“Let him go to England,” said the King.
“But I think it should be said that he goes on a mission for me. I would not wish publicly to accuse my cousin of treachery.”
So to London went Orleans; and there he met Madame de la Motte and together they planned what further calumnies they could pile upon me.
Those long winter days! Those draughty corridors ! Those smoking lamps! And our privacy continually disturbed by the guards!
I do not think I could have endured that winter but for Axel’s presence. I missed Gabrielle sadly. The Princesse de Lamballe was a good friend and I loved her dearly, but she had never had the place in my feelings which I-gave to Gabrielle. Elisabeth was a constant consolation—and of course the children. My daughter was growing into a sweet-natured girl. She was resigned and accepted hardship without complaint. She was greatly influenced by the attitude of her Aunt Elisabeth, and the two were always together. Sometimes when I was particularly sad I would send for my little Chou d’Amour and he would enliven me with his precocious sayings. Like the child he was, he had quickly adapted himself to the life at the Tuileries, and I sometimes thought that he had forgotten the splendours of the Trianon and Versailles.
We must be careful not to spoil him,” I told Madame de Tourzel, ” but he is such a darling, it is difficult. We must remember, though, that we should bring him up to be a King. “
She agreed with me, and I often thought how fortunate I was to be surrounded by so many true friends; and that it could only be in times of misfortune that we could discover them.
The King was relying more and more on my judgment. He seemed aware of the change in me and I remembered how in the beginning he had declared he would never allow a woman to advise him. We had both changed.
But there was one quality in him which never altered—that unnatural calm. It almost seemed that he lacked interest in his own affairs.
I heard (me of his ministers say that to discuss affairs with him made him feel that be was discussing matters concerning the Emperor of China instead of the King of France.
For this reason I found myself being drawn more and more into affairs.
I had tried to keep out of them, but Mercy had warned me that if I did not play a part in them no one would. Someone must be at the helm of a ship which was being buffeted by a fierce storm. This was said by Mirabeau, who, now that Orleans was no longer in France, was the one man who could hold back the revolution.
That man was right. He was brilliant, I knew. Mercy wrote of him often; Axel spoke of him. He was a rascal, said Axel, and-we should not trust him; but at this time he was the most important man in France and we should not ignore him.
It was noticed that I was taking a part in affairs. The King would never agree to anything without, as he openly said, ‘consulting the Queen. ” The new person I had become, although ignorant of much, at least had a firm opinion on what should be done, and this was better than the attitude of the King, which was never the same for two days running. I was for standing firm against the revolutionaries. We had conceded enough, I declared. We should concede no more. Axel confirmed me in my opinions. Perhaps I drew on him for them. He was not only my lover; he was my adviser; and the fact that he and Mercy were in agreement on so many points pleased me.
Mirabeau began to change his mind. He now remarked:
“The King has only one man with him—his wife.”
And this meant that Mirabeau considered me a greater power in France than the King.
“When one undertakes to direct a revolution,” Mirabeau was reported to me as having said, “the difficulty is not to spur it on but restrain it.”
I gathered from that remark that he wished to restrain it.
In February my brother Joseph died. I felt numbed when I read the letter from Leopold, who had succeeded him. There had been a bond between Joseph and myself, although his criticism had irritated me; but I realised now that he had meant to help me, and how much wisdom there had been behind his comments.
Leopold and I had never been so close, so now I felt even the links with Vienna slipping away from me.
We were all suffering from colds; the King had put on more weight, for he missed the violent exercise he had been accustomed to take, and an occasional game of billiards could not make up for it. I myself was far from well and I could not contemplate a long summer in the unhealthy atmosphere of the Tuileries. When I suggested that we go to Saint-Cloud for the summer there was only the mildest dissension. I felt very relieved and in lighter spirits than I had been for a long time, because when we got into our carriages in order to make the journey only a small hostile crowd tried to stop us and a much bigger crowd shouted that we needed the more salubrious air and called out “Bon voyage au ban Papa!” which delighted the King and raised my spirits even higher. I really believed that the revolution was over and that in time we should be allowed to return to Versailles—to a different life, it was true, but a dignified one.
What a joy to be at Saint-Cloud! The air was invigorating, and how beautiful it seemed compared with the gloomy Tuileries which I hated.
I felt the old days were almost back. It was not the Trianon, of course, but it was the next best thing.
Mercy, who was in Brussels, was writing to me urging me not to ignore the advances of Mirabeau who was eager to bring about a rapprochement and was the one man in the whole of France who could end the revolution and put the King back on the throne.
I considered the man—an aristocrat by birth who had not been received well by the nobility and had no doubt for this reason allied himself with the Third Estate. He had given his talents to Orleans, but Orleans was now an exile; and Mirabeau wished to turn around and end the revolution which he had helped to start. Perhaps he had not intended it should go the way it did. Perhaps he had really wished to make changes constitutionally. In any case that was what he apparently wished now.
