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STORIES ABOUT
FAMOUS PRECIOUS STONES
BY
MRS. GODDARD ORPEN
_ILLUSTRATED_
BOSTON
D LOTHROP COMPANY
WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE BROMFIELD
COPYRIGHT, 1890,
BY
D. LOTHROP COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
I.
THE REGENT 9
II.
THE ORLOFF 37
III.
LA PELEGRINA 59
IV.
THE KOH-I-NUR 79
V.
THE FRENCH BLUE 111
VI.
THE BRAGANZA 131
VII.
THE BLACK PRINCE'S RUBY 149
VIII.
THE SANCI 177
IX.
THE GREAT MOGUL 198
X.
THE AUSTRIAN YELLOW 218
XI.
A FAMOUS NECKLACE 238
XII.
THE TARA BROOCH AND THE SHRINE OF ST. PATRICK'S BELL 262
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page.
The Regent 14
The Orloff 40
The Koh-i-Nur 83
Koh-i-Nur, as recut 95
Tavernier's Blue Diamond 118
The "Hope Blue" Diamond 119
"Brunswick" Blue Diamond 123
"Hope Blue" Diamond, as mounted 126
The Crown of England 171
The Sanci 183
The Great Mogul 209
The Austrian Yellow 220
Diamond in the rough 229
Diamond after cutting 232
"The Necklace of History" 243
The Tara Brooch 265
St. Patrick's Bell 279
STORIES ABOUT
FAMOUS PRECIOUS STONES
I.
THE REGENT.
Of all the gems which have served to adorn a crown or deck a beauty the
Regent has perhaps had the most remarkable career. Bought, sold, stolen
and lost, it has passed through many hands, always however leaving some
mark of its passage, so that the historian can follow its devious course
with some certainty. From its extraordinary size it has been impossible
to confound it with any other diamond in the world; hence the absence of
those conflicting statements with regard to it which puzzle one at every
turn in the cases of certain other historical jewels.
The first authentic appearance of this diamond in history was in
December, 1701. In that month it was offered for sale by a diamond
merchant named Jamchund to the Governor of Fort St. George near Madras,
Mr. Thomas Pitt, the grandfather of the great Earl of Chatham.
Although, as we shall see later on, the diamond came fairly into the
hands of Mr. Pitt, it had already a taint of blood upon it. I allude to
the nebulous and gloomy story that has drifted down to us along with
this sparkling gem. How far the story is true it is now impossible to
ascertain. The Regent itself alone could throw any light upon the
subject, and that, notwithstanding its myriad rays, it refuses to do.
Tradition says the stone was found by a slave at Partreal, a hundred and
fifty miles south of Golconda. The native princes who worked these
diamond mines were very particular to see that all the large gems should
be reserved to deck their own swarthy persons; hence there were most
stringent regulations for the detection of theft. No person who was not
above suspicion--and who indeed was ever above the suspicion of an
absolute Asiatic prince?--might leave the mines without being thoroughly
examined, inside and out, by means of purgatives, emetics and the like.
Notwithstanding all these precautions however, the Regent was concealed
in a wound made in the calf of the leg of a slave. The inspectors, I
suppose, did not probe the wound deeply enough, for the slave got away
safely with his prize and reached Madras. Alas! poor wretch, it was an
evil day for him when he found the great rough diamond. On seeking out a
purchaser he met with an English skipper who offered him a considerable
sum for it; but on going to the ship, perhaps to get his money, he was
slain and thrown overboard. The skipper then sold the stone to Jamchund
for one thousand pounds ($5000), took to drink and speedily succumbing
to the combined effects of an evil conscience and delirium tremens
hanged himself. Thus twice baptized in blood the great diamond was
fairly launched upon its life of adventure.
And now we come to the authentic part of its history.
Mr. Pitt has left a solemn document under his own hand and seal
recounting his mercantile encounter with the Eastern Jamchund. It would
appear from this notable writing that Mr. Pitt himself had been accused
of stealing the diamond, for he begins with lamentations over the "most
unparalleled villainy of William Fraser Thomas Frederick and Smapa, a
black merchant," who it would seem had sent a paper to Governor Addison
(Mr. Pitt's successor in Madras) intimating that Mr. Pitt had come
unfairly by his treasure. The writer then calls down God to witness to
his truthfulness and invokes His curse upon himself and his children
should he here tell a lie.
