Chapter X: Appendix: Detailed Description of the Diamond Necklace 387 (7)

The count turns his letter of credit into hard cash on the following day,[172] and then calls upon Regnier with some of the stones he had failed to get rid of in England, commissions him to mount the best of them round the lid of a circular box (a _bonbonnière_), to set others for a small pair of drop earrings which the countess intends making a present of,[173] and sells him the remainder—namely, twenty brilliants, weighing in the aggregate forty-two carats, one weighing four and a quarter carats, and thirty-nine weighing fifty-nine and a half carats—for 27,000 livres, discharging at the same time Regnier’s claim for setting the two diamond rings for himself and madame, and also an old debt due for either jewellery or plate.[174]

The De la Mottes now make no secret of the affluence which, after years of watching and waiting, is theirs at last. Madame, they confidentially admit, is in high favour with the queen, who, they insinuate, showers gifts upon her confidant with no niggard hand. The countess’s ambition was to be lady of the manor of Fontette. She has the means of gratifying it now; nevertheless, it is not to Fontette that she goes, but to Bar-sur-Aube, which, with its somewhat free and pleasant society, has greater charms for her. On retirement for a time to Bar-sur-Aube, her heart is fixed. She and the count had been long looking forward to spending the present autumn in their new abode, which by the aid of the Parisian decorator, who for months past had been exercising his talents upon the principal apartments, was rapidly becoming a model of elegance and taste.

One little thing, however, was somewhat troubling the De la Mottes at this moment and casting its shadow across their anticipated enjoyment—namely, the affair of the Necklace, the first instalment in respect of which would soon be falling due. Still the countess, having accomplished what she had, would surely find it no very difficult task to arrange a postponement which would leave her husband and herself at liberty to enjoy their autumn holiday in peace and quietude. It is with this view that the countess calls upon the cardinal, as we have already stated, while the count, looking upon the affair as good as settled, hies down to Bar-sur-Aube to await the arrival of several waggon-loads of furniture which were on their way from Paris. Among these we may be certain there were some handsome suites of the very latest fashion, supplied, we know, by Héricourt, Fournier, and Gervais, the crack upholsterers of the period, at the cost of 50,000 livres. There was no lack of clocks too from Furet, of marble groups from Adams and Chevalier, nor of mirrors, and chandeliers, and table-glass, and Wedgwood ware, then getting into fashion in Paris, from Sikes.[175] A little automaton bird too, that flew about the room all alone, and for which madame had given 1500 livres,[176] would certainly not be forgotten.

It must have been at this particular juncture that the cardinal chanced to see some two or three letters actually written by Marie-Antoinette, and that, struck by the dissimilarity of the handwriting of these letters and those received from Madame de la Motte, he communicated his doubts upon the subject to the countess.[177] She, with her active brain and ever ready tongue, had of course a hundred reasons to prove to the credulous cardinal that he was mistaken, and so set his mind at rest. Not so as regarded her own; she felt none of that confidence with which she could so readily inspire her dupe. She feared the mine was on the point of being sprung, and that the explosion would take place before she could make good her retreat. To reassure alike the cardinal and the jewellers she goes with her casket of jewels,—which Regnier tells her are worth 100,000 livres to her notary, one Mainguet, with whom she pawns them for a loan of 35,000 livres, 30,000 of which she takes to the Prince de Rohan to give to Böhmer and Bassenge. Then she packs off Rétaux de Villette post-haste to Bar-sur-Aube, and so much is she taken up with these urgent matters that she neither dines nor sups nor sleeps at home on that day.[178]

One can imagine the consternation of the Count de la Motte as, while superintending the arrangement of the new furniture and chatting with the decorator respecting the extremely satisfactory effect of the _tout ensemble_ of madame’s boudoir, he catches sight of Villette driving up to the house in hot haste, and looking far more grave than is the fellow’s wont. The count rushes down the steps to meet him—they turn aside for a few minutes’ conversation, and after a hurried lunch, and some hasty instructions to the workpeople, the order is given to put fresh horses to the carriage, and the pair are soon rattling over the road to Paris. By dint of handsome “_pourboires_” to postillions, and considerable wear and tear of horseflesh, the hundred and forty miles that intervene between them and the Rue Neuve-Saint-Gilles are got over in less than the four-and-twenty hours. At noon on the following day (August 3) a council is held, at which it is decided that madame shall send a message to Bassenge, requesting him to favour her with a call. The jeweller, in the belief that the summons can only refer to the Necklace, takes the Hôtel de Strasbourg in his way, sees the cardinal, speaks to him of his own and his partner’s inquietude at the queen having taken no notice whatever of the firm’s letter of July 12, and informs him of the message he has received from Madame de la Motte, to whom he now hastens. Bassenge finds the countess alone, with no other furniture in the apartment beyond a bedstead and a couch, and everything about the house betokening a sudden “flitting.” The jeweller simply thought he was dreaming when, after the ordinary compliments had passed between them, madame, with the calmest of countenances and the firmest of voices, said to him: “I have sent for you to let you know that you have been deceived—the word ‘_approuvé_’ and the signature attached to the paper containing the conditions of sale of the Necklace are forgeries—the queen’s handwriting has been counterfeited. As for the rest, the cardinal, you know, is very rich; you had better look to him, and insist upon his rendering himself personally liable.”[179]

