Chapter IX: Appendix: Detailed Description of the Diamond Necklace 387 (6)

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Success is attained at last! The great fraud is consummated! The woman who when a child we have seen running along the streets with naked feet, the tatters of poverty her only covering, and begging of lords and ladies to “bestow a few sous on a descendant of Henry II. of Valois, King of France,” has at length obtained possession of the famed Diamond Necklace, valued at 1,600,000, livres, or £64,000, sterling! The jewellers, delighted at having got the troublesome piece of _bijouterie_ off their hands, invite the countess to a grand dinner, and madame being pleased to accept the invitation, the affair came off on the 12th of February, when doubtless both the countess and her absent friend the cardinal were toasted in bumpers of the choicest Burgundy, and more than one fine speech was made which, had it been accurately reported, would have read rather curiously a few months afterwards.

It had been arranged, it seems, between the jewellers and Laporte, Achette, some baron—name unknown, but said to be a relative of the cardinal’s—and a money-lending goldsmith named Grenier,[137] the same who had purchased the De la Motte pension, and who, we expect, had got mixed up in the Necklace affair through his connection with the countess, that a commission of 200,000 livres was to be paid to the negotiators, of which amount madame says it was proposed she should receive one-half in articles of jewellery, such as diamond rings and earrings, a couple of solitaires, a locket set with diamonds, and a watch and chain for herself, with a couple of diamond rings and a watch and chain set with diamonds for her husband. When Laporte sent her a written memorandum of these conditions, and begged her acceptance of them, she declined, and desired him to say no more on the subject, as she had done so little towards effecting the sale of the Necklace, and as, moreover, it was not her habit to receive presents for services rendered![138]

When the count, who had not yet been let into the secret of his wife’s intention with regard to the Necklace, came to hear of this refusal, he blamed her very much, and it was arranged with Grenier that he should inform the other negotiators of the countess’s willingness to accept the proposed presents. It does not appear, however, that she ever received them. The commission was probably dependent on the payment of the purchase-money for the Necklace, and as this was never paid, the arrangement with regard to the commission most likely fell to the ground.

Baudard de Saint-James, treasurer-general of the navy, and principal creditor of the crown jewellers, is equally delighted with the latter at the Necklace being at last sold. He has now before him the pleasant prospect of receiving twenty-four livres in the louis on his large debt, and from a feeling of gratitude presses, through Böhmer and Bassenge, the offer of his services upon the cardinal, to whom, he said, he should be proud to be of use. The cardinal, who, with all his large resources, is continually in want of money, knew, we suppose, what this meant, for he forthwith borrowed 50,000 livres from the treasurer-general of the navy on his simple note of hand.[139]

This celebrated financier’s real name was Baudard; but when he had grown rich he made an addition to it, and called himself Saint-James, after the village from whence he came. This name he in his turn bestowed on a celebrated château and park still existing at the end of the Avenue de Neuilly, the same in which the Duke of Wellington and his staff took up their quarters when the Allies entered Paris after the battle of Waterloo. It had formerly been the residence of the famous Cardinal de Retz, afterwards of Le Normand (uncle of Madame de Maintenon, and the richest _fermier-général_ of his time), by whom the château was rebuilt, and subsequently of our treasurer-general of the navy, who dissipated his immense fortune upon it in fancies of the wildest kind. He first enlarged the château, then redecorated and furnished it in the most magnificent style; next extended and relaid out the park, planted miniature woods, constructed artificial grottos and waterfalls, erected Chinese temples and Turkish kiosques, and formed a superb winter-garden, in which he accumulated all the rare flora of Asia and America. The feature of the park, however, was its grand rock, the quarrying and transit of which is said to have cost Saint-James the incredible sum of 1,600,000 livres, or £64,000[140]—exactly the price of the Diamond Necklace—and which is known even at the present day by the name of “Saint-James’s Folly.” What with his reckless expenditure upon this château and park, his expensive mistresses, his jobbing in the funds, his allowing himself to be drawn into all manner of wild undertakings, the promoters of which, knowing alike his stupidity and his greed, invariably had recourse to him, and his subsequent losses by Böhmer and Bassenge and others, it is not to be wondered at that Baudard de Saint-James came to grief at last—failed, in fact, for a million sterling, got sent to the Bastille, and only left it to die of poverty and grief a short time afterwards.

XIX.

1785. FEB.–AUG.

THE DIAMOND NECKLACE VANISHES!

The gigantic swindle it must be confessed had been effected in a masterly manner. Weeks, and even months, passed by, and no one seemed to entertain the slightest suspicion that any fraud had been perpetrated. But this was only the calm that precedes the storm. The crown jewellers, Böhmer and Bassenge, made it no secret that they had succeeded in disposing of their Necklace. They, however, gave out that it had been purchased by the Sultan of Turkey for a favourite sultana. Böhmer afterwards stated that they did this at the request of the cardinal, who had received the queen’s commands to that effect. Of course Madame de la Motte was the real person who caused this report to be spread to allay impertinent curiosity. The cardinal, flattering himself that he had placed his sovereign under an obligation, was expecting both favour and power, and was confiding these hopes rather incautiously to his friends. The De la Mottes were openly living in almost Oriental luxury. Nobody would have supposed that any great wrong had been done.

