I had lost my beloved mother without seeing her again. Her letters—although at the same time good and cruel—were my most cherished relics. But whenever I read them my heart was torn, as I felt that my mother had been convinced that I was really insane.
As for the King—alas!—he sent me no word. Doubtless his mind, like that of the Queen, had been poisoned—was he, too, not certain of the count's guilt? What guile had not been employed in his case! In order to play my husband's and my son-in-law's game it was necessary to make my father believe absolutely in our "crimes."
What could I do, alone in my madhouse, deprived of help and liberty?
But I guessed the plots which were hatched at Brussels, and what support my enemies had obtained in order to triumph over a poor tortured woman. I saw my only chance of salvation by the side of the unfortunate man who was enduring martyrdom in the penitentiary of Moellersdorf, for having endeavoured to save me from an earthly hell and its dishonouring abysses.
Perhaps our mutual fidelity may astonish some people. Few really understand that, for certain natures, suffering constitutes a common bond. Our joys had been ephemeral, our sorrows had been prolonged. We had been misunderstood, misjudged, defamed and tortured. But we had reposed our trust and our hope elsewhere than in men. Often the best have neither the time nor the possibility of knowing and understanding, and thus they condemn the innocent on the strength of appearances, which hatred and duplicity know so well how to exploit to their own advantage.
I had been certified "insane" for four years, when the Court of Vienna, terrified by public outcry, was obliged to abandon one of its victims. The count was pardoned. No sooner did he regain his freedom than, fearless of consequences, he began to plan my deliverance! It was indeed a perilous enterprise, as the Austrian and German police, in default of a justice which fear of the Press and Parliaments kept somewhat in restraint, were nevertheless at the orders of my enemies.
I have said, and I again repeat, that it seems incredible that we still live.
To begin with, my chivalrous defender found himself entangled in the meshes of the police net, and could not take a single step without being followed by spies of all descriptions. As for myself, I beheld Koswig in a state of siege. Lindenhof was surrounded by gendarmes; even the fir trees afforded them a screen!
Fortified by prayer and hope, I had now become if not accustomed to my chains at least able to support their weight. Always a lover of Nature, I revelled in the sylvan solitudes where I was allowed to walk with my sorrow, of course under the observation of my suite of jailers of both sexes.
I had only one friend—my dog! Shall I ever see that loyal fine face again, and those clear eyes, in which alone in a world of corruption I have seen the disinterested light of welcome?