Chapter VII: Appendix: Detailed Description of the Diamond Necklace 387 (4)

The principal entrance to the episcopal palace conducted to a handsome vestibule, from whence the grand staircase led to the magnificent suite of reception rooms where the Prince de Rohan, banished from Versailles, assembled around him a little court of his own, composed of some few members of the old nobility related to his house, discontented courtiers who disliked the young queen, certain too complaisant beauties, and _petits-maîtres_ from the Paris _salons_, philosophers, prelates, and provincial magnates, military officers from the neighbouring garrison at Strasbourg, and the usual complement of fools and flatterers that invariably dance attendance on the powerful and the wealthy.

The once stately palace of Saverne is now-a-days divested of all its former splendour. It serves alike for the _mairie_, the court of the justice of the peace, and the corn-market; and as barracks, guard-house, forage-stores, farriery, and stables for the troops composing the garrison of the town.[88]

In the summer of the year 1784 couriers bound for Paris would every now and then sally forth from the palace gates with bags of letters, among which there was invariably one elaborately-sealed packet addressed to the Countess de la Motte. Enclosed in this would be a letter for the queen, begging, entreating, praying for an interview at which the writer might plead his cause and regain complete possession of his royal mistress’s favour. Days and weeks go by while he is waiting and watching for a response. Judge however, of the cardinal’s agitation when one day the countess herself arrives unexpectedly at Saverne—having travelled post all the way from Paris—and announces to him that the long and eagerly-sought interview is at length accorded to him; that the queen has consented to a midnight meeting with him in the Park of Versailles. The countess thought, and thought rightly, that a journey of nearly three hundred miles, undertaken on purpose to be the bearer of this welcome intelligence, would give it all the greater weight, and would effectually dispel any unpleasant doubts that might perchance by this time have taken possession of the cardinal’s mind.[89]

XII.

1784. JUNE–JULY.

THE COUNTERFEIT QUEEN.

Counterfeit _billets-doux_ having been palmed off on the infatuated cardinal as genuine with such complete success, the countess now ventures on a singularly bold step, nothing less than the personation of majesty itself, and actually succeeds in foisting upon the purblind prelate _une belle courtisane_ of the Palais Royal as the beautiful, high-born Marie-Antoinette.

This incident of the nocturnal interview—the most daring of the many daring schemes of which the long intrigue was composed—is so fully and clearly, and, moreover, so artlessly, described by the “_fille du monde_,” who was bribed to perform the character of Marie-Antoinette on the occasion, in her memorial published at the time of the Necklace trial, as to completely exonerate the queen from having been in any way a party to it. Prior, however, to laying this statement before the reader, we have something to say respecting the new character whom we are about to introduce upon the scene.

This young person, commonly known as Mademoiselle d’Oliva, but whose real name was Leguay Designy, was born in Paris in 1761, and was consequently younger than the queen by seven years. Although her reputation was anything but spotless, she was by no means the common creature she is ordinarily represented to have been. M. Leguay Designy, her father, had been a respectable citizen, who at his death was found to have saved money, and when her mother died, a few years before the event which rendered the daughter an object of so much notoriety, Mademoiselle Leguay Designy was left with a competent provision deposited for her in the hands of trustees. These guardians however abused their trust, and after dissipating the bulk of the young woman’s property, compromised the matter by the payment of four thousand livres, which money she received in the early part of 1784, only a few months before the day rendered memorable by the midnight meeting in the park of Versailles.

Mademoiselle Leguay Designy, in her memorial, drawn up by her advocate, M. Blondel—who, perceiving that the very simplicity of his client was her best defence, had the sagacity to let her tell her story in her own way—thus describes how it was that she first became acquainted with the De la Mottes, husband and wife.

“In the month of June, 1784, I lodged,” she says, “in a small apartment in the Rue du Jour, in the Quartier St. Eustache.[90] I was not very far from the Palais Royal, where I used frequently to go of an afternoon for two or three hours with a neighbour’s child, about four years old, of whom I was very fond.

“One afternoon, in the month of July, when I was sitting in the Palais Royal, this child being along with me, I observed a stranger pass by several times; he was a tall young man, and quite alone. He looked at me fixedly, and I noticed as he came near to me that he slackened his pace as if to survey me more attentively. There was a vacant chair two or three feet from mine, in which he seated himself.

“I could not avoid bestowing my attention upon him, for his eyes kept repeatedly wandering over my person. The expression of his countenance becomes grave and earnest, and he appears agitated by a painful and anxious curiosity as he scans my entire figure very narrowly, whilst not a feature of my face escapes him.

“We met in this way in the gardens of the Palais Royal for several successive days, until at last he addressed me, and I committed the error of replying to him.

“One evening on leaving him I returned home, when I found that he had followed me without my perceiving it. Suddenly he stood before me in my apartment. He introduced himself with every sign of respectful politeness, and requested me to allow him occasionally to visit me. I could not take upon myself to deny his request, and after obtaining my consent, he was most assiduous in his calls. But I had no reason to complain of these visits, for the young man never passed the limits of propriety. He questioned me, however, with the kindest concern respecting my income and future prospects, taking a lively interest in my fate. He also spoke of powerful protectors of his own, to whom he could recommend me, and who might be able to serve me.

