Royal Testament
Royal Testament
Arms of the Crown Prince of Corsica
Arms of the Crown Prince of Corsica
Since the Revolution, King Theodore had continually put off the matter of who would succeed him to the throne of Corsica. In the absence of an heir of the body, the Constitution of 1736 declared that the king could “designate a successor of his relation,” but Theodore had never exercised this clause. Perhaps Theodore was truly undecided as to who would best succeed him; perhaps he was expecting to eventually be succeeded by his own child. Some have suggested his reticence was a purposeful means to motivate the various Neuhoff princes and keep them in his service by hinting that any one of them might still wear the crown. Perhaps he simply avoided the question because it was a reminder of his own mortality.
Another possibility is that his first choice was not politically palatable. Evidence suggests that from the start of his reign, Theodore believed he had a clear and logical successor: Charles Philippe de Bréfeillac, Comte du Trévou. Charles Philippe was the only surviving son of Theodore’s only sibling Marie Anne Leopoldine (also known as Elisabeth Charlotte, d. 1725), and was thus Theodore’s closest male relative and only actual nephew.[1] Theodore could not have known Charles Philippe well - he had been wandering through Europe as a spy and alchemist during the boy’s childhood - but Theodore had been very close to his sister and had been godfather to her first son Theodore-Hyacinthe (who had died young). Not long after he was crowned, Theodore sent a letter to King Louis XV asking him to allow Charles Philippe to travel to Corsica “so the people may see I have an heir.”
Since then, however, the prospect of Charles Philippe actually being named as heir had become increasingly untenable. Before long France became the enemy, and would not be reconciled with the revolutionaries until the Treaty of Monaco in 1749. In the intervening years, Theodore’s other relations - chiefly Matthias von Drost (now Don Matteo, Principe di Porto Vecchio) and the Baron Rauschenburg (now Don Giovan, Principe di Morosaglia) - had rendered invaluable service to Theodore and the national cause. The Baron Pungelscheid (now Don Federico, Principe di Capraia) had been a latecomer, arriving in Corsica only in 1746, but he was still in time to have a notable revolutionary career of his own, leading forces on Capraia and the continent. All three of these men had lived on Corsica thereafter. In contrast, after a brief visit to his uncle in 1736 Charles Philippe left the island and did not return until 1753. He had no revolutionary credentials and was a complete unknown in Corsica, both to the public at large and the Corsican elites.
The Comte du Trévou’s absence was due to the fact that he had much more to lose. None of Theodore’s German cousins had fantastic prospects; Don Giovan had only a small barony and Don Matteo appears to have had no estates at all. Don Federico was the wealthiest of the three, but even he was a mere baron whose aspirations in Westphalia could go no further than a decent position in the Prussian army or state bureaucracy. Charles Philippe may not have been a peer of the realm, but he was a count, an officer of the prestigious Gardes Françaises, and a nobleman with some prominence at court who hunted with King Louis. Had Charles Philippe thrown in his lot with Theodore during the Revolution, all of this might have been forfeited. L'Affaire Trévou - his unauthorized visit to Corsica in 1736 - was very nearly a personal disaster for the young count, which he survived only by denying any association with the rebels and throwing himself upon the king’s mercy. King Louis had generously forgiven the whole matter as a mere youthful indiscretion, but Charles Philippe learned his lesson.
Even in 1753, when the count returned to Corsica with France’s blessings, Theodore may still have hoped to install Charles Philippe as his heir. Certainly the French ministry would have been delighted to secure the succession of a loyal French aristocrat to the Corsican crown. Yet despite his enthusiastic welcome by Theodore, Charles Philippe’s reception elsewhere was not as encouraging. Theodore’s cousins rightfully perceived him as a threat to their own ambitions, and Count Gianpietro Gaffori was equally hostile. Even those southern nobles who would later be considered among the gigliati do not seem to have warmed much to Trévou in 1753; Corsica’s French alignment did not seem to be in danger at the time, and Trévou was utterly unknown to them. After 1759 some of them repented of their earlier indifference and supported Charles Philippe’s candidacy, but this advocacy only soured Theodore on the notion, as he had come to fear that the pious filofrancesi were only backing his nephew as a means to overturn his enlightened reforms. Theodore was clearly still fond of Charles Philippe, but he did not necessarily trust his nephew to continue his legacy, particularly if his succession was secured with the support of the gigliati.
By 1760 it was clear to all that the other option - succession by an heir of Theodore’s body - was extremely unlikely. Queen Eleonora was now 45 years old. Over the years she had been pregnant a few times, but all had ended in miscarriage or stillbirth - and her last known pregnancy had been almost five years earlier. It was no longer possible to deflect the apprehensions of the Corsican elites, who were anxious about the prospect of a contested succession. By the end of the Four Years’ War the king was 66 years old, and although he seemed to be in rude health history was rife with examples of sudden royal deaths. Now that both a biological heir and the Comte du Trévou were off the table, there was no reason for Theodore to delay his choice any longer.
