The Queen`s Confession (55 page)

I had no time to be vindictive; I could take no pleasure in reminding them of all the harm they had done me. I could only be sorry for them who had lived so long in a state of society which was now cracking under their feet and leaving them defenceless.

Their attitude towards me had taken a complete turnabout;

they were affectionate and devoted perhaps even adoring, for Adelaide could never do anything by halves, and Vktoire, of course, followed her sister.

Elisabeth’s natural saintliness was increased. She was always with me and the children. Together we set about making a tapestry rug, which filled long hours of that winter as pleasantly as could be expected.

After dinner the King would slump in his chair and sleep, or go to his apartment to do so. He was gentle with the whole family and could always soothe the hysterical outbursts of the aunts which they could not help letting escape from time to time. They longed so much for a return of the old days;

they, more than any of us, found it hard to adjust them selves to the new regime.

I lived for Axel’s visits. We could not be alone together but we held many whispered conversations. He told me he could not rest while I was here in Paris. He thought continually of that terrible drive from Versailles to Paris.

“Those canaille how I loathe them! How I despise them! God knows what harm they might have done you. How can I tell you of the agonies I suffered when I knew you were in their midst? I tell you I will never rest until you are out of this city. I want you right away … where I know you shall be safe.”

I smiled and listened. His love for me, my children’s affection for me and my husband’s tenderness were all I cared to live for.

And during that long winter the theme of my lover’s discourse was Escape.

After a while my fears were lulled a little. We; were in a sense prisoners, but at least at the Tuileries we had a semblance of a Court. La Fayette was a constant visitor and he assured the King that he was his servant. La Fayette was a man of good intentions, and in this respect he was not unlike Louis. He failed to be on the spot at the important moment; he was always too late when the decision should be made promptly and too quick when it needed a great deal of consideration. But we were glad of his friendship.

He had evidence that Orleans had helped to arrange the march on Versailles and was certain that those people who swore they bad seen the Due disguised in a slouch hat had not been mistaken, and for this reason he believed that Orleans should be sent where he could do no more harm.

The King could not believe that his own cousin could be such a traitor. But La Fayette cried: “Sire, his plan is to dethrone you and be Regent of France. The very fact of his birth makes this possible.”

“What proof have you?” asked the King dismayed.

“Plenty, Sire. And I can get more. The rabble which marched on Versailles was strongly augmented by men in women’s clothes. They were not the women of Paris as we were meant to believe. They were paid agitators, many of them, and one of those who organised the march was Monsieur d’Orleans.”

“It is incredible,” insisted the King; but I pointed out to him that it was not incredible at all. Orleans had been my enemy from the days when I had first come to France; and I could well believe this of him.

The King looked at me helplessly, but La Fayette, sure now of my support, went on: “Sire, some heard the cry ” Vive Orleans, notre roi d’orleans I think that makes it clear. He plans to destroy you and the Queen and set himself up in your place. He should be sent out of the country. “

“Let him go to England,” said the King.

“But I think 412 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 daysl Those draughty corridors 1 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.

1 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 416 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 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 417 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.