On the 3rd of February, two days after the Necklace had been delivered to the cardinal, he met Böhmer and Bassenge at Versailles. “Well,” said he to them, “have you made your very humble acknowledgments to her majesty for having purchased your Necklace?” The jewellers, careless upon this point now the Necklace was fairly off their hands, had not done so; the cardinal upbraided them with their neglect, a fact admitted at the trial.[141]

Months glide by without the slightest suspicion arising, although the grand almoner is somewhat puzzled at the queen never wearing the Necklace in public. Every time he meets the jewellers he repeats his inquiry whether they have humbly thanked the queen, and renews his very earnest recommendation for them to do so. At length, in the last week of June, after the countess has more than once hinted to him that the queen thinks the Necklace dear, the cardinal receives a letter written in her majesty’s name by the forger Villette, complaining of the excessive price of the jewel, and demanding a reduction of 200,000 livres, in which case 700,000 instead of 400,000 livres would be paid on the 1st of August, “otherwise,” the letter went on to say, “the article will be returned.”[142] The crown jewellers murmur, as well they might, at this unexpected demand, but rather than be again burthened with the Necklace, after consulting with Saint-James, they give an unwilling consent to the new arrangement. When all is finally settled, by the advice of the cardinal they address to the queen the following letter, the very words of which are dictated by the grand almoner himself:

“Madame,

“We are extremely happy to think that the last arrangements
which have been proposed to us, and to which we have submitted
with respectful zeal, will be received as a new instance of
our submission and devotedness to your majesty’s commands, and
we feel truly rejoiced to think that the most beautiful set of
diamonds in the world will be worn by the best and greatest of
queens.

“BÖHMER AND BASSENGE.

“July 12, 1785.”[143]

When the above letter was written, some slight feelings of uneasiness respecting the Necklace had taken possession of the minds of the two partners; for Marie-Antoinette had appeared in public on several occasions when such an ornament might very properly have been worn, but without displaying it. Böhmer had sought interviews with the queen, who had carefully avoided him, fearing to be again pestered with his importunities, and, since his threat of committing suicide, regarding him as partially deranged.

The cardinal, as we have already remarked, was perplexed by the circumstance that the queen did not wear the Necklace, and still more so by the freezing aversion she continued to manifest whenever they met in public. The fictitious letters too had become more rare, as well as much briefer than heretofore, and very cold. The apprehension mutually shared by the cardinal and the crown jewellers may be traced in the letter just quoted, in which “the most beautiful set of diamonds in the world” is pointedly alluded to, and something like a hint given that they ought to be “worn by the best and greatest of queens.”

This letter was delivered by Böhmer to Marie-Antoinette with a diamond epaulette and buckles which the king had ordered of the crown jewellers as presents to the Duke d’Angoulême on the day of his christening. The queen, who had just returned from mass, went at once into her library, where Madame Campan was present. “She held the note in her hand; she read it to me,” says Madame Campan, “observing that as I had in the morning guessed the enigmas in the _Mercure_, I could no doubt discover the meaning of this, which that madman Böhmer had just handed to her. These were her very words. The note contained a request not to forget him,[144] and expressions of his happiness at seeing her in possession of the most beautiful diamonds that could be found in Europe. As she finished reading the note she twisted it up and burnt it at a taper which was standing lighted in her library for sealing letters, and merely recommended me, when I should see Böhmer, to request an explanation of it. ‘Has he assorted some new ornaments?’[145] added the queen. ‘I should be very vexed if he has done so, for I don’t intend to make use of his services any longer.’”[146]

In the middle of the month of July, but a very short time before the first instalment fell due, the countess, feeling the necessity for gaining time, called upon the Cardinal de Rohan, and told him that the queen would be constrained to devote the 700,000 livres, which she had put aside for the payment of the moiety of the purchase-money due on the 1st of August, to other purposes. She begged that the cardinal would see the jewellers and obtain a postponement, which the queen thought could not be at all difficult,[147] until the 1st of October. The cardinal received this message with evident consternation, whereupon Madame de la Motte, to reassure him, told him that she had seen in the queen’s hands notes to the amount of 700,000 livres, which her majesty had designed for the payment of the instalment in question, and a day or two afterwards she would appear to have brought him a letter from the queen on the subject.[148] There is no help for it—for needs must when such a charioteer as the countess drives—so the cardinal does as he is bid, somewhat out of temper, it is true, by this time with her majesty’s unbusiness-like ways, which bid fair, he tells the jewellers, “to turn his head.” Böhmer and Bassenge show such evident signs of dissatisfaction at this new variation of the contract, that to quiet them the prince feels constrained to tell them a fib, namely, that he had _himself_ seen in the queen’s hands the 700,000 livres in question. This statement he repeats to Baudard de Saint-James, whose interest in the matter we know, and who makes it his business to be kept informed of any hitches that arise in this troublesome Necklace affair. Prompted, no doubt, by Madame de la Motte, the cardinal seems to have hinted to the financier that it would be a good opportunity for him to secure the queen’s favour, and with it the _cordon rouge_, of which Saint-James was particularly ambitious, by lending her majesty this 700,000 livres, for the payment of the first instalment. Saint-James was not unwilling; still he was over cautious, and said that on hearing one word from the queen the amount should be forthcoming.[149] Georgel says that the reason the affair fell through was because the forger Villette was, as will afterwards appear, away at that particular juncture at Bar-sur-Aube, and the written word consequently was not forthcoming until it was too late,[150] owing to which lucky accident Saint-James saved his 700,000 livres, which the countess would certainly have spirited away in her usual fashion if the chance had only been afforded her.

