August 9th, 1786- Two Years Later

 

 Has it really been two years? Many times I have picked up my pen to continue, but laid it down again defeated by the events which have seemed both too swift and endless at once. When last I wrote we were preparing for the King's hunt, an episode which should have signaled much joy, but which proved misadventurous instead. I must out with the truth, no use in delaying. Thierry suffered a fall from his horse during the hunt, and though he seemed at first little injured with no apparent broken bones, he soon slipped into a sleep from which he could not be woken. Nine days into his endless sleep I inquired of the doctor on another matter and received the glad news that I was enceinte though I had little dared to hope for a child at that point. 

Thierry lingered into August of that year before expiring as gracefully as he had lived. Our child soon followed only a few weeks later, dead before it could live. My mistress, the Princess Elisabeth, with great kindness and gentleness, released me to mourn and recover at my home in Saint-Saturnin, where I stayed for the better part of the last two years. 

Grief knows no safe place, however. Word of Christine's death in Sweden in childbirth in early January of 1785 was followed swiftly by that of one of my aunt's, the apparent suicide of my mother's brother who did grieve her terribly, and then that of my sweet Reinette whom I found dead one October morning with little warning. I do not lie when I say that it was all I might do for some time thereafter to merely rise in the morning and live myself. 

Meanwhile the royal family have had their own difficulties, with the Affair of the Necklace only recently subsiding in May of this year. The Queen is naturally acquitted of blame, but that does not stop the wagging tongues of Paris who continue to abuse her reputation most pitilessly. There is now, though, a second young Prince, Louis Charles, and the sweetest baby Princess, Sophie, the latter of whom was only born a month ago. I, being for the last three months back at Versailles, have had the great fortune of seeing this newest child of France myself thanks to the unending support of my benefactress, Madame Elisabeth. Though she cannot now offer me the position in her household which once I held, she continues to champion my cause ensuring that a small pension is mine owing to the death of the Marquis. I remain Comtesse in my own right, but the title of Marquise de Mercoeur will die with me or be forfeited upon my remarriage.

The possibility of remarriage is on my mind, as I am very nearly too old for childbearing unless it be quite soon. There is, I confess, a young Chevalier, eldest son and heir to an old and established House, who declares his affections daily and with whom I am not at all sorry to have become better acquainted. Tongues do wag at the prospect of our union, however, as he is 14 years my junior! 

Even this little missive tires me, and my new puppy tugs at the hem of my dress urging me to play. I must go. I begin to hope again, but in my hope is such fear. Is it a friend or false-faced demon, I wonder.

April 30th, 1783

One would think it were possible to cease being surprised by the events of life, and yet they never do cease in amazement. Finally I am at liberty to write of the events of the last few days, and indeed of the many months since last my husband and I were together.

When two years ago we fled Paris, and my ill-advised nuptials with the Marquis de Franconville-aux-Bois, the letter that came to us in Lille saying that Thierry had been denounced as a spy for the English was written by a man with whom he worked. I had thought it all a wild chase, the choice to go to Marseille and then on to Venice following our secret wedding, merely a necessity to escape the Lettre de Cachet which would have imprisoned him indefinitely. I have been much deceived.

Believing the accusation to be the work of F- I have plotted tirelessly against him, imagining him the greatest of monsters and author of my misfortunes, but it seems that in his role as agent for the Ferme Generale Thierry became very useful for his English connections. In short, though a spy indeed, it was the English upon whom he was gathering information. The accusation, a way of making our enemies trust him. The flight to Venice, a means to meet with important people from the English court who were abroad. When he disappeared and I did not know where he had gone, he had slipped into England. The war in the colonies finally finished, he was invited to return home, and his reward? It seems that his family has suddenly been made aware of a long-standing claim to an old title through his mother. So now he is a landless Marquis.

Overjoyed at this news, and not in small part confused, I laid before him all of my doings since he left. The destruction of all of F-s interests, the ruin of his home in Saint Martin-du-Tertre, the disgrace of my own cousins, and the return of cousin Godfrey to the post of Grand Chamberlain, as well as everything surrounding Clementine de Rodez; whose wedding is to take place in only a few short days.