Bassenge, as soon as he recovered his self-possession, hurried home to communicate to his partner the astounding intelligence he had just received, but Böhmer, it will be remembered, was at Crespy with Madame Campan on this very day.[180] The jeweller therefore resolved to look in again on the cardinal, and ask an explanation from him. The Prince de Rohan, on being apprised of what the countess had said, shared in the fears of the jeweller, though he dared not avow as much. He hesitated for some time ere he made a reply; then he strove to reassure Bassenge by affirming that he had in his own possession a written agreement of the queen’s, and he bade the jeweller go home and make himself perfectly easy; and home, and somewhat easier in his mind, Bassenge went. Great stress was laid at the trial on this mis-statement of the cardinal’s, still we can very well understand it to have been nothing more than an exaggeration of the fact that he was in possession of letters which he believed to be written by the queen, authorising the purchase of the Necklace on her behalf.

When Böhmer returns home from Crespy on the following day, the two partners compare notes, and decide that the queen ought to be seen without a moment’s delay. To Versailles, therefore, Böhmer hastens, but, as we have already stated, is refused an audience by Marie-Antoinette. A day or two afterwards, however, he finds himself summoned by courier to wait upon the queen, who has by this time learnt from Madame Campan the result of her conversation at Crespy with the crown jeweller, and is anxious to hear the astounding recital from his own lips. Böhmer, disregarding all that Madame Campan has told him, and in the full belief that the cardinal holds the queen’s written agreement for the purchase of the Necklace, proceeds to Versailles in all confidence, determined to be no longer trifled with, even by royalty itself. On his arrival he is ushered into the queen’s private cabinet, when Marie-Antoinette at once inquires of him: “By what fatality it is that she is still doomed to hear of his foolish pretensions about selling her an article which she had steadily refused for several years?” Böhmer, reassured by what the cardinal had told Bassenge, no longer felt any doubt as to the queen being really a party to the purchase of the Necklace, and replied, “that he was compelled, being unable to pacify his creditors any longer.” “What are your creditors to me?” inquired the queen. Böhmer then related to her seriatim all that, according to his deluded imagination, had passed between them through the intervention of the Cardinal de Rohan. She was equally thunderstruck, incensed, and surprised at everything she heard. In vain did she speak; the jeweller, alike importunate and dangerous, repeated incessantly: “Madame, this is no time for feigning; deign to confess that you have my Necklace, and order me some assistance, or else a bankruptcy will soon bring the whole affair to light.”[181]

Marie-Antoinette, driven almost frantic by this flagrant imposture and by the wanton manner in which her name had been abused and trifled with, immediately sent for the Abbé de Vermond, “her private secretary, her confidant, and her counsellor;”[182] and subsequently for the Baron de Breteuil—the cardinal’s two bitterest enemies. Delighted at the prospect they saw of crushing the grand almoner, not merely by effecting his utter ruin at court, but by disgracing him in the eyes of all Europe, they never for a moment thought of the consequences of permitting the name of the second personage in the kingdom to be mixed up in a swindling transaction and associated with those of a profligate ecclesiastic, a wholesale forger, a Palais Royal courtesan, a sharper, and an abandoned woman and thief.

Hardly had Böhmer made his partner acquainted with what transpired at his interview with the queen, ere another courier in the royal livery dashes up to the door of the jewellers’ establishment—“Au Grand Balcon,” in the Rue Vendôme—this time with a letter from the Baron de Breteuil, minister of justice and of the king’s household, and the Prince de Rohan’s declared enemy, again requiring Böhmer’s attendance at Versailles. On the receipt of this new summons, Böhmer hurries off to the cardinal for instructions and finds his eminence by this time pretty well crazed with this same Necklace business. Nevertheless he enjoins the jeweller not to breathe a word about the queen, for should the minister discover that her majesty had purchased the detested jewel, he would certainly inform the king, and they would all be involved in one common disgrace. Should the Baron de Breteuil question him as to the meaning of the letter which the firm had sent to the queen, he had better reply that it referred to some new set of diamonds which they desired to sell to her majesty.

Primed with these equivocal instructions, the crown jeweller proceeds nervously to his interview with the minister; but whether he was as reticent as the cardinal bade him be on the subject of the sale of the Necklace we have our doubts. Böhmer’s object was to get his money; but then he dared not fly in face of the instructions he received from the minister. He therefore played fast and loose with the cardinal, not daring to break with him for fear he should loose his 1,400,000 livres, but betraying him, so far as he thought he might safely venture to do, to his acknowledged enemy. The result was that a few days afterwards, on the recommendation of the Baron de Breteuil, who assured the jewellers that they should be paid for the Necklace, a memorial was drawn up and forwarded to the queen by the crown jewellers, wherein was set forth a complete history of the negotiations which had been entered into with the cardinal, and which had resulted in the sale to him of the Necklace, as they believed, on her majesty’s account.