After this solemn preamble, Mr. Pitt goes on minutely to describe his
transaction with the diamond merchant; how in the end of 1701 Jamchund,
in company with one Vincaty Chittee, called upon him in order to effect
the sale of a very large diamond. Mr. Pitt, who seems to have been
himself a very considerable trader in precious stones, was appalled at
the sum, two hundred thousand pagodas ($400,000), asked for this
diamond. He accordingly offered thirty thousand pagodas; but Jamchund
went away unable to sacrifice his pebble for such a sum. They haggled
over the matter for two months, meeting several times in the interval.
The Indian merchant made use of the classical expressions of his trade,
as, for example, that it was only to Mr. Pitt that he would sell it for
so insignificant a sum as a hundred thousand pagodas. But all this was
of no avail and they consequently parted again without having effected a
bargain.
[Illustration: THE REGENT: TOP AND SIDE VIEWS.]
Finally Jamchund having resolved to go back into his own country once
more presented himself, always attended by the faithful Vincaty
Chittee, before the Governor, and offered his stone now for fifty
thousand pagodas. Pitt then offered forty-five thousand, thinking that
"if good it must prove a pennyworth." Then Jamchund fell a thousand and
Pitt rose a thousand. Now the bargain seemed pretty near conclusion; but
it often happens that hucksters who have risen or fallen by pounds come
to grief at the last moment over the pence that still separate them, so
these two seemed unable to move further towards a settlement. Mr. Pitt
went into his closet to a Mr. Benyon and had a chat over it with that
gentleman who appears to have advised him to the purchase, remarking
that a stone which was worth forty-seven thousand pagodas was surely
worth forty-eight. Convinced by this reasoning the Governor went again
to Jamchund and at last closed the bargain at forty-eight thousand
pagodas ($96,000). It was a lucky moment for him, since it was upon this
minute but adamantine corner-stone that the Governor of Fort St. George
began to build up the fortunes of the great house of Pitt.
The diamond, valued far below its price in order not to attract
attention, was sent home to England and lodged with bankers until Mr.
Pitt's return from India, when he had it cut and polished. This process,
the most critical one in the life of a diamond, was performed in an
eminently satisfactory manner. The rough stone, which had weighed four
hundred and ten carats, came forth from the hands of the cutter a pure
and flawless brilliant of unparalleled lustre weighing one hundred and
thirty-six and three fourths carats. It took two years to cut it, and
the cost of the operation was ten thousand dollars; but its lucky owner
had no reason to complain, since he sold the dust and fragments for no
less than forty thousand dollars and still had the largest diamond in
the world to dispose of.
This, however, proved to be no easy matter, for though many coveted it
few persons were ready to give Mr. Pitt's price for it. One private
individual did indeed offer four hundred thousand dollars, but he was
not listened to. The fame of this wonderful stone soon spread over
Europe. In 1710 an inquisitive German traveler, one Uffenbach, made "a
wonderful journey" into England and tried to get a sight of it. But by
this time Mr. Pitt and his diamond were so renowned a couple that the
former must have been a most miserable person. The German tells us how
it was impossible to see the stone, for Mr. Pitt never slept twice in
the same house and was constantly changing his name when he came to
town. Indeed his life was one of haunting terror lest he should be
murdered for his jewel as the hapless slave had been in the very outset
of its career.
At last, in 1717, he was relieved from his troubles. He sold the stone
to the King of France, having in vain offered it to the other monarchs
of Europe. The Duke of Saint Simon minutely chronicles the whole
transaction. The model of the diamond, which was then known as the
"Pitt," was brought to him by the famous Scotch financier, Law. At this
time the Duke of Orleans ruled in France as regent for the boy who was
afterwards to be Louis XV. The state of the French finances was
well-nigh desperate. The people were starving, the national credit was
_nil_, and the exchequer was almost if not quite empty. Nothing
dismayed, however, by the dark outlook, that accomplished courtier, the
Duke of Saint Simon, set himself to work upon the feelings of the Regent
until he should be persuaded to buy this unique gem. When the Regent
feebly urged the want of money the Duke was ready with a plan for
borrowing and pledging other jewels of the crown until the debt should
be paid.
