The vivacity
of her manner, her spontaneous conversation, her ardor, her
animation, her youth, gave her charm. Educated at the court of her
grandfather, Ferdinand, King of Naples, who carried bonhomie and
familiarity to exaggeration, and lived in the company of peasants
and lazzaroni, she had a horror of pretension and conceit. Her
child-like physiognomy had a certain playful and rebellious
expression; slightly indecorous speech did not displease her. This
idol of the aristocracy was simple and jovial, mingling in her
conversation Gallic salt and Neapolitan gaiety. In contrast with
so many princesses who weary their companions and are wearied by
them, she amused herself and others. Entering a family celebrated
by its legendary catastrophes, she had lost nothing of the
playfulness which was the essence of her nature. The Tuileries,
the scene of such terrible dramas, did not inspire her as it did
the Duchess of Angouleme, with sad reflections. When she heard
Mass in the Chapel of the Chateau, she did not say to herself that
here had resounded the furies of the Convention. The grand
apartments, the court of the Carrousel, the garden, could not
recall to her the terrible scenes of the 20th of June and the 10th
of August. When she entered the Pavillon de Flore, she did not
reflect that there had sat the Committee of Public Safety. The
Tuileries were, to her eyes, only the abode of power and pleasure,
an agreeable and beautiful dwelling that had brought her only
happiness, since there she had given birth to the Child of Europe,
the "Child of Miracle.
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