“Doubtless you are eager to know who this stranger was. It is time to name him; it was M. de la Motte, who represented himself to be an officer of distinguished rank, with great expectations, and supported by illustrious patrons.[91]

“It was, I think, on the occasion of his ninth visit, one morning at the beginning of August, 1784,[92] that I observed his countenance overspread with joy and satisfaction, such as he had never exhibited before. He had, he said, the most agreeable, the most interesting things to tell me.

“‘I have just left,’ continued he, ‘a person of very great distinction, who spoke a great deal about you. I shall bring the lady to see you this evening.’

“I awaited that evening with eagerness, counting every hour and every moment, for I longed to see this lady of very great distinction.

“M. de la Motte returned at night, telling me that in a few moments I should see the person about whom he had spoken in the morning. Whereupon, and without any further explanation, he withdrew.

“Scarcely had he left me, before I saw a lady enter my chamber; she was all alone—no servant was attending her. She approached me with politeness, and with looks full of affability.

“‘Madame,’ said she, smiling, ‘you must be rather surprised at my visit, unknown to you as I am.’

“I replied that the surprise could not be otherwise than agreeable to me.

“This person was the wife of my pretended patron; she was Madame de la Motte, but she took good care not to say so then. I offered the lady a chair, she drew it herself close to my own, and sat down. Then leaning over towards me, with a look at once cautious and confiding, whilst her eye appeared to gleam with an expression of benevolent regard, she said to me, in a low voice, what I am about to relate.

“‘Confide, my dear pet, in what I am going to say, I am a gentlewoman belonging to the court.’

“At the same time she drew out a pocket-book, and having opened it, showed me several letters, which she declared to me were written to her by the queen.

“‘But, madame,’ answered I, ‘all this is a mystery to me; I cannot understand it.’

“‘You will soon understand it, my pet. I possess the queen’s full confidence; we are like hand and glove together. She has just given me another proof of this trust, by commissioning me to find her a person to do something which will be explained at the proper time. I have made choice of you, and, if you like to undertake it, I will make you a present of 15,000 livres (francs); but the present that you will receive from the queen will be much more considerable. I cannot tell you my name just yet, but you shall soon be informed who I am. If, however, you do not think my word sufficient, and desire to have security for the 15,000 livres, we will go directly to a notary’s.’”

[In the following paragraph the pen of the advocate has evidently been at work.]

“Ye simple and trustful hearts, pause for a moment after reading this artful speech from the boldest and most audacious intriguer that ever lived. Fancy yourselves in my place, deign to consider what my feelings must have been, what I must have thought and imagined, I, a poor girl of twenty-three, unacquainted with either intrigue or business. What would you have said? What would you have done under similar circumstances?

“From that moment I was no longer myself. I answered Madame de la Motte that I should be proud to be able to do anything that would be agreeable to the queen, without any motive of personal interest to prompt me.

“She replied immediately, ‘The Count de la Motte will call for you to-morrow evening in a carriage, and will carry you to Versailles.’”[93]

The reader will not fail to observe the precision with which the countess enters on her course of action; the quickness with which she manages to come to the point. Her husband takes a fortnight to bring about the introduction of his wife, while she settles everything at a single interview.

The next day the count, who is accompanied by Rétaux de Villette, takes Mademoiselle Leguay to Versailles at the appointed time, and leaves her with his wife in their apartments at the Hôtel de la Belle Image, kept by the Sieur Gobert, and situated in the Place Dauphine, at that time one of the most aristocratic quarters of the royal town. This place is octagonal in shape, and the houses, which range from four to five storeys high, all have some sort of pretension about them; they have either open balustrades running along the parapets, or carved cornices with enriched mouldings surmounting the windows, or ornamental iron balconies. Most of them too have large _portes cochères_. The Place, which in Madame de la Motte’s days was a large open space, where the public sedan-chairs—the _chaises bleues_ and the _brouettes_—used to ply for hire, is to-day laid out as a flower garden, and has in the centre a bronze statue of General Hoche, after whom the Place is now named. The house where the countess lodged was formerly known as “La Belle Image,” but it no longer preserves its sign. It is, however, easily recognisable, being the first house (No. 8)[94] in the angle on the right hand, on entering the Place from the Rue Hoche. All the apartments, with the exception of the attics, must have been of a superior class. Now-a-days the ground floor is appropriated to a “Magasin Anglais,” where English cutlery, and needles and pins, and reels and balls of cotton, and patent medicines and pickles, and old brown Windsor soap, and biscuits are exposed for sale. To return, however, to Mademoiselle Leguay, whose memorial thus proceeds:

“It was only then I learnt the name and condition of Madame de la Motte, that she was the wife of Count de la Motte, that she went by the title of Countess de Valois at Versailles, and that the queen used to write to her in that name.”