He had written letters to the King, who had not answered them. I had read these letters and had not persuaded my husband to pay attention to them for I believed that any man who could have been responsible for setting the whole tragedy in motion should be shunned for evermore.
“I shall henceforth be what I have always been,” he wrote, ‘the defender of monarchical power regulated by the laws, and the champion of liberty as guaranteed by monarchical authority. My heart will follow the road which reason has already pointed out to me. “
I heard a great deal of this man. Axel talked of him continually. He was too important to be ignored, he said. We could use him. He had led the people once; he would lead them again. He and he alone was able to put an end to this intolerable situation.
“And you suggest that we should make terms with such a man?” I asked.
“I do,” answered Axel.
“Why does he wish to join us now?” I demanded.
“Only because he will want to be the President of the National Assembly, at the King’s right hand, the first minister. In truth, he wishes to be the ruler of France.”
Axel smiled at me tenderly.
“When he has restored the Monarchy the King and the Queen will be in a strong enough position to deal with him, perhaps.”
“I see how your mind works.”
And because Axel was in favour of employing this man, he was gradually making me realise that it would be an excellent idea. Perhaps Mirabeau himself touched my vanity, for it was to me he wished to make known his plan not to the King.
I wanted that summer to go on and on. I dreaded our return to the Tuileries. Axel was staying nearby in the village of Auteuil and after dark he would slip into the chateau and would stay with me until just before dawn. We were reckless, but these were reckless times. Our passion had reached a fervour, no doubt because we did not know which would be the last night we should ever spend together.
One of those who had been sent to guard us saw him one early morning and watched to see him again. Then he thought fit to report the matter to Saint-Prie
st.
Saint-Priest spoke to me when we were alone one day and said: “Do you not think that the visits of the Comte de Fersen to the chateau might be a source of danger?”
I felt my face stiffen. I hated this perpetual spying.
I said haughtily: “If you think it right to do so, you should tell the Comte.”
Saint-Priest said nothing to Axel, but I told him of this. He was disturbed and said he must not come so often, and for a few nights he did not; but he could not stay away and I could not bear to be without him, so the visits continued.
Meanwhile ‘he was persuading me to see Mirabeau, and I agreed to meet the man in the park at Saint-Cloud so that our meeting could appear casual. This must be arranged with secrecy, of course, and I was reminded of that other meeting which was supposed to have taken place in a park, between the Cardinal de Rohan and myself. This meeting should be in daylight. Mercy, who knew of the plan and supported it wholeheartedly, wrote expressing pleasure that I had listened to advice of my good friends. Like Axel he was eager to see the Monarchy restored, and since these two were so wholeheartedly in favour of the rendezvous with Mirabeau I could only believe that it was the best thing possible, so I threw myself into the scheme with enthusiasm.
I wrote to Mercy:
I have found a place which, though not as convenient as it might be, is suitable for the proposed meeting and free from the inconvenience of the gardens and the chateau. “
I chose Sunday morning at eight when the Court would be asleep and the grounds therefore deserted, and I went out to meet this man.
I had heard a great deal about him but I was yet unprepared for his ugliness. His skin was deeply pitted with smallpox and his hair stood up like an untidy mat about his head; this was a brutal face, suggesting strength and vitality. I had heard too that at the first meeting women shuddered, and in time grew to love him passionately. This was the man of a hundred seductions, who had spent years in a French prison; who had written many pamphlets; who was in fact the most vital, the most powerful man in the country.
When he spoke I thought his voice one of the most beautiful I had ever beard, but perhaps this was in contrast to his repulsive appearance. His manners were gracious and he treated me as though I were indeed the Queen and with a respect which I so often missed during these days.
He told me that he had passed the night at his sister’s house in order to be in time for the appointment and that I need have no fear that any of those who spied on me should know of the meeting as he had taken the precaution of disguising his nephew as a coachman in order to drive his carriage here.
He then began to explain how he wished to serve us. He could do this.
He would bend the people to his will. What he needed me to do was persuade the King to receive him that he might lay his plans before us both.
I listened to him. I was excited by his enthusiasm, which was in such contrast to my husband’s lethargy. He reminded me of Axel, who was so eager to save me except that Axel was beautiful, and this man so ugly.
I believed him capable of doing all he said and I told him so.
For his part I am sure he was sincere when he laid his hand on his heart and said that in the future it would be his greatest desire in life to serve me. From now on I could count him as my champion.
I told him that he had given me fresh hope and he replied that I might well hope, for soon all the humiliation I had suffered would be behind me.
There was such a sense of power in the man that I could not fail to believe him.
I left him feeling that the interview had been one of marked success. Axel was delighted; so was Mercy. I felt all we had to do now was to wait for Mirabeau to act. When I heard that he had written to the Comte de la Marck, who was one of the go-betweens in the affair:
“Nothing shall stop me. I would die rather than fail to fulfill my promises!” I was exultant.
The autumn had come and we must leave Saint-Cloud and return to the Tuileries. It was with great sadness that we returned to our dank, dark home.