The Regent feared to be blamed for expending so extravagant a sum as two
millions of money on a mere bauble; but the Duke instantly pointed out
to him that what was right in an individual was inexpedient in a king,
and what would be lavish extravagance in the one would in the other be
but due regard for the dignity of the crown and the glory of the nation.
In short says the courtier in his entertaining Memoirs, "I never let
Monsieur d'Orleans alone until I had obtained that he would purchase
this stone." To such successful issue was his importunity brought. The
financier Law did not let the great diamond pass through his hands
without leaving some very substantial token of its passage. He seems to
have received forty thousand dollars for his share in the negotiation.
It is instructive to learn that the Regent's fear of being blamed for
the purchase was entirely groundless. On the contrary he received the
applause of the nation for his spirited acquisition of a gem the price
of which had terrified all the other monarchs of Europe; whereupon the
Duke of Saint Simon remarks with complacency that much of the credit was
due to him for having introduced the diamond to court. The sum actually
paid to Mr. Pitt appears to have been one hundred and thirty-five
thousand pounds sterling, equivalent to eight hundred and seventy-five
thousand dollars, and the diamond received its name of Regent in
compliment to the Duke of Orleans.
The Regent now enters upon a long period of tranquillity, nothing
conspicuous happening to it for many years. It pursued its way quietly
as a royal gem during the reign of Louis XV., adding its lustre to the
brilliant but dissolute court of that monarch. After a lapse of nearly
sixty years the Regent again came forward upon a stately occasion in
order to fitly decorate a king of France. It was on the eleventh of
June, 1775, that the unfortunate youth Louis XVI. was crowned king in
the ancient cathedral town of Rheims. A new crown of especial splendor
was made for the new king and in it were incorporated nearly all the
royal jewels. The top of the diadem was ornamented by fleurs-de-lys made
of precious stones. In the centre of the principal one blazed the
Regent, flanked right and left by the "Sanci" and the "Gros Mazarin,"
while round about sparkled a thousand diamonds of lesser magnitude.
Louis's gorgeous head-gear was no less than nine inches high, and it is
said that the King, made dizzy by the immense weight of it, put up his
hand several times to ease his poor head. At last he said peevishly "It
hurts me"; simple, thoughtless words to which after-events have given a
sad and most fateful significance.
One of the actors in this magnificent pageant was the King's youngest
brother, the Count d'Artois, a handsome youth of such exquisite
courtliness of manner that he obtained and kept through life the title
of the _Vrai Chevalier_. We shall meet him again in still closer
proximity to the Regent, fifty long years hence.
During the troubled reign of Louis XVI. the crown jewels including the
Regent were lodged in the Garde Meuble where upon stated days they were
exposed to public view. On the famous tenth of August, 1792, when Louis
was deprived of his crown he was also relieved from the burden of
looking after the Regent. It had at once become the National Diamond and
as such belonged to everybody, hence everybody had a right to see it. In
compliance with this popular notion the Regent was deposed from its
regal niche in the crown of France and was securely fastened in a steel
clasp. A stout chain was attached to the clasp and padlocked inside an
iron window. Thus secured from the too affectionate grip of its million
owners the Regent used to be passed out through the window and submitted
to the admiration of all who asked to see it. As a further security
policemen and detectives were liberally scattered about the place in
the interest of national probity.
After the bloody days of the second and third of September when the
ferocious mob of Paris broke into the prisons and massacred the
unfortunate inmates, the Government imagined that the people should no
longer be trusted with the custody of the Regent. Accordingly they
locked up all the crown jewels as securely as they could in the
cupboards of the Garde Meuble and affixed the seals of the Commune most
visibly thereto. Notwithstanding their precautions, however, the result
does not seem to have justified their conclusions. On the seventeenth of
the same month it fell to M. Roland, then Minister of the Interior, to
make a grievous statement to the Assembly. He informed the deputies that
in the course of the preceding night some desperate ruffians had broken
into the Garde Meuble Nationale between two and three o'clock in the
morning and had stolen thence jewels to an enormous value. Two of these
ruffians had been arrested, but unfortunately not those who had the
large diamond and other national property secreted upon their persons. A
patrol of ten men who were posted at the Convent des Feuillants had
pursued the miscreants, but being less effectively armed than the
robbers they were unable to capture them.