At this point the arch _intrigante_ seems to have lost her head, for on the morning of the 4th, the day after she had made her damaging admission to Bassenge respecting the signature to the contract, she sends her maid to the Hôtel de Strasbourg to beg the cardinal to call upon her. He does so, when she receives him seemingly all in tears, and tells him that she is a victim to the malevolence of the courtiers of Versailles, who are jealous of the favour shown her by the queen; that she is obliged to fly to avoid their attacks, and entreats of him to afford her an asylum until she can provide herself with some safe retreat. The stupid cardinal, not even yet convinced that he has been duped, or, if so, fearing to admit as much, hesitates at first, but eventually consents to receive her, her husband, and her maid at his hôtel.[183] The countess afterwards pretended that it was the cardinal who sent for her and the count; that he kept them almost prisoners, and used every argument to induce them to cross the frontier into Germany with all speed, so as to be out of the way when the storm burst forth. She even went so far as to say that the count was obliged to threaten to use force ere he could get released.[184]

Only one motive can be suggested for the countess taking refuge at the Palais-Cardinal. She knew, or she suspected, that the police were watching her house and tracking her footsteps, and she did not know how soon the outstretched hand of justice might be upraised to strike, and she may have thought from the cardinal’s high position, and the power and influence of his friends and connections, that the police would not dare to violate the sanctity of the episcopal domicile. For two entire days the De la Mottes remained in close seclusion at the Hôtel de Strasbourg, when finding the confinement irksome, or thinking possibly that the affair would be certain to be hushed up, or that the law if put in force would not trouble itself about a couple of fugitives hidden in some far-away country town in the Champagne, they left the cardinal’s on the evening of the 5th of August for their own house in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Gilles.

Arrived there the De la Mottes without a moment’s loss of time appear to have made arrangements for sending the forger Villette out of the way. Madame, calling him aside, confides to him what he is already well aware of, namely, that her affairs are somewhat embarrassed, and that she and the count propose retiring to Bar-sur-Aube until the storm has blown over and the atmosphere is a trifle clearer. Placing 4000 livres in bank-notes in her faithful secretary’s hand, “Go you,” said she, “to Italy for a time;” and then to console the lover, whom hard necessity forced her to abandon, she added, “I will soon recall you near me again.” The docile Villette promised to do as he was bid. A cabriolet seems to have been in waiting for him in the courtyard of the countess’s house, and into it Villette got, and a little after two o’clock in the morning he was presumed to be on his way to self-exile.[185]

The following morning, while the count was giving some directions respecting the last van-load of furniture, which was then being packed in the courtyard of the hôtel, Bassenge looked in, and in answer to his inquiries after madame’s health was informed by the count that she had been at Versailles for the last three days pleading for the cardinal. De la Motte added that he had only returned from Bar-sur-Aube three days before, when he heard about the Necklace business for the first time. “If,” remarked he in a jocular way, “the queen should ask you the meaning of the letter of thanks which I hear you have addressed to her, why not say it merely meant that the Necklace had always been at her disposition, and that it was only a renewal of the offers of it which had been previously made?”[186]

No sooner had the count seen the last van-load of furniture safely off than he went with Father Loth to Mainguet the notary, paid him his 35,000 livres, and took away the jewels which madame had deposited with him a few days previously.[187] These were necessary to the coming display which the De la Mottes were bent upon making at Bar-sur-Aube. Determined to lose no further time, the count and countess set out the same evening for their country retreat; and it is said that at the moment the countess stepped into the carriage she consoled the cardinal by promising to return the very instant he should have need of her.[188]

XXII.

1785. AUGUST 8–17.

TWELVE DAYS’ STATE AT BAR-SUR-AUBE.

The countess had informed Beugnot, who had called upon her a short time previously to inquire if she had any commands for Bar-sur-Aube, whither he was about returning to spend his holidays, that it would not be until the commencement of October, that she would again have the pleasure of seeing him. “I was therefore very much surprised,” observes he, “to see Madame de la Motte arrive at Bar-sur-Aube in the early part of August, bringing with her her entire establishment, husband included. Villette alone remained in Paris as a forlorn sentinel, and, what appeared most strange, every day there arrived waggons loaded with furniture—a far larger quantity in fact than the house would hold—and magnificent furniture too. There were numerous handsome mirrors and looking-glasses with which the walls of the _salon_, already resplendent with a profusion of gilding, were decorated; the chairs and couches, covered with beautiful tapestry, were also gilt.[189] Furet’s clocks, and Adams and Chevalier’s marble groups and bronzes ornamented the mantelpieces, and scattered about the _salon_ were some of those costly fancies with which the arts contrive to tempt the extremest opulence, such as a pair of automatic canaries that sang a duet together, and another automaton bird, which flew about the room of itself. There were likewise two gold musical boxes—things which have become common enough since, but were still rare at that time; and clocks which by means of certain mechanical arrangements displayed different scenes every hour they struck. On seeing these things, one divined that they could only have been bought by people tired of their money and anxious for the first opportunity of flinging it out of window. In the dining-room were two magnificent buffets on which were displayed a profusion of valuable porcelain and two complete services of silver plate.”[190] The hangings of the countess’s bed were of crimson velvet trimmed with gold lace and fringe and embroidered with gold and spangles, while the counterpane was worked all over with pearls[191] brought, it will be remembered, by the count from England, and for which Gray had charged him over two thousand two hundred pounds, and which, according to the countess, were reported in the neighbourhood to be of the value of one hundred and fifty thousand livres. “As a consummation of imprudence,” remarks Beugnot, “the De la Mottes exhibited a casket containing more than two hundred thousand livres worth of diamonds, the count himself being supplied with a far larger quantity than seemed proper for an honest man.”

