Farah Pahlavi: Not to such a degree! To arrive ahead of the son of General de Gaulle* who preceded me by several weeks in terms of sales was not easy (she laughs). My book has been translated into Spanish. In March (2004), it will come out in the USA , in Germany and even in the Czech republic . What gives me such real pleasure is the knowledge that the book is being sold under the table, in French, in Tehran .

FP: My destiny from a normal young girl to becoming a queen who almost lost everything is extraordinary. In addition, this success, I first obtained it from the French who adopted me from the day they discovered Farah Diba, a young Iranian, a student of architecture in Paris, suddenly becoming the fiancée of the Shah of Iran. They never lost interest. People recognise me in the street, they come up to me or smile at me. By the way, since the publication of the book, I have discovered a new generation. Youngsters who saw me on television or heard me on the radio ask me for autographs for their mother, their grandmother or their aunt. Besides me it is perhaps Iran that interests them. Many readers have confessed to me to have uncovered a country that they have heard about for many years but whose beauty, culture and tradition, had eluded them.

PDV: You mention the condition of Iranian women. How did you react when learning about the lawyer Shirin Ebadi winning the Nobel Peace Prize in 2003?

FP: It only served to reinforce the confidence I have for my compatriots especially during these 25 years. They have shown their courage by combating, in their own way, for their basic rights, especially the right to vote, obtained in 1963. The Islamic regime was unable to abolish all the reforms instituted by the king, my husband. They continue to attend university, to study. They want to educate themselves despite all efforts to prevent them during the last quarter of a century. Â

FP: Without wishing to interfere in the internal politics, I will limit my opinion by saying that one has to respect the laws and the tradition of the country you live in. It is very easy to wear the veil in a democratic country, but I am not sure that these women know exactly what the consequences are in a country that makes it obligatory. Â Islamic divorce which allows men to repudiate their women the following day; the question of child custody; the judicial testimony of a man, which is worth twice that of a woman; access to education; to positions; equal salary, stoning; flagellationâА&brkbar;I think of all these when I see women demonstrating to wear the veil.

FP: God knows how many times a day I think of her. Leila had a heart of gold, she was intelligent and blessed with a strong character, and she loved life. She was the most sociable of my four children. Unfortunately, we were unable to, or did not know how, to be closer to her, to support her when she needed us the most.

FP: Being the youngest, she is the one who suffered the most during our early days in exile. One of the hardest moments of my life was to leave New York with my husband, after his operation, to have had to leave her behind. Not even having said goodbye or embraced each other. Of course, she was with my mother, but at 9 years of age, she woke up one morning to find that I had gone. At the time, I was battling to save the life of my husband, afflicted with cancer, who seemed the one most in danger. The worst thing for Leila during these years was to read that her father was a bloody tyrant. For the others, Iran was an abstract political problem. For her, it was an inner wound.

FP: She did not commit suicide as many have said. Leila died one night after having taken sleeping tablets when her anxiety had become too strong. A healthy person would have recovered, but her immunity system had suffered after battling so many problems: anorexia, depression, and fatigue. What touches me most is the shining memory that she left behind. Many Iranians, in exile and inside the country, mourned her. They told me that candles were lit and flowers placed at the gates of our palace in Niavaran. Every day, Iranians who pass through France on vacation, ask where she is buried. Every day, her tomb is covered in flowers by anonymous people.

FP: In my motherâАЩs case, aged 80, I had at least the satisfaction to have been near her at the time of her death. I know that she recognised me. One does not revolt against the death of a person of that age, even if one suffers. In the case of Leila, I was not there, and she was only 31. It was unbearable. I held on because I had no other choice. I had to be there for my other children and grand children. My book helped me to surmount the ordeal. In 1990, I had signed a contract, but I had been unable to write. I began when Leila was already gravely ill. I was about to go insane. During the hardest times, writing is a way of exorcising daily suffering by placing it symbolically elsewhere, away from one self. Writing and the fact that I had this book as an objective is what allowed me to wake up every morning. It was a form of therapy and also a goal without which I could not have been able to continue.

FP: Anti-depressants tend to aggravate my condition. At certain moments, I had to take them but I felt so bad that I stopped immediately. Honestly, I must say that I always have one pill on me when I go out, just in case - &brkbar;It is in my handbag and that reassures me when I sometimes feel anxious.

FP: This happened to me a few times and not just during the death of Leila. But, throughout my life, my sense of dignity saved me. During the worst moments, I told myself: one can lose everything, every one of us in turn, but one must conserve one's dignity and courage. It is the real battle of life.

FP: Since the death of Leila, I do not expect any more happiness. I always know that one person will always be missing. I occupy myself with little joys. If it is a beautiful morning, I am happy. It is the same thing with nature, flowers, music. More importantly, I tell myself that I have lived until now, that I have passed difficult moments and that I do not have much time left ahead of me. Well, even better. The date of my death is approaching and I think of it often without anxiety and sadness.

FP: In any case, I tell myself that I hope the worst is behind me. Some days, it happens that I feel fatigued and depressed. I try to find means such as sport or meditation to lift the spirits and find the energy that I lack.

PDV: To be less afraid of death because one has the sentiment of having led a full life, is that your definition of the meaning of life?

FP: I had a full life. And, especially, I had these twenty years of reign that allowed me to realise concrete projects. By remembering them, I think of the king, my husband, who gave me this exceptional position which allowed me to have a privileged life. I could not be jealous or ambitious, I had it all. Even if my life caught up with me, I have always tried to return, in my mind at least, to this period. The joy I spent beside him during these years allows, today, to have some inner peace.

FP: You can say that again! Sometimes I have the impression that I have lived for two hundred years! Often, I think of Jacques Brel who left everything to live on an island and I tell myself that I would like to do the same. But that is forbidden to me, so I continue. I hope that at least my death will be interesting.

FP: To die in Iran , perhaps. After twenty years of anonymity, twenty years of reign as empress and twenty-five years in exile, it would be my fourth life.

FP: Often, they ask me how I would like to be remembered? Thinking about it, I tell myself that I had a life richer than anybody else. For better and worse. Well, it is less important how it will end. I already had my gift from destiny.

FP: One can not love another man, when one has had a husband like mine. He is in my heart, forever. Many times a day, I think of him and my little Leila. I talk to them and they help me.