The two thieves then in custody upon being questioned gave, of course,
answers which aroused the suspicions of these easily inflamed patriots.
It seemed certain--so at least argued Roland--that the robbery had been
planned by persons belonging to the late dominant aristocratic party in
order to supply themselves with money to be used in paying the foreign
troops who were to subdue France and again reduce her to slavery. He
then proceeded to deliver an impassioned address upon this fertile
theme. Patriot deputies freely accused each other of being the authors
of this crime. Danton was pointed at by one party, while he retorted by
naming Roland, minister as he was, as one who knew too much about it.
It seems probable however that none except the thieves themselves were
concerned in this astonishing robbery and that they were actuated by
greed alone. The patriots only made use of it for party purposes to
obtain their own objects, just as they tried to utilize in the same way
any uncommon natural phenomenon, such as comets, earthquakes or hail
stones.
A few days later an anonymous letter was received by the officials at
the Commune stating that if they searched in a spot most carefully
described in the Allée des Veuves of the Champs Elysées, they would find
something to their advantage. They accordingly hunted at the place
indicated and found the Regent and a valuable agate vase. All the rest
of the booty, however, the thieves made off with after having thus eased
their consciences of the weight of the great diamond.
We lose sight of the Regent in the black gloom that hangs over the Reign
of Terror. There is however a persistent tradition, impossible now
either to prove or disprove, that on the occasion of the marriage of
Napoleon Bonaparte with Josephine Beauharnais in 1796 the former wore a
most superb diamond in his sword hilt. Could this perchance have been
the Regent? It is certainly difficult to imagine how Napoleon could have
become possessed of the Regent at this date. Yet it is also difficult to
imagine how the young man who was then an unknown and a poor general
without an army although full of high expectations, could have become
the owner of any diamond of such splendor as to attract the attention of
at least two contemporary historians. It is just possible it may have
been the peerless Regent already shedding its rays upon the blade of
that sword destined to flash through Europe and to leave behind it so
bloody a trail.
However this may be, it is certainly a fact that in 1800 Napoleon, then
First Consul, pawned the Regent to the Berlin banker Trescow. With the
money thus obtained he set out on that famous campaign beyond the Alps
which ended at Marengo and which began his career of unexampled success.
Thus once more the Regent may be said to have founded the fortune of a
great house, but more aspiring in its second attempt it succeeded less
effectually than in the case of Pitt. However in 1804 the house of
Bonaparte had not fallen upon its ruin and it is some idea of this fact
that gives color to the extraordinary revelations of the man called
"Baba."
In 1805 several men were tried for having forged notes on the Bank of
France, and one of them who went by the nickname of "Baba" made a full
confession of how the forgeries were accomplished, and then, to the vast
astonishment of the court, he delivered this theatrical speech: "This is
not the first time that my avowals have been useful to society, and if
I am condemned I will implore the mercy of the Emperor. Without me
Napoleon would not have been on the throne; to me is due the success at
Marengo. I was one of the robbers of the Garde Meuble. I assisted my
confederates to conceal the Regent diamond and other objects in the
Champs Elysées as keeping them would have betrayed us. On a promise that
was given to me of pardon I revealed the secret; the Regent was
recovered and you are aware, gentlemen, that the magnificent diamond was
pledged by the First Consul to the Batavian[A] government to procure the
money which he so greatly needed."
[A] Evidently a mistake on Baba's part, as the Regent was pawned to
a banker in Berlin.
There must have been some truth in Baba's statement, or at least the
Tribunal considered there was, for he was not sent with his companions
to the galleys, but was confined in the Bicêtre prison where he was
known as "the man who stole the Regent."
Napoleon did not set the Regent in his imperial crown. Having redeemed
it from the hands of Trescow for three millions of livres he mounted it
in the hilt of his state-sword. There was something very fitting in this
bestowal of the diamond. That the great soldier who had carved out his
way to the throne with his sword should use the famous stone to ornament
that blade was eminently appropriate. The Emperor seems to have
considered that the Regent, whose name he most properly did not alter,
belonged to him in an especially personal manner. In his confidences
with Las Casas when at St. Helena he particularly complains of the
manner in which the Allies defrauded him of this diamond, saying that he
had redeemed it out of the hands of the Jews for three millions of
livres and therefore that it belonged to him in his private capacity.
