separated from her body, and ascended to receive its reward from the merciful Being, whose worthy servant she had been." Élisabeth de France was executed aged 30, on 10 May 1794. She was buried in an unmarked grave in the La Madeleine cemetery. Her remains were later interred in the Saint-Denis Basilica, France. According to Madame Royale, "It is impossible to imagine my distress at finding myself separated from my aunt. Since I had been able to appreciate her merits, I saw in her nothing but religion, gentleness, meekness, modesty, and a devoted attachment to her family; she sacrificed her life for them, since nothing could persuade her to leave the King and Queen. I never can be sufficiently grateful to her for her goodness to me, which ended only with her life. She looked on me as her child, and I honoured and loved her as a second mother. I was thought to be very like her in countenance, and I feel conscious that I have something of her character. Would to God I might imitate her virtues, and hope that I may hereafter deserve to meet her, as well as my dear parents, in the bosom of our Creator, where I cannot doubt that they enjoy the reward of their virtuous lives and meritorious deaths."

Excerpts and Sources: Life and Letters of Madame Élisabeth of France by Madame Élisabeth of France, Mémoires de Madame Royale, Duchesse d'Angoulême by Marie Thérèse Charlotte, Duchess D'Angouleme and Memoirs of Madame Vigée Le Brun by Marie-Élisabeth-Louise Vigée-Le Brun.