The _belle courtisane_ of the Palais Royal, whose resemblance to Marie-Antoinette is said to have been singularly striking,—she was remarkable for the elegance of her figure, had blue eyes and chestnut-coloured hair[95]—is now dressed and tricked out in coquettish _négligé_—a white robe _en chemise_, bordered and lined with rose colour, and a white lace hood—for the famous interview which the Cardinal de Rohan had so earnestly solicited of the queen, with whom the miserable dupe flattered himself he had been all this while corresponding. The memorial continues:

“Madame de la Motte delivered to me a small note, folded in the usual way, but without telling me either what it contained or to whom it was addressed, or even by whom it was written. Neither she nor her husband spoke to me on the subject. Madame de la Motte merely said, ‘I will take you this evening into the park, and you will deliver this letter to a great nobleman whom you will meet there.’”[96]

XIII.

1784. JULY.

THE MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW.—“YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS.”

The memorial of the Demoiselle Leguay Designy thus proceeds:—

“Between eleven and twelve o’clock I went out with Monsieur and Madame de la Motte. I had on a white mantle and a white lace hood. I do not remember whether I carried a fan in my hand or not; I cannot say for certain. The small note was in my pocket.

“They took me into the park; there a rose was put into my hand by Madame de la Motte, who said to me: ‘You will give this rose, along with the letter, to the person who shall present himself to you, and say to him these words:—You know what this means? The queen will be there to see how your meeting passes off; she will speak to you. She is there yonder, and will be close behind you. You shall presently speak to her yourself.’

“These last words made such an impression on me, that I trembled from head to foot. I could not help telling them so: I observed to them that I did not know I was to speak to the queen. I asked them, in a stammering voice, what was the proper mode of form of speech.... M. de la Motte answered me: ‘You must always say, Your majesty.’

“I need hardly, I think, break off here to declare that, far from having had the honour of speaking to the queen, or her having done me the honour to speak to me, I did not even see her at all....

“We were still walking along when M. de la Motte met a man, to whom he said: ‘Ah! is that you?’... Afterwards, when I dined with the La Mottes, I recognised in Villette, their friend, the same person who was thus addressed by M. de la Motte....

“Madame de la Motte then accompanied me to a hedge of yoke elms, leaving me there whilst she went to fetch the great nobleman to whom I was to speak.

“I remained waiting.... The noble unknown came up, bowing as he approached me, whilst Madame de la Motte stood aside a few paces off, and appeared to watch the scene. I knew not who the great nobleman was, and although the Cardinal de Rohan now acknowledges that he was the person, I am still ignorant upon the point.

“It was a dull night, not a speck of moonlight; nor could I distinguish anything but those persons and objects which were familiar to me. It would be quite impossible for me to describe the state I was in. I was so agitated, so excited, so disconcerted, and so tremulous, that I cannot conceive how I was able to accomplish even half of what I had been instructed to do.

“I offered the rose to the great nobleman, and said to him, ‘You know what this means,’ or something very similar. I cannot affirm whether he took it or let it fall. As for the letter it remained in my pocket; I had entirely forgotten it.

“As soon as I had spoken, Madame de la Motte came running up to us, saying in a low hurried voice: ‘Quick, quick, come away!’

“I left the stranger, and after proceeding a few steps found myself with M. de la Motte, whilst his wife and the unknown went off together and were lost to our view. Count de la Motte conducted me back to the hotel, where we sat talking together until the return of his lady.

“She came home about two in the morning, when I explained to her that I had forgotten to give the note. I was afraid she would have scolded me for this negligence, but instead of doing so she evinced the greatest satisfaction, assuring me she had just left the queen, and that her majesty was in the highest degree delighted with my performance.”[97]

Such appears to have been the famous scene in the park of Versailles at midnight, when the Prince de Rohan, deluded by an artful woman, was fain to believe that he had been honoured with an interview with the Queen of France, and might soon expect to be openly received at court. The countess knew perfectly well that the cheat would run the risk of being detected if the dialogue were suffered to proceed too far, she therefore frightened away her dupes almost as soon as she had brought them together.

The Countess de la Motte’s own account of this interview in the park of Versailles, though at variance with that given by Mademoiselle d’Oliva, nevertheless agrees sufficiently with it to prove that the statement of the latter was perfectly sincere. The countess alleges that the idea of practising this deception upon the cardinal originated with Marie-Antoinette herself—that the choice of the actress who was to personate her, the place appointed for the interview, the young girl’s embarrassment before the meeting, were all known at the time to the queen, who was present in an adjoining arbour.

Nay, more. According to the same account, the Cardinal de Rohan was also privy to the trick played upon himself, and connived at the deceit in order to humour her majesty. Madame de la Motte’s narrative of the transaction is too long to be transcribed throughout, but it concludes in this manner:—

“The poor girl was dressed and adorned like a shrine.... Judging from the questions she had put to me since her arrival at Versailles, it was easy to see that she expected some great adventure, and had made her preparations accordingly.... Nothing could be more diverting than the embarrassment of this creature, whose real anxiety was about the issue, since she knew she was going to play her part before the queen.

“The scene was the arbour at the lower end of the grass-plot. This arbour is encompassed on its left-hand path by a hedge of hornbeam, supported by a strong lattice-work fence. At a distance of three feet from the inner part of the arbour is a second hedge, and the space between the two quicksets forms a walk which leads round the enclosure without conducting to the arbour itself.