On the first of April, 1810, the Regent was called upon to add its glory
to the gorgeous scene in the long gallery of the Louvre on the occasion
of the official marriage of Napoleon with Marie Louise. The Emperor who
was very fond of splendid pageants was attired in the most magnificent
apparel contained in the imperial wardrobes. But he seldom had the
stoical patience demanded of those who pose as kings. He never could
acquire the deliberate stateliness of Louis XIV. who was born and
brought up within the narrow limits of regal etiquette. Indeed the
Emperor was frequently known to divest himself of his costly robes in a
very expeditious manner going so far as actually to kick--unholy
sacrilege!--the imperial mantle out of his way. On the day of his
marriage with the Archduchess the Regent was used to decorate the cap of
the bridegroom. Madame Durand, one of the ladies-in-waiting to the new
Empress, has left an account of the ceremony in which occurs the
following passage:--
"He (Napoleon) found his black velvet cap, adorned with eight rows
of diamonds and three white plumes fastened by a knot with the
Regent blazing in the centre of it, particularly troublesome. This
splendid headgear was put on and taken off several times, and we
tried many different ways of placing it before we succeeded."
Like poor Louis XVI. at his coronation Napoleon found that his sparkling
top-hamper hurt him.
There was little opportunity for the Regent to appear fittingly after
this event, although no doubt it was present at that kingly gathering in
Dresden in the spring of 1812, when Napoleon in the plenitude of his
power was starting upon the Russian campaign. But in the crash of a
falling throne the imperial diamond is lost to view.
When Marie Louise escaped from Paris in 1814, flying before the
advancing allies she took with her all the crown jewels, and specie to
the amount of four millions. These valuables the fugitive Empress kept
with her until she reached Orleans, where she was overtaken by M. Dudon
a messenger from the newly-returned Bourbon king. This gentleman
demanded and obtained the restoration of the money and the jewels. Thus
the Regent was forced to abandon the fallen dynasty and to return to
Paris to embellish the cap of the new king.
In the scrambling restoration of Louis XVIII. it was impossible to have
a coronation. Indeed the court of this returned Bourbon was of the
quietest, being under the dominion of Madame d'Angoulême, an austere
bigot, of a temper very different from that of her gay and
pleasure-loving mother, Marie Antoinette. It was not until May, 1818,
that there was anything like a fitting occasion for the Regent to
appear. It was in that month the most delightful of all the months of
the year in France, that the youthful bride of the Duke of Berri arrived
from Naples. Louis XVIII. resolved to have the young princess met in the
forest of Fontainebleau, and thither accordingly the whole court
migrated on the previous day. It was the king's wish that the meeting
should take place in a tent pitched in the stately forest. Perhaps he
dreaded the imperial memories that still haunted the chateau,
Napoleon's favorite residence where he had given his splendid hunting
fêtes. The king arrayed himself sumptuously in a velvet coat of royal
blue embroidered with seed pearls, and the Regent was placed in the
front of his kingly cap while his sword was decorated by the less
brilliant Sanci diamond. Thus regally adorned the king, too fat and
gouty to stand in a royal attitude, was majestically seated in his
arm-chair where he was discovered by the youthful Caroline when she
tripped lightly into the tent.
Charles X. was destined to enjoy the Regent but for a few brief years.
Having succeeded to the throne on the death of his brother in September,
1824, he made his state entry into his capital in the first days of
October. This Charles, now an old man, is the youthful Count d'Artois
who figured at the coronation of Louis XVI. half a century before.
Hardly was the late king laid to his rest in the sombre vaults of St.
Denis when his successor laid his hands upon the Regent. The grand
diamond sparkled upon the hat of the elderly monarch when bowing and
smiling he made his entry into Paris as King of France. He was very fond
of display, the Vrai Chevalier of the olden time, and spent months
devising the most perfect and complete of coronations. Everything was to
be conducted according to the strict old court etiquette; even the
dresses of the ladies were designed from fashion plates of the time of
Marie de Médicis. This was the last king of France crowned at Rheims,
none but the elder Bourbons having dared to face the legitimate
traditions of the sleepy old town. A crown splendidly garnished with
diamonds was made especially for Charles who was duly anointed. But it
all availed not to keep him on his infirm throne. He abdicated in 1830
when at St. Cloud and proceeded with royal slowness to quit the kingdom.
