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-Priest.
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 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.