“At the hour appointed I gave the signal by putting into Mademoiselle d’Oliva’s hand the rose which Marie-Antoinette had told me to deliver to the cardinal through her means. Having placed her at her post, I withdrew. The queen was not ten paces from me. I was distressed by d’Oliva’s timidity, and the queen doubtless experienced the same feeling, for in spite of all her reserve and watchfulness she could not contain herself, but cried out: ‘Take courage. Don’t be afraid!’ D’Oliva admitted this in her examination. The cardinal having come up, the conversation began.

“The cardinal, whose mind was at ease, since he was in the secret, exerted himself to compose the poor girl, by putting none but simple questions to her, and saying courteous things. What chiefly disconcerted her was, that he spoke of former errors forgiven, of his gratitude, and made fine promises for the future. Of all this she understood nothing, answering Yes or No at random. But the cardinal took advantage of these monosyllables to dwell upon his happiness with exaggeration, saying the prettiest things in the world ... raising her foot at the close of this speech, and respectfully kissing it. It was then Mademoiselle d’Oliva gave him the rose, which he placed against his heart, protesting that he would preserve this token all his life, and calling it the rose of happiness.

“Everything having been said that was to be said, I came forward hurriedly, and announced that Madame and the Countess d’Artois were approaching the spot. Every one vanished with lightning-like rapidity. D’Oliva returned to the seat where my husband was expecting her, the cardinal having rejoined the Baron de Planta, whom he had left at some distance on the watch, came, accompanied by him, to me, and induced me to follow him beyond the avenue, behind which he stopped to see the queen pass. Having caught sight of her as she was stealing out from the corner of the grass-plot and taking the walk leading to the terrace, he urged me to follow her majesty, and try to ascertain whether she was satisfied. Accordingly I did follow her, with light measured steps, and having overtaken her at the entrance to the château, she made me go in along with her, told me in substance that she had been much diverted, paid me a few compliments on my own account, and enjoined me not to tell the cardinal that I had seen her that evening.”[98]

In this account there is much that is false, and but little that is true. A counterfeit queen, and no other, was present at the interview. The cardinal was imposed upon by the trick to which of course he was not privy; and having left the park with the full conviction that he had spoken to his sovereign, was committed to the tender mercies of the countess and her confederates, who quickly proceeded to plunder him of his money.

XIV.

1784. JULY–NOV.

A GOLDEN HARVEST.—HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF.—BARONESS D’OLIVA IS GIVEN THE COLD SHOULDER.

The evening following that on which the cardinal was so cleverly duped, young Beugnot happening to find himself in the neighbourhood of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Gilles, looked in at the countess’s hôtel on the chance of finding her at home. At this period it was no longer a spacious _appartement_ that she rented, but the entire house; and yet, with the view of deceiving the cardinal, on whose bounty she was now in a large measure dependent, whenever he called upon her she used invariably to receive him in some mean apartment on one of the upper floors.[99] “I was told,” says Beugnot, “that the master and mistress were absent, and that only Mademoiselle Colson was within. This made me the more inclined to stay. Mademoiselle Colson was a relation of Madame de la Motte’s, whom madame had qualified for and raised to the rank of _dame de compagnie_. She was wanting neither in wit nor malice, and whenever I met her we always made a point of laughing together at the foolishness and extravagance of the heads of the house. They used to tell her nothing; nevertheless she managed to find out everything. ‘I think,’ she remarked to me on this occasion, ‘that their royal highnesses are occupied with some grand project. They pass their time in secret counsels, to which the first secretary (Villette) is alone admitted. His reverence the second secretary (Father Loth) is consequently reduced to listening at the door: he makes three journeys a day to the Rue Vieille-du-Temple (to the Palais-Cardinal), without guessing a single word of the messages they confide to him. The monk is inconsolable at this, since he is as curious as an old devotee.’

“We passed two hours in thus slandering our neighbours and in making guesses and prophesying. When I wished to leave, Mademoiselle Colson pointed to the clock: it was midnight, and there was no chance of finding a _voiture_ on the stand. Since I had remained so long, the only thing to do now, she said, was to await the return of Madame de la Motte, who would send me home in her carriage. I consented. Between twelve and one o’clock we heard the sound of a vehicle entering the court, and saw alight from it Monsieur and Madame de la Motte, Villette, and a woman from twenty-five to thirty years of age—a blonde, very pretty, and of a remarkably fine figure. The two women were dressed with elegance, but simplicity; the men wore _dress-coats_, and had the air of having just returned from a country party. They began by joking me on my _tête-à-tête_ with Mademoiselle Colson, and spoke of the regret we must both have felt at having been so soon disturbed. They talked any amount of nonsense together, laughed, hummed, and seemed as if they could not keep their legs still. The stranger shared the common mirth, but she restrained herself within due bounds, and displayed a certain timidity. They seated themselves at table, the merriment continued, it increased, and finally became noisy. Mademoiselle Colson and I wore dull and astonished looks, such as one is forced to put on in the presence of very gay people when one is ignorant of what they are laughing at. Meanwhile the party indulging in this excess of hilarity seemed inconvenienced by our presence, as it prevented them from speaking openly of the subject of their mirth. M. de la Motte consulted Villette as to whether there would be any risk in speaking. Villette replied that ‘he did not admit the truth of the adage that one is betrayed only by one’s own people; in fact, anybody and everybody were ready to betray you, and discretion——’ Here Madame de la Motte, by whose side the first secretary was sitting at table, suddenly put her hand on his mouth, and said in an imperative tone: ‘Hold your tongue; M. Beugnot is too upright a man for your confidence.’ I give her own words without changing a syllable. The compliment would have been a flattering one if the countess had not been ordinarily in the habit of using the words ‘upright man’ and ‘fool’ as though they were synonymous.