“In the De la Mottes’ stables were twelve splendid horses, and in their coach-house no fewer than five or six handsome carriages, made in England,” says Beugnot, “with a care and intelligence which showed that expense was the last thing these people troubled themselves about.” Among these vehicles was a light and beautiful cabriolet in the form of a balloon, and upwards of ten feet high. In this singular vehicle the Count de la Motte used to drive about the neighbourhood, stared at by the gaping peasants and townspeople.[192] The countess when paying visits of ceremony rode in a carriage drawn by six horses with little silver bells jingling at their collars and foxes’ brushes flopping at their ears. She was invariably preceded by a couple of outriders, and one day greatly astonished the Abbot of Clairvaux—who, though a little king in these parts, only sported four horses himself—by driving up to the abbey gateway in this unwonted state. The number of servants on the De la Motte establishment was considerable, and their liveries were as a matter of course extremely rich. Among them was one of those little negro pages called “jokeis,” then much in fashion, engaged for madame’s special service. In short, the count and countess at this period of their career displayed in all their appointments a magnificence and a profusion more than rivalling that of the wealthiest families in France.

Madame’s superb embroidered robes and her valuable point lace were only in keeping with the splendour of her household display. As for her jewels, she no longer depended on a pair of diamond bracelets to attract attention, for had she not now the magnificent pair of girandole earrings for which Gray the jeweller had charged the count six hundred pounds sterling, and the diamond star-shaped brooch which had cost another four hundred pounds, and one of the handsomest diamonds in the whole Necklace set as a ring by Regnier, besides other diamond rings innumerable? The necklace, formed of “twenty-two of the very finest diamonds from the festoons,” which Gray had mounted in accordance with the count’s instructions, was flashing at this moment in the jeweller’s shop window, 13, New Bond Street, dazzling the eyes of Piccadilly and Bond Street loungers, and exciting the envy of high-born English beauties; for Gray, hard man that he was, would not part with the handsome jewel to the Capuchin McDermott—whom the count had commissioned to procure it, and who had made application for it to Gray on the count’s behalf—until he had been paid the expense of setting.

“We used to think,” remarks Beugnot, “that the Cardinal de Rohan paid for all this brilliant extravagance, and we admired the good use which his eminence made of the funds of the grand almonry. The first representation we had witnessed of the magnificence of the De la Motte household had astonished us; at this fresh display we felt uneasy and well nigh indignant. Neither husband nor wife showed the least inquietude. Their dinners were excellent; and fête followed upon fête. They endeavoured to attract the neighbourhood to their house and get invited out in return, and to a certain extent they succeeded.”[193]

Within about ten miles or so of Bar-sur-Aube is Brienne, famous for its military school, where the young Bonaparte it will be remembered studied mathematics and the art of war; and where, in the neighbouring château, lived Louis Loménie de Brienne, last Count of Brienne, who was brother of the Archbishop of Sens, prime minister of France just before the outbreak of the Revolution, and himself war minister for a time under Louis XVI. The ends of both brothers were alike untimely. One, the archbishop, died from a midnight carouse in which he was forced to join by the Jacobin emissaries who came to carry him off from his palace at Sens to the guillotine; the other by the guillotine itself, going thither in the same set of tumbrils as Madame Elisabeth, the king’s sister. At the Château de Brienne—a splendid edifice built by the count with the large fortune he received with his wife, the daughter of a rich _fermier-général_—as at almost every other château of importance at this period, private theatricals appear to have been in vogue.

“M. de la Motte one day mentioned to me,” remarks Beugnot, “that he had received an invitation to one of these entertainments at the Château de Brienne, and would be pleased if I would accompany him and accept of a seat in his carriage. Being well known to M. de Brienne, I acceded to the count’s request without hesitation, and on the appointed day we set forth in a gorgeous equipage drawn by four splendidly-caparisoned horses, and with three footmen behind us. Prior to our starting I felt strongly inclined to recede, as I foresaw that I should have to undergo my share of ridicule for this ostentatious display. On our arrival at the château we alighted to the great scandal of those who saw us arrive. Happily for us the preparations for the play absorbed almost everybody’s attention, and among others that of the master and mistress of the house. We entered the _salon_ so that we might be seen, and passed from thence into the _salle de spectacle_. I was seated by the side of M. de la Motte, and soon perceived that he was the object of malevolent glasses, which were passed from hand to hand with shruggings of shoulders and mocking smiles. He certainly furnished a good subject for them, for he was dressed in a most singular style, and, what was in the worst of taste, diamonds were displayed in every part of his toilette at a period when the greatest simplicity already reigned in male attire.”

One can picture the count with one side of his three-cornered hat looped up with the magnificent diamond aigrette which he had bought of Gray, and with the medallion set with diamonds for which he had given two hundred and thirty pounds attached to a ribbon round his neck; with his diamond watch-chain, his various diamond rings, and his diamond snuff-box, value one hundred and twenty pounds; and with one or other of the very handsome steel swords which he had brought over with him from England swinging at his side.

“The count wore a dress coat of sky-blue cloth, a white waistcoat embroidered all over, and breeches of canary-colour taffeta. Still this only indicated the somewhat antiquated elegant; but here is what completed the absurdity. Madame de la Motte had taken it into her head to have the left facing of her husband’s coat embroidered over with a fine bouquet of lilies and roses intermixed. Nothing of the kind had been worn by any one up to that time, and most certainly not since. Everybody was asking what it could possibly mean: there were some who professed to see in it a sort of parody upon the united escutcheons of monsieur and madame, one of which contained _fleurs-de-lis_, the other roses. Stupidity and self-conceit could hardly have gone further.