Don Matteo had always been a longshot given his meager resources, his more distant relationship to the king, and his decision to marry into a Corsican family. His selection was probably unlikely in any circumstances, but his candidacy was truly destroyed by his sister-in-law Bianca Rossi, the sister of Count Antonio Colonna-Bozzi and Don Matteo’s wife Maria Rosa. A devoted Francophile, Donna Rossi - some nicknamed her La Giglia Bianca - was discovered shortly after the war to have been the leader of a spy ring collecting information on General Wolfe’s army in Ajaccio and passing it to the French. There was no evidence that Don Matteo was involved in this conspiracy, and in any case Donna Rossi had done nothing illegal; the English had technically been invaders, and the French allies. Nevertheless the familial association made him suspicious in the eyes of the filoinglese, and he was already unacceptable to the filofrancesi because of his patronage of their bête noire, the arch-filoinglese and proud Asphodelian Pasquale Paoli.
This narrowed the field to only two men. Don Giovan was a genuine revolutionary hero; he had led the resistance in the mountains even when Theodore himself fled the country, and had put his life at risk for the national cause on numerous occasions. But the Prince of Morosaglia was also stubborn and irascible, traits which had arguably served him well as a defiant rebel leader but had proved less useful in garnering elite support. His relationship with Count Gaffori had never really recovered from their falling out during the Revolution, and the powerful prime minister was a quiet but diligent opponent of his succession. Some were also concerned by the fact that, despite the fact that he was married and now 47 years old, he was still without children. Don Giovan remained popular among the common people, but found himself with few real supporters at court and within the ministry.
Don Federico had seemed an unlikely candidate at the end of the Revolution. Although he had won a name for himself with his celebrated conquest of Capraia, he was perceived as too young, too foreign (his Italian was terrible), and of little worth compared to the heroic Prince of Morosaglia. By 1760, however, his position had improved tremendously. The Prince of Capraia was now a 35 year old man, and his Italian was much improved (if still noticeably accented). He was richer than Don Giovan, having both the hereditary Neuhoff-Pungelscheid estates and a substantial dowry (as well as under-the-table funding from the British government). Through his marriage to Elisabeth Cherrier Jeanne d’Harcourt, Don Federico had associated himself with the prestigious House of Lorraine, and Emperor Franz Stefan himself had agreed to be the godfather of Don Federico’s eldest son. With three children - Elisabeth had borne a second son in September 1759 - he offered the prospect of dynastic continuity.
Don Federico’s candidacy also seemed like it might offer some compromise between the nascent factions of filofrancesi and filoinglesi beginning to form at court (who had yet to acquire the names of “Lilies” and “Asphodels”). The Prince of Capraia was rather vague as to his ideological convictions, but he was clearly no Catholic zealot; he had been raised in religiously cosmopolitan Westphalia, fought in the army of a Protestant state, and continued to be an admirer of Prussia despite its recent humbling. His “leadership” in the Barefoot Revolt had further endeared him to the filoinglesi. But Don Federico was careful not to cozy up to the likes of Paoli and the devoti, something which Don Giovan had made the mistake of doing; observing the gap which had opened between Count Gaffori and his former ally, the Prince of Morosaglia had recently been courting Paoli and his supporters as a possible counterbalance. It was not the worst idea, but the timing was wrong; for the moment Gaffori remained supreme and Paoli held no official position at court or in the government. Paoli’s rise to power was still some years in the future, and in the meantime this ill-advised maneuvering only alienated the filofrancesi. This did not mean that the filofrancesi were completely supportive of Don Federico, but they could at least take some solace in his undeniably French wife, who might serve as a tether to French culture and policy.
What probably mattered most, however, was that Don Federico had married the king’s favorite. Theodore seems to have truly adored Elisabeth and treated the Princess of Capraia as his own daughter. Given the family resemblance, foreign visitors sometimes assumed she was his daughter. Such obvious favor naturally lent itself to speculation that Theodore might actually choose Elisabeth as his successor, which was within his right; the constitution clearly stated that the king could choose anyone “of his relation, man or woman.” There were problems with this option, however, that were not limited to general Corsican sexism. Despite the emperor’s act of legal legitimation, Elisabeth was unquestionably born out of wedlock, and the claim of the Comte du Trévou - her elder, legitimate, and male half-brother - seemed infinitely superior to her own by any normal standard of 18th century dynastic law. Succession wars had been fought over much less. By crowning her husband instead, Theodore would ensure the crown would eventually pass to her children while putting the succession on much firmer ground.