He retained however his hold over the crown jewels while relinquishing
the crown itself, for he carried the Regent and all the rest of the
diamonds off to Rambouillet. As soon as the municipal government in
Paris became aware of this fact they sent two agents to receive the
precious objects from the hands of the ex-king. But his dethroned
majesty would not give them up, whereupon a column of six thousand
troops marched upon Rambouillet, and Charles was convinced by the
irresistible logic of their flashing bayonets. He surrendered the Regent
and other gems which were instantly appropriated by his "good cousin of
Orleans," Louis Philippe.
He again in turn was obliged to fly and leave his diamonds behind; so
that the Regent was found by Louis Napoleon amongst the other treasures
of the country when he laid hold of the vacant crown of France. The late
Emperor had it set in the imperial diadem.[B] It is a thick,
square-proportioned diamond about the size of a Claude plum with a very
large top surface, technically the table, and it gives forth even in
daylight the most vivid rays. One authority on precious stones observes
that the Regent is not cut to rule, being too thick for its size, but he
quaintly remarks that such a diamond is above law. The Regent may do as
it likes, but smaller stones should beware how they imitate
peculiarities which in them would be called defects.
[B] It was shown to the world at large in the two French
exhibitions, where, in 1867, the present writer had
the gratification of beholding it.
On the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War in 1870 the Regent and its
glittering companions in glory were safely lodged in a sea-girt
fortress. But Napoleon never returned to redeem them.
From the day when this peerless diamond first came to France it has
always been a sovereign gem in the strictest sense of the term. It has
never been used to adorn any one but the reigning monarch, and has never
condescended to deck the brow of a woman.
During the present Republic the Regent has dwelt somewhat in obscurity.
It lies snugly put away along with the other crown jewels in the vaults
of the Ministère des Finances. But when the Chamber some two years
since decreed that crown jewels should be sold by auction, they exempted
the Regent. Republican France will not sell the Regent. This is a very
remarkable fact, and would have eased the mind of the old Duke of
Orleans could he have foreseen it. This sparkling gem, which he dreaded
to buy fearing the censure of his people, has now sunk so deeply into
their affections that even after the final extinction of the race of
Bourbons which it was bought to adorn, the same people, now being
sovereign, cannot bring themselves to part with it.
II.
THE ORLOFF.
"Diamonds," says an old writer, "have ever been highly valued by
princes. To a sovereign," he argues, "who can command the lives
and property of his subjects by a word, the ordinary objects of
human desire soon lose that stimulating interest which rarity
of occurrence and difficulty of acquisition can alone keep. The
gratification of the senses and of unrestricted sway soon palls
upon the appetite, and War and Diamonds are the only objects that
engross the attention; the former because it is attended with some
hazard and is the only kind of gambling in which the stake is
sufficiently exciting to banish the ennui of an illiterate despot;
the latter because the excessive rarity of large and at the same
time perfect specimens of this gem supplies a perpetual object of
desire while each new acquisition feeds the complacent vanity of
the possessor."
According to this philosophy we should expect to find that the most
despotic princes would be the most addicted to the vanities of War and
Diamonds. Whether this conclusion be true as regards war may be open to
doubt. Russia, without contention, is the most despotic monarchy of
Europe, and yet the one which can show the shortest list of wars. With
regard to diamonds, however, the deduction holds in all its force. The
Russian regalia is richer in precious stones than that of any other
Asiatic country. Besides numberless sapphires, rubies and pearls it
possesses an immense quantity of diamonds.
This passion for gems which characterizes the Russians was early
observable among them. It is no doubt an inherited Asiatic taste,
brought with them from the steppes of Siberia and the plains of Thibet,
just as they brought thence their high cheek-bones, their flat noses,
their dull skins, and the strong tendency to long hair and flowing
beards.