“When the play was over we returned to the _salon_. The assembly was composed of the distinguished families of the neighbourhood and of men of letters from Paris—of the Abbé Morellet, la Harpe, Masson de Morvilliers, &c. I saluted Madame de Brienne, who scarcely condescended to nod to me in return, and then turned her back upon me. My reception by the master of the house was reduced to a ‘Good evening, sir,’ uttered in a dry tone. One feels ill at ease in the midst of a numerous circle after having been coldly received by the host and hostess. I continued standing, not knowing whither to bend my steps in the midst of this hostile camp, when my good star brought to the _salon_ the Count de Dampierre, a great bore, who relieved me of my difficulty by at once seizing hold of me. He profited by the opportunity to speak to me of innovations of every kind which were already fermenting in his brain; and under the circumstances it was quite a treat to me to listen to him. In order that we might not be separated during supper, he dragged me at once to table, and seated me by his side, when he offered me in his own person the example of an individual capable of speaking with warmth and eating with avidity at one and the same moment. I was occasionally a trifle inattentive, owing to my desire to observe how my travelling-companion was faring; but M. de Dampierre always brought me back to the subject of his discourse. ‘Never mind him,’ he would say, ‘he’s only some poor devil of a swell at whose expense people have been amusing themselves for the last two hours. Do you know him?’

“‘Yes, a little.’

“‘Well, what is he? Is he one of us? Does he know where we are?’

“‘Not the least in the world.’

“‘Well, then, let them do what they please with him;’ and M. de Dampierre forthwith resumed his dissertation.

“I only knew from the tales told by some of the guests of the tricks which had been played upon M. de la Motte at the supper-table. It seems that in spite of the splendid repast spread before his eyes he had been debarred from partaking of the slightest nourishment, and that he rose from the table as badly ballasted as Sancho Panza at the conclusion of the first feast served to him under his own government. This could only have been brought about by a concert of ‘good turns,’ the success of which enraptured the originators who came to relate the affair to us. The Count de Dampierre inveighed against this interruption:

“‘Ah! well, well! but leave us alone; we have neither diamonds nor canary-coloured breeches, nor bouquets embroidered at our button-holes. There is your man cowering in the chimney-corner: go and laugh at his expense, since he is in the humour to submit to it, and permit us to talk sense!’

“After a time M. de la Motte grew bold, and came to me to propose that we should leave. I consented with all my heart; but there still remained a dreg at the bottom of the cup for me to swallow.

“When I went in all humility to salute M. de Brienne, and to ask him almost tremblingly if he had any commands to give me for Bar-sur-Aube, he signalled to me to advance, so that in getting clear of the hands of M. de Dampierre I fell into those of M. de Brienne, who was quite M. de Dampierre’s equal in holding fast to a good listener. M. de Brienne had not been at table, and had had of course nothing to do with the practical jokes of which M. de la Motte had been the victim. Indeed, he had listened with suppressed anger to the account which had been given him of the tricks played off upon the count, still he did not approve of my having presented myself at his house in such company. I excused myself as well as I could, assuring him M. de la Motte had informed me that he was invited for that particular day. M. de Brienne proved to me that whether M. de la Motte was invited or not, I did very wrong to accompany him. I agreed with him, and asked his pardon, as the shortest way of terminating the discussion, whereupon he immediately opened a conversation upon another subject. There were scarcely any affairs in the commune in which M. de Brienne did not take a lively interest, and he did me the honour to consult me upon many of them, consequently there were plenty of materials for a lengthened conversation.

“Poor M. de la Motte remained at a distance, watching our gestures, and awaiting the moment when I should be at liberty. During all this time people passed and repassed him with expressions of contempt or pity. I did not dare utter his name, though I had observed he had been waiting for me fully an hour. I risked a first salute to M. de Brienne, as if about to take my leave, but he paid no attention whatever to it, and continued speaking. A few minutes afterwards I made a new attempt to release myself, whereupon my host proposed to me to sleep at Brienne. As our discussion continued I could see that my travelling-companion was on live coals. At last, by a courageous effort, I succeeded in disengaging myself, and left with M. de la Motte. We stepped into his magnificent carriage, having behind us two footmen with lighted torches, and a negro covered from head to foot with silver lace. The windows of the _salon_ looked out upon the court of honour of the château; Madame de Brienne and every one present were at the windows to observe the magnificence of our departure, and saluted us by clapping their hands, laughing, and indulging in mocking remarks which distinctly reached our ears. The carriage only rolled on the faster.”[194]

A day or two afterwards Madame de la Motte proposed to Beugnot to accompany her on a visit she was about to pay to the Duke de Penthièvre, but Beugnot, not wishing to place himself in a ridiculous position a second time, very decidedly declined the honour. He however accepted the countess’s offer to set him down at Clairvaux, where he had been invited, and which was on the road from Bar-sur-Aube to Château-Villain, and to call and fetch him on her return in the evening.

