"
The Duchess of Berry thought that a palace should be neither a
barracks nor a convent nor a prison, and that even for a princess
there is no happiness without liberty. She loved to go out without
an escort, to take walks, to visit the shops, to go to the little
theatres, to make country parties. She was like a bird in a gilded
cage, which often escapes and returns with pleasure only because
it has escaped. She was neither worn out nor blasee; everything
interested her, everything made her gay; she saw only the good
side of things. In her all was young--mind, character,
imagination, heart. Thus she knew none of those vague
disquietudes, that causeless melancholy, that unreasoned sadness,
from which suffer so many queens and so many princesses on the
steps of a throne.
Gracious and simple in her manners, modest in her bearing, more
inclined to laughter and smiles than to sobs and tears, satisfied
with her lot despite her widowhood, she felt happy in being a
princess, in being a mother, in being in France. Flattered by the
homage addressed to her on all sides, but without haughty pride in
it, she protected art and letters with out pedantry, rejuvenated
the court, embellished the city, spread animation wherever she was
seen, and appeared to the people like a seductive enchantress.
Those who were at her receptions found themselves not in the
presence of a coldly and solemnly majestic princess, but of an
accomplished mistress of the house bent on making her salon
agreeable to her guests.
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