After consulting with their most pressing creditors, Böhmer and Bassenge gave a reluctant consent to the postponement asked for; but while the affair is still under consideration, the countess, getting alarmed, brings the cardinal 30,000 livres, which she tells him the queen has sent as interest on the retarded payment. Thirty thousand francs as interest on seven hundred thousand francs for two months, or at the rate of nearly twenty-six per cent., and the client, too, a queen! Madame de la Motte had evidently foreseen the famous axiom of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, though in an inverted form. With her, bad security implied high interest.

This 30,000 livres, we are told by the Abbé Georgel, only confirmed the most credulous of mortals in the conviction he entertained of the entire truth of all that Madame de la Motte had asserted. He at once hastened to the jewellers, who accepted the amount, not as interest, but on account of the principal. A few days afterwards, namely, on the 3rd of August, Böhmer, who occasionally visited the father-in-law of Madame Campan, went down to his country-house at Crespy—whether or not by invitation from Madame Campan does not appear—when Madame Campan repeated to him all that the queen had desired her to say. Böhmer, she tells us, seemed petrified, and asked how it was that the queen had been unable to understand the meaning of the letter he had presented to her.

“I read it myself,” replied Madame Campan, “and I could make nothing of it.”

Böhmer observed that he was not surprised at that, as there was a certain mystery in the affair respecting which she was ignorant, but of which he would inform her fully if she would accord him a private interview.

“When I had got rid of the persons who required my presence in the drawing-room,” says Madame Campan, “I went with Böhmer down one of the garden-walks.” Here the promised explanation was given, on hearing which Madame Campan was “so struck with horror,” “so absorbed in grief,” that a storm of thunder and rain came on while they were talking together without exciting her attention. During this conversation Böhmer stated that the queen, having changed her mind respecting his “grand Necklace,” and having determined to purchase it, had employed the Cardinal de Rohan as her agent in the transaction.

Madame Campan at once told the crown jeweller that he was deceived, for the queen had never spoken to the cardinal since his return from Vienna, and there was not an individual at court less favourably looked upon than the grand almoner.

“You are deceived yourself, madame,” replied Böhmer; “the queen must see him in private, for it was to his eminence that she gave 30,000 livres which were paid me on account; she took them in his presence[151] out of the little _secrétaire_ of Sèvres porcelain next the fireplace in her boudoir. This the cardinal told me himself.”

Böhmer further stated that he had in his possession all the notes signed by the queen, and that he had even been obliged to show these to various bankers in order to induce them to grant him an extension of time for his payments.

Madame Campan, thunderstruck at what she heard, assured poor Böhmer that he was the victim of a detestable plot; whereupon the jeweller confessed that he began to feel alarmed, as the cardinal had declared to him that the queen would be certain to wear the Necklace on Whit Sunday, and he, Böhmer, was greatly astonished when he saw that she did not have it on. On asking Madame Campan what she thought he ought to do, she advised him to go at once to the Baron de Breteuil, and tell him candidly all that had passed, and be ruled entirely by him. Instead of doing this Böhmer hurried off to the cardinal. What transpired at this interview is not known, but the following memorandum, in the grand almoner’s handwriting, was said to have been found in a drawer at the Hôtel de Strasbourg at the time a search was made for the cardinal’s papers:

“On this day, 3rd August, Böhmer went to Madame Campan’s country house, and she told him that the queen had never had the Necklace, and that he had been cheated.”

Böhmer must have spoken to the cardinal beforehand of his contemplated visit to Crespy, for the cardinal admitted that, having regard to the queen’s injunction to keep her name a perfect secret in the affair of the Necklace, he had urged Böhmer not to speak to Madame Campan on the subject, and in the event of any questions being asked him to say the Necklace had been sent abroad.[152]

The half-crazy jeweller next hastened to the Little Trianon, but failed in obtaining an interview with Marie-Antoinette. A day or two afterwards, the queen having sent for Madame Campan to rehearse with her the part of _Rosina_, which she was to play in Beaumarchais’ comedy, “The Barber of Seville,” at her private theatre at the Little Trianon, took an opportunity of asking her why she had sent Böhmer to her (who had been to speak to her, saying that he came at Madame Campan’s request), when she did not wish to see him.