“In accordance with this arrangement,” says Beugnot, “we left Bar-sur-Aube at eight o’clock in the morning of the 17th of August, 1785, a day I shall never forget. Madame de la Motte having set me down at Clairvaux, as had been agreed, went on to Château-Villain, where she dined and met with a reception which astonished those who composed the Penthièvre court. The duke himself re-conducted the countess at her departure to the door of the _salon_ opening on to the grand staircase, an honour which he did not pay even to duchesses, but reserved exclusively for princesses of the blood-royal, so strongly were the lessons of Madame de Maintenon on the honours to be paid to illegitimacy impressed upon his mind.”[195]

XXIII.

1785. AUGUST 15–23.

LETTRES-DE-CACHET IN THE ŒIL-DE-BŒUF—IN THE RUE SAINT-CLAUDE—AND AT BAR-SUR-AUBE.

At noon on the 15th of August, 1785, on the festival of the Assumption, and the fête-day of Marie-Antoinette, the Cardinal de Rohan, attired in his sacerdotal robes, was waiting in the Salle de l’Œil-de-Bœuf the arrival of the king and queen, before whom he was about to celebrate high mass in the chapel of the Château of Versailles. Conspicuous among the cardinal’s vestments was his gorgeously-embroidered alb—worn by him only upon grand occasions, and valued at upwards of one hundred thousand livres, with his arms and device, in the form of medallions, crowning the larger and more brilliant flowers of which the rich and elaborate design was composed.[196] The handsome Salle de l’Œil-de-Bœuf, which takes its name from the two bull’s-eye windows level with the ceiling, was thronged, according to custom, with noblemen of every degree of rank, grand court ladies, great officers of State, soldiers and dignitaries of the Church, all watching for the doors communicating with the royal apartments to be thrown open, and for the king and queen to make their appearance. As it was in the days of the Grand Monarque—as it was in Louis XVI.’s time—as it was on that eventful morning of October 7, 1789, when the château was stormed and the terror-stricken Marie-Antoinette fled across it for life, when the loud cry arose of “Save the queen”—so the Salle de l’Œil-de-Bœuf is now. Round the ceiling, from which hang suspended three magnificent chandeliers of rock-crystal, runs a handsome deep-gilt frieze of cupids, some with hunting-horns, and dogs engaged in the chase; others either reaping or binding sheaves of corn, or snaring birds or playing at see-saw. At the sides of the doorway leading into the grand looking-glass gallery, where those not having the _entrée_ of the Œil-de-Bœuf were accustomed to congregate to see the royal procession pass, are two equestrian portraits, the one of Louis XIV. in the costume of a Roman warrior, wearing, however, his customary full-bottomed wig, with Fame crowning him with a wreath of laurel; the other of the king’s brother, the Duke d’Orléans. Facing the same doorway is an elaborate mythological picture representing the Grand Monarque surrounded by his family, all being robed in exceedingly scanty draperies, the wigs of the men forming their principal article of attire, and all having that unpleasant leer in the eyes which the painters of the seventeenth century seemed to have considered peculiarly bewitching, if not quite becoming.

Suddenly the doors are flung open, but, instead of the tall _suisse_ shouting out the customary announcement, “_Messieurs, le Roi!_” the Cardinal Prince de Rohan is summoned to attend the king in his private cabinet.

On proceeding thither, the grand almoner found the king and queen together. Louis XVI., without any preliminary observations, thus abruptly addressed him:

“I hear you have purchased some diamonds of Böhmer?”

“Yes, sire,” replied the cardinal.

“Pray, what have you done with them?” inquired the king.

“I thought they had been delivered to her majesty.”

“Who commissioned you to make the purchase?”

“A lady called the Countess de la Motte-Valois, who handed me a letter from the queen, and I thought I was performing my duty to her majesty when I undertook this negotiation.”

“How, sir,” exclaimed the queen, “could you believe that I should select you, to whom I have not spoken these eight years, to negotiate anything for me, and especially through the mediation of such a woman—a woman, too, whom I do not even know?”

“I see plainly that I have been cruelly duped,” replied the grand almoner, darting upon the queen as he said so a look of indignation and disdain.[197] “I will pay for the Necklace: my desire to be of service to your majesty blinded me. I suspected no trick in the affair, and I am sorry for it.”

The cardinal then took from his pocket-book a letter purporting to be written by the queen to Madame de la Motte, and intrusting her with the commission. This letter he handed to the king, who after looking at it held it towards the cardinal, saying: “This is neither written nor signed by the queen. How could a prince of the house of Rohan, and a grand almoner of France, ever think that the queen would sign herself _Marie-Antoinette de France_? Everybody knows that queens sign their baptismal names only.”

Louis XVI. then produced the copy of a letter sent by the cardinal to Böhmer, and inquired whether he had ever written such a letter. After glancing over it, the grand almoner replied that he had no recollection of having done so; but when the king asked him what he would say if the original letter, signed by himself, were shown to him, the cardinal could not but confess that the letter was genuine.

“‘If this be the case,’ observed the king, ‘explain to me the whole of this enigma. I do not wish to believe you guilty; I had rather you would justify your conduct. Account, therefore, for these manœuvres with Böhmer, these securities, and these notes.’

“In reply to the king’s remarks, the grand almoner, who was extremely confused, kept continually repeating: ‘I have been deceived, sire. I will pay for the Necklace. I ask pardon of your majesties.’ Then turning pale, and leaning against the table, he said: ‘Sire, I am too much agitated to answer your majesty in a way——’

“‘Compose yourself,’ interposed the king, ‘and retire into the adjoining closet. You will there find pens, ink, and paper; write down what you have to say to me.’