“Madame de la Motte, following her usual practice whenever I was present, turned the conversation upon Bar-sur-Aube and on my family, and inquired when I contemplated returning thither. Every one was wishing the supper to come to an end. I asked Madame de la Motte to lend me her horses to take me home. She raised only a slight difficulty: it was necessary that she should send home the stranger, and eventually decided that the one living farthest off should set down the other on the way. I objected to this arrangement, and asked permission of the lady to escort her to whatever quarter she lived in, expressing my regret at the same time that however distant this might be, it would still be too near. This woman’s countenance had at the first glance caused me that kind of uneasiness which one feels when one is conscious of having seen a person before, but cannot remember when or where. I addressed several questions to her on our way, but was unable to draw anything out of her; either Madame de la Motte, who had spoken to her in private before her departure, had recommended her to be discreet with me, or, what seemed more probable, she had naturally more inclination for holding her tongue than for talking. I set down my silent companion in the Rue de Cléry. The uneasiness which I felt in her presence was, I afterwards called to mind, due to her striking resemblance to the queen. The lady proved to be no other than Mademoiselle d’Oliva, and the mirth of my companions was occasioned by the complete success of the knavish trick which they had played off only the night before in the park of Versailles upon the Cardinal de Rohan.”[100]

This meeting, at which the cardinal was so cleverly fooled, took place, be it remembered, either at the end of July—the countess fixes it on the 28th—or at the commencement of August. His eminence the cardinal was so much elated with his good fortune, in having thus recovered, as he hoped, the favour of the queen, and felt so well assured that he was now in a fair way of becoming prime minister, the great object of his ambition, that the Countess de la Motte resolved at once to reap the first-fruits of his fond hallucination. So great was her decision of character, so thorough her assurance, so precise and prompt her mode of action, that before many days had elapsed she had applied for, by means of a billet bordered with _vignettes bleues_, penned of course by the forger Villette—and obtained the moderate sum of 50,000 livres, in the queen’s name, assuring her dupe that the queen required the loan for certain charitable purposes.[101] Ere another three months had gone by, by the aid of another forged billet purporting to have been penned by the queen, madame succeeded in obtaining 100,000 livres more. Both these amounts she received at the hands of the cardinal’s equerry, the Baron de Planta. Thus the Prince de Rohan, who in the month of July had been duped by an interview with a counterfeit queen, had been swindled, ere the year had gone by, out of no less a sum than 150,000 livres, or £6,000 sterling.

This is all the more extraordinary, and only proves the intensity of the infatuation under which the old dotard must have been labouring, for no very long time previously there had been much talk within the purlieus of the court of a daring act of swindling, perpetrated by means of a scandalous misuse of the queen’s name, which ought to have put him on his guard. It seems that one Béranger, a _fermier-général_ had been induced to advance a sum of 200,000 livres, to a certain Madame Cahouet de Villers, a lady said to be in attendance on the queen, for the use as he believed of her royal mistress. When first the lady applied to him, M. Béranger observed that he should be proud to furnish the sum required, provided her majesty would condescend to say one word to him—only one little word. But the lady only laughed at his unreasonable demand. If the queen, she said, chose to apply in so open a manner, of course the contents of every strong box in the kingdom would be at her disposal. Then where would be the merit of lending so small a sum on such security?

Poor Béranger was ashamed of himself for having been so unreasonable, and consented to lend the money if the queen would only show him by a look, or even by a nod, that she desired it. This compact was agreed upon.

A few days afterwards, therefore, when the queen with her train of ladies had to pass along the famous Galérie des Glaces at Versailles on some occasion of pleasure, the cautious _fermier-général_ posted himself in a quiet corner where he could be seen, and by-and-by Marie-Antoinette swept by full of “nods and becks and wreathed smiles,”—cunningly provoked by some smart observations made by Madame Cahouet de Villers, and which the delighted financier applied entirely to himself. A few hours afterwards the two hundred thousand francs were handed to the lady in question. The duped _fermier-général_, who, when the affair came to be commonly known, was toasted as a gallant financier at all parties and in all societies for a month or two afterwards, ultimately put the affair into the hands of the police, and my lady was arrested and sent to Sainte-Pélagie, whilst her husband was brought to ruin through having to reimburse the _fermier-général_ the amount of which he had been defrauded.