The aunts were wretched. They could only vaguely understand what had happened, and they hated the crowds who were always watching us and treating us with no respect; they loathed the guards who spied on us so insolently.
They were constantly in tears and their health was failing. They envied poor Sophie more than ever. Anyone who had died before this terrible thing had happened was to be envied, declared Adelaide.
Mirabeau was in touch with us and the King was receiving him. I pointed out that if some plan was formed which might involve our leaving Paris it would be as well to have the aunts safely out of the way. Louis agreed with us but in his usual way did nothing about it, so I consulted Axel, who said that we should arrange for them to slip away. They must cross the frontier and perhaps go to Naples, where my sister would undoubtedly receive them.
I shall never forget the day they left. They were desolate, like two lost children. They embraced me fondly and Adelaide cried that she wanted me to come with them-myself, dear Louis and the darling children. I said we could not, and she looked at me mutely and I knew she was asking my forgiveness for all the spiteful malice of the past.
I wanted her to understand that I bore no malice. In the past I had been too careless to do so; now I realised that there was too much hatred in the world for me to wish to add to it.
I kissed them. I said, without believing it for one moment, that perhaps soon we should all be together. And they went out into the courtyard where the carriages were waiting. I was horrified to see that a crowd had gathered and some effort was made to prevent their leaving.
I heard a voice shout: “Shall we let them go?” And I listened, my heart beating wildly for the answer.
There was a pause, but when during it the coachmen had whipped up the horses and the carriage moved off, no one attempted to follow them.
It was only Mesdames—the mad old ladies.
I stood at the window looking out without seeing anything.
They had gone now. Another phase was over.
It was a long time before I heard from them. Their carriage had been stopped on the way; ugly faces had peered at them. As they could not be the Queen disguised they were allowed to pass on, and eventually they reached Naples, where my sister Caroline welcomed them.
I heard that they spoke of me with something like reverence. So they must have been truly sorry.
Orleans had returned to Paris. Why should he stay away? Because the King had sent him into exile? But what power had the King? The people of Paris welcomed him back. And with him came Jeanne de la Motte. Why should she stay away? There was no danger now of her being asked to pay the penalty for her part in the diamond necklace fraud. Everyone believed that she had been the scapegoat and that I had had the necklace.
She set herself up in the Place Vendome and devoted her time to the writing of fiction in which I was always the central character. She wrote her newest version of the Diamond Necklace Scandal. Her works were received with enthusiasm, for their purpose was to revile me.
Meanwhile Mirabeau was bringing all his energy to the problem of restoring the Monarchy. I believe now that he could have done it. He was working with the National Assembly and with the King and we were closer now to reconciliation than we had been for a long time, Mirabeau could have saved us. I realise that now. He was not entirely altruistic. He wanted power for himself, and he wanted riches too. His debts were enormous. The King must provide a million livres which would pass into Mirabeau’s possession when he had brought the revolution to an end and the King was firmly back on the throne. His, Mirabeau’s, debts would naturally be settled and he would earn the undying gratitude of the King.
With his golden voice and his mastery of words he could sway the Assembly. Marat, Robespierre and Danton were watchful. So was Orleans.
It must have seemed to them that Mirabeau was planning to destroy all they had agitated for.
He talked fiercely to the King.
> “Four enemies,” he said, ‘are marching upon us: taxation, bankruptcy, the army, and the winter. We could prepare to deal with these enemies by guiding them. Civil war is not certain, but it could be expedient.”
Louis was horrified.
“Civil war. I could never agree to that ” Law and order would merely be arms to fight the mob. And does Your Majesty doubt which would win?”
The King looked at me.
“The King would never agree to civil war,” I told him.
Mirabeau was exasperated.
“Oh excellent but weak King I’ he thundered.
“Oh, most unfortunate of Queens! Your vacillation, has swept you into a terrible abyss. If you renounce my advice, or if I should fail, a funeral pall will cover this realm. But should I escape the general shipwreck, I shall be able to say to myself with pride, ” I exposed myself to danger in the hope of saving them, but they did not want to be saved”.”
And with that he left us. How right he was. How foolish we were.
But the King would only say: “I would never agree to civil war.”
I, too, was afraid of it—too much afraid to attempt to persuade him, which no doubt I should have done.
Mirabeau was not the man to give up because he had rejected his first plan. He knew of Axel’s devotion to me and they talked together of the necessity of getting us out of Paris.
Mirabeau believed this to be a good plan and suggested that Axel should go at once to Metz, near the frontier, where the Marquis de Bouille was stationed with the loyal troops. Axel was to discover the position there, explain the plan to Bouille, and then return to Paris with all speed so that the arrangements could begin.
Axel came to say goodbye to me and I was terrified.
Do you realise,” I asked him, ‘what these canaille would do to you if they knew you were working for us?”
He knew, he replied. But they were not going to discover. The plan was going through. He was going to transport me to safety.
“They would not care that you were a foreigner!” I cried.
“Oh, Axel, go away from France. Stay away … until all this is over.”
The Queen`s Confession Page 43
