‘We but exchange one tiresome ceremony for another,’ said the Queen wearily.
She thought how pleasant it would be to sit on the lawn before her dear little house watching the children play, dressed in one of her muslin dresses, a shady hat on her head.
But the ceremonies must go on. There must be the banquet at that cheerless palace. Even the performance at the Opéra, which followed, raised her spirits very little, although the audience did not treat her with the same contempt as that which she had received in the streets, and there were a few lukewarm cheers.
After the Opéra she and the King went to supper at The Temple, Artois’ Paris home.
She shivered as she entered the place. ‘It’s so ancient,’ she complained to Artois. ‘Why do you not rid yourself of the place and build yourself something modern?’
Artois bent his mischievous face close to hers and whispered: ‘How would it be if I asked Calonne to arrange to buy Saint-Cloud from you?’
They laughed. She could be gay in the company of Artois. He refused to take anything seriously. The people of Paris were grumbling about the purchase of Saint-Cloud. Let them grumble! was Artois’ way of thinking. Who cares for the people of Paris!
When she was with him she could share that insouciance, and it was as though they were young again, arousing the wrath of the people with the Austrian habit of sledging, and riding back to Versailles in the early hours of the morning.
‘All the same,’ she said. ‘I find the Temple a gloomy residence. I command you, brother, change it for another.’
Artois bowed over her hand. ‘The Queen commands,’ he said and lightly kissed her fingers.
Chapter IX
THE DIAMOND NECKLACE
Artois was in the Queen’s apartment. He was pacing the floor, his eyes ablaze, his impish smile illuminating his rather handsome face. Antoinette smiled at him. She had always been a great deal fonder of him than of his brother Provence.
He was saying: ‘But why not, ’Toinette? Why not indeed? It would be a wonderful show. A perfect play for the Trianon Theatre. I tell you it is better than Le Mariage de Figaro. The barber is more amusing, more witty, more impudent than ever in this play. We must do it. Come, ’Toinette, say you will allow us to play Le Barbier de Seville in your theatre.’
‘As you are so earnest …’ she began.
He was beside her, kissing her hands, putting his arm about her and dancing with her about the apartment.
‘It is well that there are only those whom we trust watching us,’ she said.
‘ ’Toinette, we should never trust any, and there will always be those to watch us whom we do not trust.’ He struck an attitude and declaimed: ‘ “Since men have no choice other than stupidity or madness, if I can’t get any profit I want pleasure at least. So hurrah for happiness. Who knows if the world is going to last three weeks?” That,’ he continued, ‘is Figaro. What a character! My dearest Queen, you must play Rosine. “Imagine the prettiest little woman in the world, gentle, tender, lively, fresh, appetising, nimble of foot, slenderwaisted, with rounded arms, dewy mouth; and such hands; such feet; such eyes!” There! That is Rosine. And you, my Queen, must play Rosine. I swear if you do not I’ll not play the barber, and what will the play be like without me as the barber?’
‘You are growing old, you know, brother. You should show more seriousness.’
‘Ha! Look who commands me.’
‘And you a father!’
‘Fathers must have their fun, ’Toinette.’
‘You have not forgotten, I trust, that it will soon be your eldest son’s birthday. That reminds me – I have such a charming gift for him. I hope it will please young Monsieur le Duc d’Angoulême.’
‘If you chose the gift, it surely will,’ said Artois. He went on: ‘Vaudreuil would wish for a part, I am sure.’
She was determined to tease him, although she was interested in the Beaumarchais play.
‘I have some diamond epaulets and buckles for your son,’ she said. ‘They are certainly charming. I wonder if they are here. I will show them to you.’
‘Let us settle this matter of the play first.’
‘There is time for that.’ She called to one of her women. ‘Henriette, has Boehmer brought the diamonds for the Little Duke?’
‘Yes, Madame. I have them here. The jeweller left a letter for you with them. He was somewhat agitated. He was so anxious that you should have the letter.’
‘Bring them to me. I wish to show the ornaments to the Comte.’
Henriette de Campan brought the jewels and the letter. Antoinette showed the trinkets to Artois and, while he was examining them, she opened the letter from the jeweller.
She read it and frowned.
‘This surprises me,’ she said.
Artois came and looked over her shoulder, and they read the letter together.
‘Why so?’ asked the Comte.
‘Because I have no notion what the man is talking about. Henriette,’ she called.
Madame de Campan came hurrying to her side.
‘How was Boehmer when he left the letter?’
‘Strange, Madame. Agitated.’
‘Do you think he is … sane?’
‘Sane, Madame? How so?’
‘He writes such a strange letter. I have no notion what he means. He says he is very satisfied by the arrangements and that it is a great pleasure to him that the most magnificent diamonds in the world are now in the possession of the most beautiful of Queens.’
‘He’s hoping for business,’ said Artois.
‘A strange letter to write. What does he want to sell me now? Thank heaven it is not that necklace of his!’
‘The famous necklace,’ mused Artois.
‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘Who has not heard of it? Didn’t the man roam the world trying to sell it?’
‘Yes. He declared that if he did not succeed he would be ruined. He came to me one day and implored me to have it. He made quite a scene before Charlotte. I told him to break up the stones and sell them separately. It was a foolish idea to make the necklace in the first place. I was delighted when he sold it. Who was it bought it, Henriette?’
‘The Sultan of Constantinople bought it for his favourite wife, Madame,’ said Madame de Campan.
‘I was quite relieved when I heard it,’ said Antoinette. She looked at the letter again, laughed and held it up to the flame of the candle. Then she threw it from her into the fireplace. Dismissing the matter, she called to Madame de Campan to put the little Duke’s present away and gave herself up to the pleasure of discussing the proposed performance of Le Barbier de Seville.
The Queen was rehearsing her lines. There was no doubt about it; Beaumarchais had surpassed himself with the Barber. She really believed with Artois that it was a better play than Le Mariage de Figaro.
Her role was – apart from that of the barber – the most important, and she was eager to acquit herself with honours. It should be one of those occasions such as she loved. The King and all the most noble people at Court should be in the audience. Meanwhile rehearsal followed rehearsal.
She found it a little difficult to concentrate on rehearsals, for on the previous day the jeweller Boehmer had presented himself at Trianon and begged an audience. She had refused this. She sent her woman to say that she was in no need of new jewels and, if at any time she decided she needed more, she would send for him.
The woman had reported that the man had been very disconsolate and had told her that Madame de Campan had suggested he see the Queen as soon as possible.
‘Madame de Campan!’ Antoinette had cried. ‘Where is Henriette? Is she not visiting her father-in-law?’