The above transpired in 1777. Five years later another imposture of a somewhat similar character was brought to light, but owing to its having been comparatively harmless in its results, it did not make any particular noise. A female boasted that she was honoured with the confidence of the queen, and exhibited letters—sealed with a seal belonging to Marie-Antoinette which had been stolen off a table in the apartment of the Duchess de Polignac—inviting her to Trianon. She gave out that she could influence the favour of the Princess de Lamballe, and pretended that she had been the means of disarming the resentment of the Princess de Guéménée (the Cardinal de Rohan’s niece) and Madame de Chimay against Madame de Roquefeuille. Here we have the same falsehoods, the same sort of dupes, the same farce, and, what is strangest of all, the same name; for the impostor of 1782 was also named De la Motte!—Marie-Josephe-Françoise Waldburg-Frohberg, wife of Stanislas-Henri-Pierre de la Motte, formerly administrator and inspector of the royal college of La Flèche.[102] Thus does history, even in its most insignificant byways, repeat itself.

For some time after the incident of the midnight interview, Mademoiselle Leguay Designy was a constant visitor at the De la Mottes’ both at Paris and Versailles, and subsequently at their country house at Charonne; for immediately the countess had gathered the first-fruits of her successful fraud a _petite maison de campagne_ was added to their other establishments. The demoiselle of the Palais Royal was presented to the somewhat mixed company she met on these occasions under the title of the Baroness d’Oliva, which the countess had herself conferred upon her, deriving, it is supposed, “Oliva” from “Olisva,” an anagram of “Valois.” We learn from her that at the De la Motte table, which was served, by-the-way, by footmen in elegant liveries, there were to be seen officers of rank, such as the Baron de Villeroy, chevaliers of St.-Louis and of Malta, retired notaries and their wives, a relative of madame’s, one Valois, a bootmaker, Rétaux de Villette, the countess’s secretary, and Father Loth, her _homme d’affaires_,—altogether a tolerably free-and-easy sort of society, we have no manner of doubt.

On one occasion the Baroness d’Oliva accompanied the Countess de la Motte, the Baron de Villeroy, and Rétaux de Villette to the Théâtre Français to see Beaumarchais’ comedy, “The Marriage of Figaro,” then running its hundred nights; but as time wore on, the countess became less pressing in her invitations, and the intercourse between the two ladies grew gradually less intimate, until some time in the ensuing November, when the Countess de la Motte and the Baroness d’Oliva were no longer on visiting terms. With regard to the 15,000 livres which the counterfeit queen was to have received for her single night’s performance, and on the strength of which brilliant engagement she had contracted debts which were a source of great future embarrassment to her, this is what she says to the countess in her “Mémoire:”—

“Some days after your return from Versailles, you and your husband came at midnight in a _voiture de place_ to the Rue de Jour, and gave me four hundred livres on account.

“On another day you came to me in the evening in your carriage, having only your footman with you, and gave me seven golden louis.

“Another day you drove up to my door in your carriage and sent your footman to inquire for me. I came down and saw Father Loth and the Baron de Villeroy with you in the carriage. I asked you for four hundred livres, which I wanted to pay to Gentil, my upholsterer. Some days afterwards, Father Loth called for me, and we went together to Gentil and paid him the money.

“On another occasion your friend Villette brought me three hundred livres from you.

“Another day I sent my servant to you, according to previous arrangement, when you paid her three thousand francs in notes of one thousand francs each.”[103]

Thus it will be seen that she was only paid 4,268 of the 15,000 livres promised to her, and that by bit-by-bit instalments. Schemers and sharpers, if they had gold mines at their disposal, would never pay in any other way.

XV.

1784. NOV.

GRAND DOINGS AT BAR-SUR-AUBE.

The sudden possession of a large sum of money produced in the countess an invincible desire to return for a time to Bar-sur-Aube, where a few years previously she had suffered so much poverty, but where she could now display a little pomp. Late in the autumn of 1784, young Beugnot received a very amiable letter from Madame de la Motte, in which she announced to him that having several days to spare, she was about to spend them at Bar-sur-Aube with her friends. “She informed me, in an easy off-hand manner,” observes the count, “that she had sent in advance her carriage and saddle-horses, which would be five days on the road, as she had been recommended not to fatigue them, and that she herself would arrive two days afterwards. She apprised her sister-in-law, Madame de la Tour, of her coming in much the same terms, and gave her certain particular directions as to the lodging of herself and suite. Madame de la Tour came to me quite bewildered, and asked me what it all meant, to which I replied that I was as much in the dark as she was. Having compared letters, we agreed that there was a mystification of the worst kind about the affair, but resolved that we would not be duped, and that no preparations should be made for lodging the princess and her suite, and moreover that we would both preserve strict silence with reference to the letters we had received.

“How great was our joint astonishment when on the appointed day we beheld a large heavily-laden waggon, drawn by a fine team, and followed by two led horses of great value, drive into the town. A steward who arrived with the waggon instantly gave orders for more provisions than would have sufficed to victual the best house in the town for a period of six months. People stared at each other when they met in the streets, and wondered what this new chapter in the ‘Arabian Nights’ could possibly mean, and were still wondering when the Count and Countess de la Motte, preceded by two outriders in handsome liveries, drove leisurely through the main street of Bar-sur-Aube in a very elegant _berline_.”[104] Two years before they had left the place with borrowed money and no other clothes but those they had on; now they returned in their own carriage, with their couriers and saddle-horses, and actually required a waggon to convey their wardrobe!