“The expression,” remarks Madame Campan, “which this man’s name produced on my features must have been very marked, for the queen observed it, and commenced questioning me. I begged her to see him; I assured her that it was necessary to her tranquillity; that an intrigue was being carried on of which she was ignorant; that it was a grave one, since agreements signed by her had been shown to people who had lent money to Böhmer. Her surprise and annoyance were great. She made me relate several times the whole of my conversation with him, and complained bitterly of the vexation she felt at the circulation of forged notes signed with her name; but she could not conceive how the cardinal could be involved in the affair. This was a labyrinth to her, and her mind was lost in it. She ordered me to remain at Trianon, while she sent off a courier to Paris, under a pretext which I have now forgotten. He returned the next morning, the very day of the representation of the comedy, which was the last amusement the queen allowed herself in this retreat.”[153]

XX.

1785. FEB.–JUNE.

THE DIAMONDS ARE DISPERSED.—COUNT DE LA MOTTE GOES TO ENGLAND ON BUSINESS.

The De la Mottes had spirited away the Necklace it is true, but how were they to turn it into hard cash? Every working jeweller in France knew this famed piece of _bijouterie_ by repute almost as well as if he had had a hand in its manufacture. The only plan, therefore, was for them, somehow or other, to remove the diamonds from their settings, and to dispose of them piecemeal. The first the De la Mottes contrived to do after a fashion by means of a knife or some such instrument; the last they found a difficult and even dangerous undertaking.

On the 15th of February[154] the countess’s first secretary and the forger of the queen’s signature to the contract with the jewellers, Rétaux de Villette, who was of course as deep in the plot as the De la Mottes themselves, was intrusted with about forty of the smaller stones to sell to two Jew diamond-merchants named Adam and Vidal for four hundred francs a-piece. Vidal, believing the diamonds to be stolen, gave information to the police, and the consequence was that Villette was arrested and subjected to an examination, in the course of which he was constrained to give up the name of the Countess de la Motte as that of the person who had intrusted him with the diamonds to sell. Madame being well known of old to M. Lenoir, lieutenant-general of police, to whom it will be remembered one of her begging letters was referred,[155] and her reputation being of the shadiest in her particular “_quartier_” M. Lenoir gave directions to the inspector who had arrested Villette to make diligent search at the “_Bureau de Sureté_” for information respecting any recent robbery of diamonds. Nothing whatever being discovered to implicate Villette in the least degree, he was discharged, and the diamonds were restored to him.[156]

This was a narrow escape for Villette, who naturally enough declined putting his liberty in jeopardy a second time. The consequence was that, burdened though the De la Mottes now were with diamonds, they were unable to turn them to profitable account. If attempting to dispose of a few of the smallest stones excited all this suspicion, whatever would come to pass, thought they, if any quantity of the larger brilliants were publicly offered in the market? The thieves are for the moment at their wits’ ends, and do not appear to have been particularly fertile in their expedients, for what next suggests itself to them is to get hold of a young fellow of dubious character calling himself Jean-Charles-Vincent de Bette d’Étienville, whom Rétaux de Villette has met with at some café—singularly enough the Café Valois—and under the assumed characters of the Dame de Courville, personated by Madame de la Motte, the Sieur Augeard, her steward, personated by Villette, and the Councillor Marsilly, personated by the Count de la Motte, to make him their pretended confidant in a cock-and-bull story about the lady desiring with a view of legitimatizing a child she has had by some very great nobleman, to get married to some gentleman of title, to whom a bonus of one hundred thousand livres would be given on the day of the wedding. They represented, however, that before this arrangement could be carried into effect, it would be necessary to dispose of the lady’s diamonds, which were valued at four hundred and thirty-two thousand livres; and it was proposed to Bette that he should take them to Holland, and sell them to the diamond merchants of Amsterdam—madame of course either accompanying him, or dogging his footsteps to ensure his not giving them the slip. Bette, although he found out a gentleman of title ready and willing to save a lady’s reputation at the price of one hundred thousand livres, cash down, seems to have drawn back at this latter suggestion, which foreboded danger he fancied; and all madame’s powers of fascination and persuasion proving of no avail, this abortive scheme had to be abandoned.[157]

All this was of course very disheartening. To have plotted and schemed, and watched and waited, and after doubts and misgivings, and positive fears and dangers, to have at length achieved success, and then for success to prove barren, was something awful. For the moment it seemed as though there was nothing to be done except to barter away as many diamonds as they could, and to have others reset to wear as personal ornaments. It was certainly no use hiding so much brilliancy under a bushel. At the commencement of March we find the Count de la Motte strolling into the shop of Furet, clockmaker to the king, Rue Saint-Honoré, with whom he had had previous dealings, and buying from him three clocks, price three thousand seven hundred and twenty livres, and giving him a couple of diamonds, which the jeweller values at two thousand seven hundred livres, on account. A day or two afterwards madame herself calls with a number of diamonds, which she wishes to have mounted encircling a watch; but Furet explains to her that the stones are too large for this purpose, and suggests mounting them as bracelets.[158] She also exchanges a diamond with a Jew for a couple of china pomade pots, and pays a visit to the goldsmith Regnier—of whom she had bought a pair of diamond bracelets and the handsome service of silver plate with which it will be remembered she astonished her Bar-sur-Aube connections in the preceding year, paying for the same with the cardinal’s money—and commissions him to set a couple of large diamonds, which she brings with her, in rings, one for herself and the other for her husband.[159]

Transactions of this character, however, did not put them in possession of the one thing needful—namely, ready cash. Diamonds were with them as plentiful as blackberries, but diamonds are not meat and drink, and are at best but an indifferent circulating medium, and the De la Mottes were getting painfully hard up. The countess, however, proved herself as usual equal to the occasion.