In March of 1761, Theodore promulgated the Testament on the Succession of the Kingdom, better known in Corsica as simply the Testamento Reale del 1761. In this document Theodore declared that, in compliance with the constitution, he hereby designated the Prince of Capraia as his successor “to the crown of Corsica and all dignities, powers, and regalia thereof.” He went on to stipulate that If the prince’s line was exhausted - seemingly an unlikely scenario given his three children, but still possible - the crown would pass to the Prince of Morosaglia and his heirs, implicitly passing over both the Comte du Trévou and Don Federico’s sisters. The legality of this clause was somewhat dubious; the constitution stated only that Theodore could designate his successor, not that he could preordain the entire order of succession thereafter. In the event, however, nobody raised serious objections. Nobody on Corsica even knew Don Federico’s sisters, and the few nobles who lamented the displacement of the Comte du Trévou were not vocal or numerous enough to matter.
The man who lost the most from the Royal Testament was obviously the Prince of Morosaglia, who must have bitterly regretted that Theodore had not made his decision ten years earlier when he had still been the clear favorite. Don Giovan’s “privileged” place in the succession was not much comfort; the chance that he would outlive Don Federico, who was 12 years his junior, as well as all of Don Federico’s children was vanishingly remote. As much as he fumed over the loss of his chance at wearing a royal crown, however, his more immediate concern was for his finances. Don Giovan still enjoyed the large dowry brought to him by his marriage to Princess Maria Camilla Cybo-Malaspina, but apart from some acreage he had bought in Corsica the little barony of Rauschenburg remained his only income-bearing estate. Theodore had apparently considered splitting the terre della corona or providing some appenage to the other princes, but he was convinced by Queen Eleonora - who was close to Princess Elisabeth and also supported Don Federico’s succession - that it would be best for the dynasty and the state if the royal patrimony was conserved as “one and indivisible.” The princes already received stipends from the royal household, but they were pitifully inadequate to maintain a “proper” aristocratic lifestyle on their own, particularly given Princess Maria Camilla’s expensive tastes.
Don Giovan’s financial difficulties provided Don Federico with the means to get rid of him for good. The two princes had always seen each other as rivals, and having won the crown Don Federico did not want Don Giovan sticking around on Corsica as a competitor for elite allegiance and popular affection. With the right inducements, Don Federico believed he could convince Don Giovan to quit the island willingly. Giovan was open to the possibility; aside from the fact that he needed the money, he was not excited about the prospect of bowing to a man he still considered to be an undeserving upstart.
So it was that the princes, despite their mutual animosity, concluded an arrangement that would serve both parties. Don Federico offered to cede the estates of Eibach and Rade to his cousin, as well as the revenues of all the other hereditary Neuhoff estates in Westphalia for the rest of Don Giovan’s life. The crown prince knew he would not be able to spare much time or attention for his German estates anyway, and the loss of revenue would be mitigated by the acquisition of the terre della corona when Theodore died. In exchange, Don Giovan would abandon Corsica and cede all his property on the island to Don Federico.
It took some time for Don Giovan to resign himself to his fate and accept this offer, but in October of 1761 he finally stepped on a ship bound for Livorno and bade the island farewell. Corsica had been his home for the last 25 years, and in that time few people had fought harder than him to secure the independence of his adopted country. In the end, he was rewarded for this service with exile. But Don Giovan was not forgotten by the Corsicans, particularly the mountaineers who had been his most devoted followers during the Revolution, and became something of a folk hero. When in later years the caprai of Niolo took up arms in protest of enclosure and land reform, one of their rallying cries was “Evvivu Don Giovan!” It was a fitting tribute to the prince who had never shunned poor shepherds and had shivered, starved, and fought alongside them even in the darkest trials.[A]
With his chief rival out of the way, the Prince of Capraia could be confident that his succession was truly secure. Of course Don Matteo remained on the island; he had put down familial roots in Corsica and would never be convinced to leave it. But Don Matteo also lacked Giovan’s ambition, and although he remained politically active the Prince of Porto Vecchio was content to be “merely” one of the great magnates of the kingdom. So long as he was recognized as a prince and cousin of the king and treated accordingly, he would happily support Don Federico’s succession. Even the rather remote threat posed by the potential claim of Charles Philippe did not trouble Don Federico for very long, as the Comte du Trévou took ill and died in 1763 at the age of 44. The Prince of Capraia was now able to enjoy a new prominence both in Corsica and upon the international stage. No longer merely one of Theodore’s various relations, he was now the unchallenged heir and future King of Corsica, and he was courted by both domestic elites and foreign interests who knew he represented Corsica’s future. Yet his position as royal heir gave him no formal power, and until the actual day of succession it was still King Theodore’s Corsica.
Footnotes
[1] As noted before, the other Neuhoff princes, while often termed “nephews,” were actually his cousins - Don Giovan and Don Federico his first cousins, and Don Matteo a more distant relation.
Timeline Notes
[A] It seems like a melancholy end for the Prince of Morosaglia, the Lion of Niolo. But we haven’t quite seen the last of Rauschenburg: Don Giovan will not be returning to Corsica, but he still has a part to play back in Germany. We’ll return to him and a few other continental Neuhoff relations soon.
Last edited:
