“It is where he should have been long ago,” I retorted. ‘now hear me in the first act. “
How strange that the dialogue in this very play was like a grim warning. I remember now Basile’s speech on calumny, but strangely enough I took no heed of it then. Now it comes back to me:
“Calumny! You don’t know what you are disdaining when you disdain that. I have seen people of the utmost probity laid low by it. Believe me, there is no false report however crude, no abomination, no ridiculous falsehood, which the idlers in a great city cannot, if they take the trouble, make universally believed—and here we have little- tattlers who are past-masters of the art….”
How true that was to prove, and how foolish I was to believe that I had heard the last of the affair of the diamond necklace. But I thought of nothing then but my performance. At the end I stood triumphantly on the stage to receive the applause; I had played as rarely before.
Such a play in my own theatre, myself playing the principal role! I was happy and excited with my success, and I had no notion then that this was the last time I should play there.
Events leading to the Trial
Madame de Boulainvilliers once saw from her terrace two pretty little peasant girls, each labouring under a heavy bundle of sticks; the priest of the village who was walking with her told her that the children possessed some curious papers, and that he had no doubt they were descendants of a Valois, an illegitimate son of one of the Princes of that Name.
The face of this woman (Baronne d’Oliva) had from the first thrown me into that sort of restlessness which one experiences in the presence of a face one feels certain of having well before without being able to say where. What had puzzled me so much in her face was its perfect resemlance to that of the Queen.
After this fatal moment (the meeting in the Grove of Venus) the Cardinal is no longer merely confiding and credulous, he is blind and makes of his blindness an absolute duty. His submission to the orders received through Madame de la Motte is linked to the feelings of profound respect and gratitude which are to affect his whole life. He wilt await with resignation the moment when her reassuring kindness will fully manifest itself, and meanwhile will be absolutely obedient.
Such is the state of his soul.
Looking back, I see the affair of the necklace as the beginning, as the first rumble of thunder in the mighty storm which was to break about my head. I was determined that Rohan should be judged and found guilty; he must be exposed as the swindler I believed um to be. Should he be excused because he was a prince of a noble family? I owed it to my mother as well as my own dignity as Queen of Prance to have him proved guilty of all the sins which I was certain he had committed.
I laughed when I considered what I was sure his family expected. They would imagine that the King would exercise his right to inflict a mild punishment on the Cardinal, perhaps send him a lettre de cachet which would mean a brief exile; then he could return to Court and the incident be for gotten.
I was determined that this should not be.
Louis, as usual, wavered. His good sense told him that he should listen to wise counsellors and obey his own instincts in the matter, which were that the less universally known about the matter the better for us all; but his sentiments towards me and he loved me truly insisted that he listen to my outbursts of fury against a man who had dared presume that I would enter into an underhand negotiation with him. Whenever Rohan’s name was mentioned, I would burst into an angry tirade which often ended in tears.
“The Cardinal must be punished.”
Louis pointed out that the Cardinal belonged to one of the oldest families in France; he was related to the Condes, the Soubises and the Marsans; they believed that they had been personally insulted since a member of their family had been arrested publicly like a common felon.
“Which be isl’ I declared.
“And the whole world should know it.”
“Yes, yes,” replied my husband, ‘you are right, of course. Yet not only his family but Rome itself is displeased that a Cardinal of Holy Church should have been submitted to insult. “
“And why not,” I demanded, ‘when he deserves his fate more than some man who steals bread because he is hungry. “
“You are right,” said my husband.
I embraced him warmly.
“You will never allow a man who has insulted me to go free, I know.”
“He shall have his just rewards.”
All the same Louis allowed the Cardinal to decide whether he would be judged by the King or the Pariement.
He quickly made his choice and wrote to the King, and it struck me at the time that the man who had written that letter to my husband had changed a great deal from the frightened creature who had been summoned to the King’s cabinet on the day he was arrested. He had written:
“Sire, I had hoped through confrontation to obtain proofs that would have convinced Your Majesty beyond doubt of the fraud of which I have been the plaything and I should then have desired no judges except your justice and your kindness. Refused confrontation and deprived of this hope, I accept with most respectful gratitude the permission which Your Majesty gives me to prove my innocence through judicial forms; and consequently I beg Your Majesty to give the necessary orders for my affair to be sent and assigned to the Pariement of Paris, to the assembled chambers.
“Nevertheless if I could hope that the inquiries which have been made, and which are unknown to me, could have led Your Majesty to decide that I am only guilty of having been deceived, I should then beg you.
Sire, to decide according to your justice and your kindness. My relations, penetrated with the same sentiments as myself, have signed.
“I am, with the deepest respect, Cardinal de Rohan De Rohan, Prince de Montbazon Prince de Rohan, Archbishop of Cambrai L.M. Prince de Soubise’ When my husband read this letter he was disturbed. He too was struck by the change in Rohan. His imprisonment in the Bastille had changed him from a very frightened man to an arrogant one.
I could see the speculation in his eyes. He said to me: “If I admitted that the Cardinal is merely a man who has been deceived into taking part in this fraud, he would not wish to be tried by the Parlement.”
I laughed aloud.
“I dare say not. He would rather have your leniency than a judicial sentence when he is proved guilty.”
“What if he is not proved guilty?”
‘you are joking. Of course he will be proved guilty. He is guilty.”
My husband looked at the letter; he was staring at those names at the foot of it—some of the most influential in the country.
I knew that he was hoping that the matter might be hushed up in some way, which I told myself was just what Rohan’s noble family wanted.
But I was determined to bring this affair into the open.
My folly makes me shudder even now.