Unknown to her husband, she sells a parcel of twenty-two diamonds to one Paris, a jeweller—to whom she had been introduced by M. Filleul, a lawyer of Bar-sur-Aube, and an occasional visitor at the Rue Neuve-Saint-Gilles—for the sum of fifteen thousand livres, and subsequently disposes of sixteen more diamonds to the same person for the sum of sixteen thousand livres.[160] This furnished her with sufficient funds to pack the Count de la Motte over to England with a letter of credit for a couple of thousand crowns,[161] and the bulk of the larger diamonds belonging to the Necklace. These diamonds, which the countess had first declared were sold at the request and on behalf of the Cardinal de Rohan, she afterwards pretended she had received as a gift from the queen, and it will be noticed at the outset of the following narrative that the count takes up this cue, although he stated to the English jewellers that the gems were a family heirloom. This narrative of the count’s is not wanting in circumstantiality, still, like everything else emanating from the De la Motte mint, it has the customary false stamp upon it, more particularly in that portion relating to the amount said to have been received for the diamonds which the count succeeded in disposing of, as we shall by-and-by show. It should be remembered that this statement was not made public until long after the fact of the sale and purchase of the diamonds in question had been proved beyond a shadow of doubt by the English jewellers concerned in the transaction.

“I arrived in London,” says the count, “on the 17th of April, 1785, with the Chevalier O’Neil, who was perfectly acquainted with the object of my journey. As he knew the countess was admitted to the queen, I made no mystery to him _of the present she had received from her majesty_, nor of my motive for parting with the diamonds in London. I had a letter of credit on Messrs. Morland and Co., to whom I went the day after my arrival. On making inquiry for the most noted jewellers, I was directed to Jefferys and to Gray; I first saw Jefferys, who lived in Piccadilly, told him I had some diamonds to dispose of, and left him my address. The next morning he came to my lodgings, where I showed him the eighteen oval stones that belonged to the Necklace, and acquainted him with the price _which the cardinal had fixed_. He requested me to let him take them home in order to examine them, and offered me his acknowledgment, which I accepted. He promised to bring me an answer in four days; the next day I set out with the Chevalier O’Neil for Newmarket. During five days that we remained there, I gained by betting nine hundred and sixty guineas, sixty of which I expended in travelling expenses, the purchase of clothes, and various other articles.

“On my return to London, I went to Jefferys, who told me that a gentleman had offered four thousand pounds sterling; that he could not pay ready money, but would give notes at six and twelve months’ date, and would find ample security. I told him I would consider of it, took back my diamonds, and returned him his acknowledgment. The same day I went to Gray’s in New Bond Street,[162] left with him the largest oval stone, and directed him to come to me the next day, when I would let him see a greater quantity; the same day I purchased of him a self-winding watch. The next day he came with a Jew named Eliason. I intrusted him with the same stones I had left in Jefferys’ hands; he told me he had already examined them, and that a broker whom Jefferys employed had brought them to him. I then let him know the offer that Jefferys had made me, and the terms of payment, adding, that not knowing Jefferys, nor the person he had recommended to me, I did not choose to part with so considerable a property upon credit. That besides, I proposed staying but a few days in London, whither I might probably never again return, and that I did not think proper to leave anything behind me that might create any anxiety.

“He answered that I was perfectly in the right, and that if we agreed on the price he would pay me ready money. I told him my price: he took away the diamonds, and promised to bring an answer the following day; which he did, but still accompanied by Gray. He made me an offer of three thousand guineas, which I would not accept. After pointing out stones that had flaws and other defects they left me, with an assurance that the offer they made me for ready money was very adequate; and that I should not meet with a more eligible one. I let them go away, telling them I would keep my diamonds rather than part with them at that price.

“Next morning they returned, and asked to inspect the diamonds a second time: I permitted them. O’Neil was present, as well as my _valet de chambre_. Eliason then drew out of his pocket a pearl necklace, consisting of two very beautiful rows, a snuff-box set with brilliants and pearls, with a medallion on the lid, and several parcels of pearl seed. He valued these several articles at about five hundred and sixty pounds sterling. I said that if he would give me four thousand pounds, together with those articles, the bargain was struck. He exclaimed loudly, and then made a motion to go, offering three thousand pounds and the articles I had selected—a proposal which I rejected.

“In the interim Jefferys made a second application; I told him my resolution was to sell them for ready money only. I then delivered to him thirteen stones of the first quality I possessed; the two finest, which belonged to the Necklace, not having been given to the countess; and no doubt but the queen made a present of them to Mademoiselle Dorvat, or some other woman in her intimacy, for there were several which were similar. I had selected two, one intended to be set in a ring for the countess, the other for myself. Regnier, my jeweller at Paris, set them before my departure for London.[163] Both myself and the countess commonly wore them. The cardinal has seen them both.

“I called the next day at Gray’s to purchase several articles in steel; there I found Eliason, who told me I was over-tenacious, that his offer was a very fair one. He showed me some very fine pearls for a pair of bracelets, and a ring forming a neck-button; I went into a separate apartment, where we entered into a bargain. After two hours’ difficulty on both sides we at length agreed upon a price for the eighteen oval stones, viz., three thousand pounds sterling ready money; the pearl necklace of two rows, valued at two hundred pounds, the snuff-box one hundred and forty, the pearl-seed one hundred and twenty, and a diamond star which I took in Gray’s shop, valued at three hundred.

“This was the first bargain. When I had received the money and jewels, he told me that Jefferys’ broker had brought him other diamonds which were no doubt my property; that if I chose to sell them, I had better do business with him than with another: that I should gain by it the commission and some ready money. I went the same day and took out of Jefferys’ hands the thirteen stones I had left in his possession. He had come to the knowledge of my dealing with Gray, and being vexed at having missed the opportunity of making the purchase himself, he upon that account pretended, as will be seen hereafter, that he had acted respecting the diamonds with more propriety than Gray, for that he, Jefferys, surmising the diamonds to have been stolen, had given notice at a police office (which in fact was a falsehood[164]), and had refused to buy them. He afterwards the more readily made a declaration to this purpose before a certain notary named Dubourg, at the request of M. de Carbonnières, agent for the cardinal, as he said he believed me to be in Turkey, and depended upon never seeing me again in England. His behaviour to me when I returned to London will show how _delicate_ this Jefferys was in his conduct; since he came to me after judgment was passed to ask me whether I had not any diamonds to dispose of, telling me he would be the purchaser, and allow me a greater advantage than Gray would. It will soon be seen what answer I made him, and the method I took in order to make apparent what the justificatory writings produced by the cardinal consisted in.

“The thirteen stones taken from Jefferys I carried to Gray, telling him I would come the next day to his shop myself, and that he might appoint Eliason to be there at the same hour. The departure of the Chevalier O’Neil prevented my keeping the appointment. He had received a letter from his brother and another from his colonel, requiring his return with all possible speed to join his regiment by the 15th of May. He had not been able to obtain a longer leave of absence as he hoped; the troops the emperor was then marching towards Holland were the occasion of the orders he had received: he was therefore forced to leave me in London. He took charge of several purchases I had made, and of the parcel of pearls I had got in exchange. As he went by the coach, he took his place the day before at Mr. Guyon’s office, where he found the Capuchin McDermott, a professed spy, who for the things made known to me by his own confession (and those certainly are the most harmless) deserves to be made an example of. The Capuchin knew the Chevalier O’Neil, with whom he renewed acquaintance; and finding in the course of conversation he had come over with me, he begged he would introduce him to me, which the chevalier did. He told me that as I did not understand English he would be my interpreter, and do me all the little services in his power. I accepted his obliging offer, and that day he dined with me. He had been procurator of his order at Vassy, six leagues distant from Bar-sur-Aube; he knew my family, and had seen me, by his account, a child.

“In this, my first interview, I did not communicate to him anything relative to my having diamonds to dispose of; in short, I acquainted him with no particulars beyond that I had money to remit to Paris. He answered that he knew a merchant in the City named Motteaux, that if I negotiated through his means he would allow me the same advantage as to traders, whereas Mr. Hammersly would deal with me as with a nobleman. He calculated the benefit I should reap by placing that sum with Mr. Motteaux, and as it seemed to me rather considerable, and he persuaded me that Mr. Hammersly would not make me the same allowance, I determined to go to Mr. Motteaux, whither he accompanied me. I delivered to him the three thousand pounds sterling I had already received on the former bargain.”

McDermott, it seems, when he and the Count de la Motte were taking a stroll together in Kensington Gardens, questioned the count, in an off-hand Irish way, as to the sources of his wealth, and hinted that he must have made some lucky coups at the gaming-table—one had not to know the count long to discover that he was a practised gambler—whereupon the count replied, in the coolest manner possible, that he was not partial to “play.” “The truth is,” said he, “I married Madame de la Motte, with her slender income of eight hundred francs, against the wishes of my family, as I had not a single franc of my own; but we came up to Paris, when Madame and the Countess d’Artois recommended us to several of the ministers, who in their turn recommended the countess to lay her case before the queen. She did so, was taken into favour, and hence our present affluence.”[165]