“The grand almoner retired as directed, and returned in about a quarter of an hour with a written statement of a somewhat incoherent character. After receiving it, Louis XVI. commanded him to withdraw.”[198]

De Besenval says that at this moment the king warned the cardinal he was about to be arrested. “Oh, sire!” exclaimed the prince, “I shall always obey the orders of your majesty, but deign to spare me the shame of being arrested in my pontifical habit before the eyes of the entire court.” “It is necessary it should be so,” replied the king. The cardinal wished to insist, but the king abruptly quitted him.[199] On leaving the royal cabinet the grand almoner encountered his deadly enemy, the Baron de Breteuil, who had been lying in wait for him, and who at once called out to a sub-lieutenant of his majesty’s body-guard, “In the king’s name, follow me! Arrest the Cardinal de Rohan!” The officer proceeded to take charge of his prisoner, who, precipitated as it were in a moment from his high pinnacle of fortune, was conducted on foot in his rich pontifical vestments, guarded on all sides, and pressed upon by an amazed crowd of court idlers and hangers-on, to his hôtel looking upon the north wing of the château. The distance he had to go was not great, through the long looking-glass gallery—every eye in the immense throng with which it was lined being turned inquisitively upon him—through a few apartments and down the marble staircase, and across the marble court and the broad “Cour Royale,” with the noonday sun shedding its burning rays upon his head, and gilding as it were his gorgeous vestments; past the gaudy, gilded, and over-decorated chapel in which he, Grand Almoner of France, was never more to officiate with a king and queen and a brilliant court appearing to give ear to his ministrations; thence through the iron gate leading into the Rue des Réservoirs, where the Hôtel de Rohan—a singularly plain-looking building, with rather a pretty garden approached from a balustraded terrace in the rear, and easily identified at the present day from the circumstance of its being the residence of the receiver-general of the district—was situated.[200] So soon as the necessary preparations could be made, the cardinal, guarded like a common criminal, was whisked off to Paris to the Hôtel de Strasbourg, from whence he was speedily transferred to the Bastille.

Ere, however, he quitted the palace of Versailles, “notwithstanding the escort that surrounded him, and favoured by the attendant crowd, the grand almoner stopped for a few moments, and stooping down with his face towards the wall, as if to fasten his buckle or his garter, snatched out his pencil and hastily wrote a few words on a scrap of paper placed under his hand in his square red cap. He rose again and proceeded. On entering his hôtel he contrived to slip this paper unperceived into the hand of a confidential ‘heyduc’ who waited for him at the door of his apartment.” The heyduc posts off to Paris, and arrives at the Palais-Cardinal early in the afternoon. His horse falls dead in the stable, and he himself swoons in the apartment of the Abbé Georgel after exclaiming wildly, “All is lost; the prince is arrested.” The slip of paper which drops from his hand is caught up and read with eagerness by the abbé, and in accordance with the instructions contained in it, the scarlet portfolio which held all the cardinal’s secret correspondence, including the letters—gilt-edged or bordered with _vignettes bleues_—penned by the phantom queen, and on which the Prince de Rohan set such store, is forthwith committed to the flames.[201]

While the foregoing events were transpiring the Count and Countess de la Motte were receiving and returning visits in tranquil security at Bar-sur-Aube. It was two days after the arrest of the cardinal that the countess set out on her visit to the Duke de Penthièvre at Château-Villain, and Beugnot was awaiting her arrival at Clairvaux in the evening. The abbot had pressed the young lawyer to pass three days there if the ensuing fête of Saint-Bernard would not frighten him, and had promised him as a reward that he should hear the famous Abbé Maury from Paris preach the saint’s panegyric. “I agreed,” says Beugnot, “with all my heart. The day of Saint-Bernard was a grand affair at Clairvaux. The poor who presented themselves at the door of the abbey received charity, and the _bourgeoisie_ of Bar-sur-Aube and its environs were entertained at dinner in the refectory, at which the abbot presided. I desired to be present at this banquet to laugh at the abbot, who had spoken to me of this old custom as a piece of tomfoolery he was about to suppress, and had mentioned with contempt the guests who would be present at it.

“The Abbot of Clairvaux was above the middle height, and of a fine and graceful figure. When after his election he had the honour of being presented to the king at Versailles, the queen, struck with his handsome person and the dignity with which he wore the costume of his order, could not refrain exclaiming, ‘What a handsome monk!’ Dom Rocourt was polite with men and gallant with women, and with all this, or in spite of it, very stupid. I was never able,” says Beugnot, “to make him comprehend when the Revolution arrived that the age had done with him, his abbey, and his monks, who would have been only too happy to abandon him.”[202] The Abbey of Clairvaux, founded in the year 1114, was one of the richest and most magnificent abbeys in France. Its annual revenue was between three and four hundred thousand francs. Situated in a picturesque glen, the conventual buildings comprised the abbot’s residence, a handsome church, said not to have been inferior to Nôtre Dame de Paris, and where several early French kings and princes lay buried, with a treasury for its ornaments and relics, an infirmary, a refectory and dormitories: besides which there were a valuable library and beautiful gardens.[203] Lastly, one must not forget its gigantic wine-vat, which held upwards of 200,000 gallons. To-day the abbey is a house of detention for criminals; the site of its magnificent church—demolished during the first year of the Restoration—being now a prison-yard. The abbot usually drove out with four horses to his carriage, and had an outrider to precede him. He caused himself to be addressed as “my lord” by his monks and dependents, and by the many persons who had need of his assistance. He governed despotically numerous convents of monks and nuns that were dependent on his abbey, and it is said that he took especial pleasure in visiting the nunneries subject to his sway.[204]