The town of Bar-sur-Aube, on the banks of the river, the name of which it bears, is built partly on the slope of a mountain and partly in a valley, and has on its mountain side the remains of some extensive Roman fortifications said to have been constructed by Cæsar during his invasion of Gaul. In by-gone times the town was encompassed by a massive stone wall, and had its moats, ramparts, and four ancient gateways, with a garrison of arquebusiers and militiamen. Its fortifications, however, have been long since demolished, and pleasant gardens now occupy their site. At the present day Bar-sur-Aube boasts several ancient churches and chapels containing handsome carved altar-pieces, and many curious antique monuments, and has also its convents, hospitals, college, and theatre.

The one object of historical interest that commonly attracts the attention of strangers is the little Gothic chapel in the centre of the old stone bridge of seven arches which spans the river Aube, built to mark the spot where, upwards of four centuries since, Charles VII. caused the Bastard de Bourbon, chief of the gang of _écorcheurs_ (flayers)—so called because they stripped the unfortunate wretches that chanced to fall into their hands of every particle of clothing, and who had for a long time ravaged the Champagne—to be sewn up in a sack and drowned in the river beneath. In the old parts of the town the houses are chiefly of wood, and some of the more picturesque among them have large figures of saints forming their supports. Most of those erected during the last eighty or ninety years, however, are built entirely of stone. The outskirts of Bar-sur-Aube are planted with trees, and laid out in public walks, gardens, and orchards; beyond which a chain of low hills, covered with vines or dense plantations of foliage, gives a picturesque aspect to the surrounding country. Owing to the favourable situation of the town and the productive nature of the adjacent districts, Bar-sur-Aube does an extensive trade in various kinds of grain, horses, cattle, wine, brandy, fruit, wool, leather, linen, iron, glass, pottery, and stone and timber for building purposes.

Bar-sur-Aube has something of a history of its own, for it has been the scene of several stirring historical events. It was occupied by the Romans during their invasion of Gaul, was ravaged by Attila, and was pillaged by our own Edward III. in 1360. About four centuries later the inhabitants of Bar-sur-Aube welcomed with great display Louis the Well-Beloved when he passed through the town on his return from the siege of Fribourg. In January, 1814, the Allies, then marching upon Paris, appeared before Bar-sur-Aube, and after a series of hard-fought engagements forced Marshal Mortier, who held the town, to beat a rapid retreat under cover of the night. While in the occupation of the Allies, a conference of the ministers of the different powers was held at Bar-sur-Aube, when Lord Castlereagh resolutely refused all subsidies to the vacillating Bernadotte unless he agreed to support Marshal Blucher with two _corps d’armée_, and so enable the Allies to continue their march upon Paris. At this period there were three crowned heads, the Emperors of Russia and Austria, and the King of Prussia, installed in comparatively humble lodgings in this second-rate provincial town. After the battle of Montmirail, on the 11th of February, the Allies, who were retreating, turned and made a stand, and compelled the French army to retire across the river Aube. On this occasion the town was twice taken and retaken after several severe engagements. In the year following, about three weeks after the battle of Waterloo, the Allies, to the number of 200,000 strong, again appeared before Bar-sur-Aube. This time there was no enemy to face them, so they quietly took possession of the place, and levied heavy contributions on the inhabitants, leaving a garrison of a couple of thousand men behind them, when they pursued their unopposed march upon Paris.[105]

The De la Mottes spend several weeks at Bar-sur-Aube, give grand dinner and supper parties to those who consent to visit them, discharge all their debts with the cardinal’s money, and assume all the airs of genuine nobility. Most of the inhabitants eat their meat and drink their wine without instituting any curious inquiries as to the source of their strange prosperity; but there was one whose piercing intelligence penetrated every outward vanity, whose keen eye discerned the truth then more distinctly than others have done since, after the exposure of a long trial by the Court of Parliament, and the still more searching investigations of fifty historians. This sagacious man was M. de la Tour, who had married the count’s sister. When he dined at the De la Motte table, the countess herself, to whom all others submitted, quailed beneath his cutting sarcasms.

“I chanced to be alone with M. de la Tour,” says Beugnot, “on the day of Madame de la Motte’s arrival. ‘Am I not a thousand times right,’ said he to me, ‘when I assert that Paris contains the worst persons in the world? In what other place, I ask you, would this little vixen and her big lanky husband have been able to obtain by swindling the things which they are displaying before our astonished eyes? Your good father excepted’—Beugnot’s father, it will be remembered, had lent the De la Mottes a thousand livres a few years previously—‘whom would they have found here willing to lend them a crown? and yet in half an hour they have unpacked more silver plate than there is in the whole town besides, not even excepting the chalices and ornaments of the altar.’... ‘Do you not know,’ remarked I, ‘that Madame de la Motte is protected by the queen?’ ‘I’ll say nothing as to the queen’s protection,’ replied La Tour. ‘Between you and me, the wife of our lord the king is not the most prudent person in the world; still she is not such a fool as to have anything to do with people of their stamp, I warrant.’”