“Let us return now to the thirteen diamonds I had left with Gray. When the Chevalier O’Neil was gone I went to that jeweller, who immediately sent into the City to let Eliason know I waited for him at his house. He came, but we made no bargain; eight or ten days passed away in fruitless meetings and considerations. They often told me they wondered how a gentleman should have such a knowledge of diamonds as to ascertain the exact value of them; but that I certainly must be sensible that such articles were difficult to dispose of; that they should perhaps be obliged to keep them two or three years upon their hands, during which time the interest of the money was lost, and other things to the same purport. At length, after much trouble and delay, we came to a settlement for the thirteen stones, for the sum of two thousand pounds sterling, ready money; a ring, convertible into a neck button, valued at two hundred pounds sterling, and for which I lately got but one hundred; a parcel of very fine pearls for the mounting of a pair of bracelets, valued at a hundred and fifty pounds; another parcel of pearls for sixty pounds, and a pair of girandole earrings, valued at five hundred pounds. Such were the two bargains I made with Eliason in presence of Gray. Six diamonds, which formed the trefoil of two oval ones, I exchanged at Gray’s for a medallion set round with brilliants, two steel swords, a shirt-pin, a pair of asparagus tongs, and a wine syphon. Four more diamonds which were between the rose and the four tassels were likewise exchanged at Gray’s for a ring, still in my possession, a small hoop of diamond-seeds, a lady’s pocket-case, in satin and gold, with all its fittings, a pair of steel buckles, and a miniature.

“I had sixty diamonds left, arising from the tassels, twenty-two from the festoons, and the stone which formed the button. Out of the sixty I selected twenty-eight, which I gave to Gray to set in drop earrings; and the two-and-twenty of the festoons to make into a necklace of one single row. I then had left only thirty-two stones arising from the tassels, and stone forming the button. I chose the sixteen finest, which I kept unmounted, and the remaining sixteen I parted with to Gray, at the rate of eighty livres the carat, out of which I bought in his shop sundry small matters not worth mentioning. Thus terminated all my negotiations for diamonds in London.

“I had still remaining the button stone, which I showed to Mr. Morland, asking him whether he could not find an opportunity of selling it to my advantage. He said he would let an acquaintance inspect it, and let me know his answer in two or three days. He did so by telling me he had the stone in his bank, and that one thousand guineas had been offered for it, which he believed might be increased to twelve hundred. He proposed my calling in Pall Mall to take the diamond, and from thence go into the city to Mr. Duval’s, the person who made the offer; but that he believed it was not for himself. We met with Mr. Duval, who showed me several articles in jewellery. I told him my design was not to purchase any, since I was, on the contrary, come to treat with him about a diamond which Mr. Morland had given him to inspect. After surveying it a second time, he told me that the person to whom he had shown it offered but one thousand pounds, which he (Duval) looked upon to be its full value. I took back the diamond, and resolved to keep it till I found a means to dispose of it more advantageously. The same day I gave it to Gray to set in a ring.

“Let us now proceed to the enumeration of those stones that were sold and exchanged in Paris. Before my departure for England, the countess had delivered to M. Filleul some diamonds, which she had kept privately, that had formed part of the festoons and knots of the tassels; she desired him to sell them for her, and pay her the money, charging him not to make me acquainted with it. He sold the whole parcel to one Paris, a jeweller, for the sum of twenty-eight thousand French livres (francs). Two stones, part of the festoons, were exchanged by me for two pendulum clocks at one Furet’s, in the Rue St. Honoré, with twenty-five louis-d’or in addition. One diamond, in like manner from the festoons, was set in a ring by Regnier, my jeweller. I had a chain in small brilliants which Franks the Jew had sold me; that I gave to Regnier, adding a few small diamonds which belonged to the knots of the tassels, the whole of which he made into a chain, which the cardinal’s counsel valued at forty thousand livres. I with much difficulty parted with it for _sixty pounds sterling_ in London. It was nearly the same with every particular; they were, in order to obtain their ends, obliged to multiply the price for which every article sold in a like proportion; and thus, from this false estimation, endeavour to prove that the _whole_ of the Necklace had been in my possession.

“I had now left in all sixteen diamonds which I had brought back from London, four-and-twenty very small ones, which were on the sides of each oval stone at the bottom of the tassels, twenty-eight encircling the two large oval stones, two small ones on each side of the button, eighteen of the small size, six of which held the two oval stones between the festoon, and the twelve others which were immediately adjoining to the ribbon at top. The rose and what held the tassels were not yet taken to pieces. I delivered the whole to Regnier, out of all which he selected the best diamonds, and nearly of an equality, to encircle the top of a bonbonnière and mount a small pair of drop earrings which the countess wanted to make a present of. The remainder I directed him to sell, for which he got thirteen or fourteen thousand livres. These made up the number of what I sold, as well at Paris as at London. Let us now recapitulate.

“I received in ready money in London _five thousand pounds_ sterling from Mr. Eliason, and fifty or sixty pounds from Mr. Gray.

“In exchange I received a medallion, a pair of girandole earrings, a ring, a shirt-pin, a hoop, two steel swords, a pair of steel buckles, one pound of pearl-seed, two rows of pearls forming a necklace, a mount for bracelets, a small parcel of pearls, a neck-button convertible into a ring, a snuff-box, a pair of asparagus tongs, a wine syphon, a lady’s pocket-case in satin and gold with its fittings, a miniature, and a pen-case of roses valued at sixty pounds sterling.[166] Some few other small articles I had from Gray’s shop, as needles, knives, steel forks, spring-pincers, scissors, a pair of silver buckles, an opera glass, a small steel watch-chain.