Thierry was most upset by these revelations, as much as I was befuddled by his own, and I must admit there was something of an argument. He is greatly unsettled by what he sees as "the incessant intriguing of courtiers and wits." For several days we did not see each other or speak and I wondered very much what our lives would become. Fortunately, knowing that there was still the question of whether or not F- was behind my poisoning and R-s death, Thierry forgave me my mistaken machinations on his behalf.

Now there is only the question of whether two people who are, in fact, already married may be married again by the church, as I may finally, lawfully, be joined with him as my peer.

Olympe, Comtesse

April 25th, 1783

Though Mme Elizabeth will not be permitted to spend her nights at Montreuil there is much activity surrounding the transfer of her household goods to the estate, where she will likely spend most of her days. It was due to these activities that I was unable to attend the court presentations, which I had been pressed to do by my friends. Little did I realize that a surprise had been planned for me.

Undeterred by my failure to attend, Msrs. Menars and Poisson received permission to approach and speak with my mistress in her salon, and their conversation, held with her in low voices and glances in my direction, soon gave me to know that something was amiss. My mistress, appearing very sly and merry, gave a nod of assent and the two gentlemen left the room.

They were reintroduced but a few moments later and with them was announced a Marquis de Mercoeur, the title of which gave me some confusion. Mercoeur is a title long associated with certain lands in Auvergne, but which was rendered quite extinct until several years ago. Revived for the King's brother, Artois, as a duchy it was then exchanged for the richer Duchy of Poiteau. As various sovereigns and persons of consequence have assumed new identities when visiting Versailles, to escape the confines of ettiquette, I thought it might be something of a similar nature. This did not explain the curious connection with myself, however.

Immediately when the Marquis appeared all was explained and I could not do aught but stare frozen, though what I very much wished to do was to fly to him, for it was my own, dear, Thierry! The formal introductions were made, and somehow my mistress seemed to understand much because not only did she say to him "I think you know our Comtesse d'Auvergne," but she then suggested a turn in the gardens and left Thierry to accompany me.

The story he told me then will have to wait until another day, as I am summoned to dress Mme Elizabeth and cannot delay.

Olympe, Comtesse

May 18, 1779

May 18, 1779

Arrived at the estate shortly after noon, and was surprised to find no one here to greet me. A letter had been left with instructions and my room key, but sans even the housekeeper to show me around, as if I were a boarder. Expected little from my rooms and was not disappointed. Country houses that have not been much cared for in many years can only hope to be comfortable, but I will hang some of the pictures I brought with me tomorrow to brighten things up.

Unfortunately am located near to some foul odor, so one of my first acts was to find some flowers to mask the smell, and secondly to request some herbs to burn in the fireplace. Things are much nicer now. Explored the library and found it typically provincial, but picked up a book called La Nouvelle Heloise, which ought to be a diverting romance at least.

In the course of finding the flowers walked down into the village. There is a charming old cemetery which I hope to visit in a day or two. Wrote a letter to dearest Christine and sent it, hoping she is not too unhappy for the lateness of my reply to her last letter of some weeks ago. Also sent word to my steward about the management of those acquisitions while I am absent, am hoping the business with the adjoining land will come to a firm and expedient close.

My maid, Marianne, is convinced that being away for a few months will
encourage Monsieur D to finally ask for my hand. Having the title, but little money, and no male relatives to keep it all from the Crown I am beginning to be concerned that I am growing too old for matrimony and heirs of my own body. Have no doubts that some peers of the realm would never consider a member of the Third Estate for themselves or their daughters, but titles will not sustain forever in the same way that coin does, and his star is rising.

Having had only a few biscuits before my walk into town I nevertheless waited until five in the evening to order supper in my room. Simple, it came accompanied by tiny, puffed cakes of which I regret to say I ate far too many. Read comfortably in my room until sundown, and played cards alone. Being tired from the journey I will retire shortly to bed.

Tomorrow I see my hostess, Adrienne, and a few other guests in the party, but beyond that I am uncertain what to expect. The weather promises to be fine for at least a few more days, which is just as well since I seem to have forgotten my heavy shawl, and the nights can be cold in this part of the country. I may send for it from home as well as for my painting supplies and that face cream I love so well.

I admit to some heartache at being so far from T- but it is born of fatigue and boredom and may soon pass as divertissements present themselves. Perhaps he will be able to join me in a while.

Olympe, Comtesse d’Auvergne