Above: Princess Marthe Bibesco in 1924.
A woman of the world such as is rarely seen, Princess Marthe Bibesco (1886–1973) was not worldly. Despite the gossip and slander that accompanied her, she strove, with serenity, to follow the truth of the Catholic Faith, which she embraced on 18 April 1912 under the spiritual guidance of Abbé Mugnier (1853–1944). Despite her distinction, the affairs attributed to her relationships with some of the leading figures of the political world during the interwar period often saddened her. Such was the case with her friendship with Crown Prince Wilhelm III of Germany (1882–1951).
Probably no other relationship of Princess Bibesco’s received more attention than this one. The fact that, during a visit to Germany in 1908, Marthe Bibesco and her husband, Prince George Valentin Bibesco (1880–1941), rode in the prince’s car through the Brandenburg Gate—a privilege reserved for members of the German imperial family—demonstrates the esteem in which they were held. Episodes such as this could not go unnoticed in the press of the time, which began to invent stories. Setting aside the fake news, I would like to recall here a note from Princess Bibesco’s personal journal. It is an act of honor in defense of Prince Wilhelm III and, at the same time, a lesson concerning one of the most neglected virtues of the Christian medieval world:
Evil tongues say that he [Prince Wilhelm III] was my lover. It is not true. I was never his mistress. It was something entirely different. But whom could I tell? No one would believe me if I said so. Chivalric love is a sentiment that no longer has any value, like gold and ancient coins. They are no longer legal tender, no matter how beautiful they are. These pieces become obsolete before they become medals. After that, they acquire another value. The same thing happens with a sentiment that is no longer current and which most people have ceased to believe even exists. And yet, I experienced this sentiment with the Emperor’s son, who might have become Emperor and would not be, unfortunately for him and for me, for the fate of Europe and the world. I return to this sentiment, and I shall return to it without ceasing. There is no other interpretation beyond those I have recounted.
Although often tempted by the scandal-oriented spirit of biographical literature suited to contemporary tastes, Ghislain de Diesbach (1931–2023), author of the first biography of Princess Bibesco in which I was able to read the journal entry quoted above, was visibly impressed by this evocation of chivalric love. He stated that the slanders which sought to see carnal eroticism where there was pure friendship were false. And we, today’s readers, can experience the astonishment of encountering such a testimony.
The whole of Christian medieval literature is characterized by a continual oscillation between the carnal love in which many of the worldly troubadours—alas!, all too worldly—delighted, and the noble chivalric love exemplified in Tolkien’s favorite tale, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. The entire literary and poetic heritage of that world retells the ascent of the sinner Augustine, confessed in the Confessions, to the heights of Christian love for the King of the Universe, Jesus Christ. Likewise, Dante Alighieri, author of the ultimate poem, The Divine Comedy, would experience, through conversion, the sublimation of his passionate love for Beatrice into the humble recognition of the holiness of his guide along the paths of Paradise.
But it is not only the Christian world that speaks of what Princess Marthe Bibesco calls “chivalric love.” We may recall that even the pagan Homer, in what might be called a true Praeparatio Evangelica, describes in the Odyssey the fidelity of Ulysses, who passes through the most terrible temptations in order to return to his lawful wife. All these masterpieces, like many others of their kind, speak of a love that belongs just as much to the daughters of Eve as to the sons of Adam. Princess Marthe Bibesco reminds us of this—something that today has been almost completely forgotten.
In a world in which the word “love” is applied indiscriminately to every kind of passion, but especially to guilty forms of it, she teaches us that there are impulses of the heart that do not involve the carnal dimension culminating in eroticism and sex. What is at issue is solidarity, friendship, a wonder-filled delight of the kind Aristotle said was the beginning of Philosophy. Just as the person who begins to delight in contemplating divine Wisdom undergoes a metamorphosis that elevates him, so too those who admire personalities endowed with exceptional virtues and qualities can experience similar sentiments.
The capacity to recognize the superiority of certain actors in history can thus give rise to such experiences. And Princess Bibesco knew how to admire those leaders and creators as different from one another as Kings Carol I and Ferdinand of Romania, Winston Churchill, Lord Thomson of Cardington, the poet Paul Claudel, and General Charles de Gaulle. And whenever rare opportunities allowed her to meet them in person, enduring friendships were more than once born, founded upon profound mutual respect. Beyond that respect, however, at the root lies the chivalric love celebrated by Tolkien in The Lord of the Rings.
We may share the Princess’s skepticism. Yes, in today’s world, this sentiment of hearts faithful to Our Lord Jesus Christ, is often invisible. Hidden, ignored, and sometimes even mocked, it shines through an absence that makes us believe it does not exist. And yet such a testimony can awaken us from our sad slumber. It reminds us of that form of virtuous solidarity which is, in truth, friendship. Disinterested, altruistic, and ready to recognize the excellence of the other, it is possible only where there is a person capable of diminishing himself in order to elevate the one endowed with the virtues proper to his station. Princess Marthe Bibesco was such a person.