“I sold at Paris to M. Paris several diamonds to the amount of twenty-eight thousand livres, and I received nearly fifty louis-d’or for a part of the pearl-seed carried from London by the Chevalier O’Neil. The remainder of the pearl-seed was sold to Mordecai, a Jew residing in the Rue aux Ours.

“I have already said I had delivered to Gray twenty-two stones to set in a necklace, and twenty-six[167] for drop earrings. I had acquainted him with the day of my departure, and he had promised the work should be completed; yet the day previous thereto he showed me all the pieces, only sketched, assuring me there was a great deal more work than he had at first imagined, and that if I would leave them with him he had an opportunity of conveying them to Paris within a fortnight. I left him the diamonds with my address, and set out upon my journey on a Sunday morning with the Capuchin McDermott, who attended me as far as Dover. At parting with him I made him a present of a snuff-box with a very handsome painting on the lid, and defrayed his journey back to London.

“When I left Paris I had taken credit for two thousand crowns; I won at Newmarket near a thousand pounds sterling: out of both which sums I expended a hundred guineas in saddlery, harness, and race-horse body-cloths, a hundred guineas more for a phaeton, a hundred and fifty guineas in English stuffs and clothes for myself and servants; the rest was spent in travelling, and during my six weeks’ stay in London, which will not appear extraordinary when it is known I had taken up my residence at one of the principal hotels in that town, that I kept two servants, a hired coach, and two saddle horses, that I often gave entertainments, and that keeping the most fashionable company, I was obliged to play and enter into expensive pleasures.

“All I now had left of the famous Necklace were two rings—one for myself, the other belonging to the countess—a small diamond mounted on a plum-coloured stone, a pair of drop earrings, and a circle on a black tortoiseshell-box, and what I had left with Gray—namely, the necklace of twenty-two stones and the earrings.

“Thus I have given a minute detail of the diamonds I possessed and of the manner in which I had disposed of them.

“From the account I have kept and have just set forth of all the diamonds I had in my possession or that of the countess belonging to the Necklace, and by comparing it with an exact representation thereof engraved on a scale of the size of the diamonds, it appears that the queen had kept _two hundred and fifty-six diamonds_ of the same magnitude, _ninety-eight_ smaller ones of the same form, and the _two finest diamonds_ of the first size. The two hundred and fifty-six diamonds were what composed the most beautiful part of the Necklace, on account of the assemblage and the regularity of so great a number of stones.”[168]

Unfortunately for the count’s reputation for accuracy, a sworn affidavit of Gray’s, setting forth a true extract from his ledger, and produced at the time of the trial, gives the following version of his dealings with the count. This not only shows a considerable variation of price in respect to several articles received in exchange, but yields in round numbers a total of nearly three thousand pounds in excess of the amount admitted by the count to have been received:—

_Monsieur le Comte de Valois, of London_,
DR. to ROBERT GRAY.
_May 20th, 1785._

While the count was away leading a life of ease and pleasure—bargaining, it is true, about diamonds to-day, but “betting at Newmarket” on the morrow, riding about town in his “hired coach” or on his “saddle horse,” with his groom behind, giving “occasional entertainments at the principal hotels,” “keeping the most fashionable company,” “playing deeply,” and “entering into the most expensive pleasures,”—while all this was going on, madame the countess was putting off troublesome inquiries respecting her husband’s whereabouts as best she could, saying one day that he was in Berry looking after a legacy, at another time that he was in Poictou, and finally that he was in England, where he had won £1000 on a horse-race.[170] Still she managed to enjoy herself after her own fashion. Cardinal Prince de Rohan reluctantly admitted that she visited him at the episcopal palace at Saverne at the end of May, dressed in man’s clothes, and moreover, that he had sent one of the episcopal carriages to fetch her.[171] One can fancy the high jinks between the countess and Cagliostro, and black-sheep Baron de Planta, and the Prince de Rohan, and “_la petite comtesse_,” as Cagliostro’s wife was called, over the cardinal’s matchless Tokay on this notable occasion.

XXI.

1785. JUNE 22–AUG. 6.

THE GATHERING OF THE STORM.

On the 22nd of June, Count de la Motte finds himself in Paris again, with a letter of credit for the sum of 122,896 livres in his pocket-book on Perregaux the banker—the same shrewd Perregaux who, according to the popular story, after refusing the services of young Jacques Lafitte, engaged him the instant afterwards from observing him pick up and carefully preserve a common pin as in dejected mood he crossed the courtyard of the banker’s hôtel, and who subsequently took him into partnership and gave him his daughter in marriage, and so enabled him to found the great house of Lafitte and Co., of which he was so many years the distinguished head.

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The story of the diamond necklaceChapter IX: Appendix: Detailed Description of the Diamond Necklace 387 (6)

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