The evening after the De la Mottes’ arrival they gave a supper to a few intimate friends, which, according to Beugnot, would have been considered magnificent for any kind of guests even in Paris. “Although the town of Bar-sur-Aube,” observes he, “is one of the most ancient cities of the Gauls, never perhaps had such luxury been seen in it before, not even when Cæsar did it the honour of stopping there to hang—as they say—the mayor and councillors of that epoch. Faithful to an understanding we had previously come to, La Tour and I ate with good appetites, and without taking particular notice of anything, as though, in fact, we were both accustomed to such festivities. We kept the conversation in our own hands, taking care to confine it to subjects which rendered it difficult for the most expert talker to interpose a remark in praise of any of the things spread before us. M. de la Motte did not like this; he wished to make us admire the dinner-service, which was of a new pattern, and of very fine workmanship. La Tour contended that services of this kind had been known for a very long time, but had gone out on account of their clumsiness. The _nil admirari_ was persevered in with respect to everything, and to the very end.

“At last Madame de la Motte thought she had found grace in our eyes in praising a fowl, one of the finest which had just been removed from the table, informing us at the same time that she had ordered the courier to bring her a supply of this kind of poultry so long as she remained at Bar-sur-Aube, because to her taste ordinary country fowls were not eatable. ‘I ask your pardon, madam,’ interposed La Tour, in a serious tone, ‘but I am by no means of your opinion. I consider a country capon such as you have been speaking of, when properly fattened, to be vastly superior to all your Normandy and Mans cocks and pullets, the flesh of which is soft, insipid, and dripping with fat. But after the capon has been fed on a good plan, it must be roasted in a proper manner, and for this purpose I care little about the jack. I very much prefer to have the spit turned by a boy of the family, or even by a dog.’

“Madame de la Motte lost patience at the sort of honour paid to her by her husband’s relation before four tall footmen who had been brought from Paris clothed in liveries covered with gold lace. ‘Sir,’ said she to La Tour, in a spiteful manner, ‘I feel edified at your preference; it is the result of a country taste which we know you carry to its fullest extent.’ ‘I agree with you there, madam,’ replied La Tour; ‘country taste or family taste are much the same, and you know, madam, I value one just as much as I do the other.’

“This conversation shortened supper. ‘How do you think I have paid my score?’ inquired La Tour of me in a low tone of voice. ‘You have been almost too liberal,’ replied I. ‘Not at all; only I was resolved to put down both husband and wife should they have the impertinence to ask me to admire anything. The masquerade which has commenced this evening is a sort of triumph for these people, and I reserve for myself the part of the soldier who on the way tells wholesome truths to the hero of the festival!’”[106]

Madame de la Motte called Beugnot into her room, and began complaining to him of the insolence of her husband’s brother-in-law. “She told me,” says Beugnot, “that her fortune had changed, that she was now in a good position, both as regarded herself and those belonging to her, and that we were all interested in adopting a different manner towards her. She hinted something of the very high connection she was keeping up at Versailles, and ended by remarking that she did not think she could remain with us the fortnight she had promised herself. I proffered her a first example of the new style of behaviour which she desired by not asking her a single question. I merely undertook to beg her brother-in-law to be more prudent for the future, without, however, anticipating much success from my intervention.”

The third day of the countess’s sojourn at Bar-sur-Aube was occupied by her in paying visits to people in the neighbourhood. She dressed herself out with all the taste which can result from an excess of magnificence, her robes being of the finest Lyons embroidery, and she herself sparkling with diamonds. She had, moreover, a complete set of topazes, which she also took care to display. “She made herself,” says Beugnot, “almost ridiculously engaging and familiar with the neighbouring nobility and gentry. Great and small were alike enchanted with her. They returned her visits, but when she wished to go further, and give some little fêtes, the respectable women of the place excused themselves under various pretexts, and Madame de la Motte found herself reduced to the young men and the women of her husband’s family, so thorough was the respect for manners at this time in a little provincial town. ‘Madame de la Motte,’ said these good ladies to me, ‘is a charming woman, and we like her very much; but why do you wish us to give our girls ideas of which they have no need, and which will perhaps awaken in them desires they can never gratify?’

“I was wanting,” resumes Beugnot, “neither in respect nor discretion towards Madame de la Motte. She seemed to have completely forgotten our old relations, and on this point I was in unison with her. I had become to her simply a well-bred man with whom she could speak on any subject. She told me of the secret vexations she endured through the deplorable position of her husband’s family. I consoled her as well as I could, always observing to her that a residence in a little town was in her case quite a mistake—that she ought to have an hôtel at Paris and a château in the country. She replied that she did not wish to buy land, because she was about to obtain the estates belonging to her family, on which she proposed to build. The hôtel in Paris she allowed to pass without notice, but she admitted that she wished to possess one at Bar-sur-Aube, where she could spend the summer months until her projected château was built. I took the liberty of opposing this idea of purchasing a house at Bar-sur-Aube, and maintained that it would be in far better taste to inhabit a cottage while the château was being built by its side; but Madame de la Motte, who had already received many valuable lessons on this subject, did not the less persist in her desire to display her magnificence in those places which had been witnesses of her former misery. She purchased, in spite of my remonstrances, a house at Bar-sur-Aube, for which she paid twice as much as it was worth, and then gave it up to architects, who considered it their duty to commit all the stupidities which the property admitted of, and a few more.”[107]