We left Beugnot at Clairvaux waiting Madame de la Motte’s return. Soon after eight o’clock she made her appearance, when he at once acquainted her with the engagement he had entered into. She wished to share it and remain for the fête of Saint-Bernard, but the abbot excused himself, explaining to her that the fête was altogether a religious one, and that the ladies who commonly inhabited Clairvaux fled from it on that day, abandoning it to the religious of Saint-Bernard and to their children. They returned, however, on the following day, and the abbot, who was lost in reverence and adoration of Madame de la Motte, pressed her to augment their number. He was no doubt aware of the intimate connection which existed between the countess and the Cardinal de Rohan, and he treated her accordingly like a princess of the church.

A large company was assembled at the abbey on this particular evening in anticipation of meeting the Abbé Maury, whose arrival from Paris was now momentarily expected. The clock having struck nine without the looked-for guest making his appearance, the company sat down to the supper-table. Scarcely had they taken their seats, however, before the sound of carriage-wheels announced some new arrival. This proved to be the Abbé Maury, with “his Jesuitic eyes, his impassive brazen face, image of all the cardinal sins,” who, after being welcomed by his brother ecclesiastic, and introduced to the guests in the supper-room, without being allowed time to change his travelling-dress, took his seat at table, when, as a matter of course, he was at once assailed by the inquiry as to whether there was anything stirring in Paris—in fact, any news.

“‘What mean you?—any news?’ replied the Abbé Maury; ‘why, where do you all come from? There is a piece of news which none can understand, which has astonished and bewildered all Paris. The Cardinal de Rohan, Grand Almoner of France, was arrested last Tuesday, the festival of the Assumption, in his pontifical vestments, as he was leaving the king’s cabinet. They talk of a Diamond Necklace which he was to have bought for the queen, but which he did not buy at all. Is it not inconceivable that for such a bauble as this a grand almoner of France should have been arrested in his pontifical vestments—do you understand, in his pontifical vestments?—and on leaving the king’s cabinet?’

“As soon as this intelligence reached my ear,” says Count Beugnot, whose narrative we are quoting, “I glanced at Madame de la Motte, whose napkin had fallen from her hand, and whose pale and rigid face seemed as it were immovably fixed above her plate. After the first shock was over she made an effort and rushed out of the room, followed by one of the chief attendants. In the course of a few minutes I left the table and joined her. The horses were already put to her carriage, so we at once set forth.”

“‘I have perhaps done wrong in leaving so suddenly, above all in the presence of the Abbé Maury,’ remarked Madame de la Motte. ‘Not at all,’ replied I; ‘your relations with the cardinal are known, and almost avowed. He may have to forfeit his life perhaps; your plan is to run away in advance of couriers, letters, or news. You would have done wrong in losing time by supping at Clairvaux—but can you explain this arrest to yourself?’ ‘No,—at least only through some trick of Cagliostro’s: the cardinal is infatuated with him: it is not my fault, I have warned him a hundred times.’ ‘So much the better,’ remarked I; ‘but what is this story about a Necklace which the cardinal has been buying for the queen? How is it that a cardinal is charged with such a purchase? and how comes it about that the queen should choose for such a commission Prince Louis, whom she openly detests?’ ‘I repeat to you, it is all Cagliostro.’ ‘But you have received this charlatan at your house. Are you not compromised in any way with him?’ ‘Absolutely not in the least, and I am perfectly tranquil; I did very wrong to leave the supper-table.’ ‘It was not wrong. If you are tranquil on your own account, you ought not to be so on account of an unfortunate friend.’ ‘Ah! bah! you do not know him; only see him in a difficulty; he is capable of abusing a hundred persons, of saying a hundred foolish things to get himself out of it.’ ‘Madame de la Motte,’ replied I, ‘you have just said more than I wished to hear; I have a last service to propose to you; it is now ten o’clock at night, we are approaching Bayet. I am going to leave you there in care of a friend for whom you know I can answer. I will return with your carriage to Bar-sur-Aube, and will warn M. de la Motte, who in an hour’s time can come and fetch you in a post-chaise drawn by your best pair of horses. He will take charge of your most valuable effects, and you will together take, this very night, the road to Châlons, since that to Troyes would not be safe for you. Do not go to Boulogne, Calais, or Dieppe, at which places instructions perhaps have been already given to stop you; between these ports there are twenty places where for ten louis they will land you in England.’ ‘Sir,’ replied Madame de la Motte, ‘you are wearying me; I have allowed you to go on to the end because I was thinking of something else. Is it necessary to repeat to you ten times running that I have nothing to do with this affair? I repeat it, I am very sorry at having left the table, as though I were an accomplice in your cardinal’s fooleries.’ ‘Madame,’ observed I, ‘let us say no more on the subject. Still I should like to add once more—after your avowal—that you will repent not having followed my advice. May Heaven grant in this case that your repentance may not be more poignant than usual.’