As early as the time of Peter the Great the diamonds were a notable
feature of the Russian crown. But it was in the reign of Catharine II.
that the most splendid gems which Russia now possesses were added to her
treasures. First and foremost stands the Orloff. With the exception of
the very dubious Braganza of Portugal the Orloff is the largest diamond
in Europe. It outweighs the Regent by more than half a hundred carats,
reaching as it does the astonishing weight of one hundred and
ninety-three carats.
The origin of this gem is absolutely lost and its early history is
involved in obscurity and contradiction. It appears a stone of ancient
date. It was known in India for generations before it was transferred to
Europe. Three Fates--a slave, a ship captain, and a Jew--seem destined
to preside over the advent of each great diamond into our Western world.
Nor were they wanting in this instance--except that a soldier was
substitute for the slave.
[Illustration: THE ORLOFF.]
The date, however, is not so easy to discover as the circumstances of
its entrance into European history. It was, at all events, at some time
prior to 1776 that a grenadier belonging to the French army which
garrisoned the French possessions of Pondicherry deserted from his flag
and became a Hindoo. This conversion was not the result of deep inward
conviction, but of far-sighted craft. The Frenchman had heard of the
great Sringer[=i]-matha, the most holy spot in all Mysore. This temple,
situated on an island at the junction of the Cavery and the Coleroon,
was one of four especially sanctified monasteries founded in the eighth
century by Sankar[=a]cárya. This man, a strict Brahmin, restored the
glories of the old religion somewhat dimmed by Buddhism, and planted a
monastery in each of the four extremities of India to keep alive the
faith of Brahma. The one at Srirangam was noted, and the resort of
pilgrims. It consisted of seven distinct inclosures, many lofty towers,
and a gilded cupola, besides which it was furnished with a perfect
undergrowth of dwellings for the many Brahmins who served at the altar.
Now the object of the grenadier's metamorphosis was that he might be
received into these sacred precincts and become a priest of Brahma. And
why? Because Brahma had a diamond eye. As the French historian puts it,
"the soldier had become enamored of the beautiful eyes of the deity."
European heretics were not allowed to penetrate further than the fourth
inclosure. If the grenadier was to gaze at the eye of the god it must be
as a Hindoo.
Being, then, externally a Hindoo, the Frenchman proceeded to gain the
confidence, and even the admiration of the priests by the extraordinary
fervor of his devotion. The ruse succeeded, and he was eventually
appointed guardian of the innermost shrine.
One night, on the occasion of a great storm, the Hindoo-grenadier
believed the moment propitious for his grand enterprise. Being alone
with the god he threw off his disguise, climbed up the statue, gouged
out the Wonderful Eye, and made off with it to Trichinopoly.
Here he was safe for the moment among the English troops encamped at
that place. But soon he journeyed on to Madras in search of a purchaser
for the Eye. He of course met an English sea-captain, the middle figure
of the indispensable trio of Fates, and to him the grenadier sold the
diamond for two thousand pounds ($10,000). After this the grenadier
falls back into obscurity.
The sea-captain went to London and there speedily fell in with the Jew,
the third Fate. The name of this Fate was Khojeh Raphael, and his
character was that of "a complete old scoundrel." He seems to have
traveled all over Europe in his character of Jew and merchant and to
have left a not altogether immaculate record of himself. Khojeh Raphael
paid twelve thousand pounds ($60,000) for the stone and then in his turn
set about hunting up a purchaser. But this proved no easy matter. The
splendid Catharine of Russia, it is said, rejected it though fond of
diamonds and not slow to spend money, because the price asked was too
high for her. It remained for a subject to buy it and present it to her
as a gift. This then is the history of the Orloff diamond in India
according to the most trustworthy accounts.
Having brought the diamond to Europe we no longer deal vaguely, but are
instantly face to face with an exact date.
"We learn from Amsterdam that Prince Orloff made but one day's stay
in that city where he bought a very large brilliant for the Empress
his sovereign, for which he paid to a Persian merchant the sum of
1,400,000 florins Dutch money."
So says a gossipy letter dated January 2, 1776; and as further we are
informed of the value of the "florins Dutch money" in English pennies,
we learn that the price paid to the "complete old scoundrel" of a Khojeh
Raphael was one hundred thousand pounds ($500,000). The Prince Orloff
mentioned in the letter is no other than Gregory, the favorite of
Catharine II., a man of such singular fortunes that a few words may well
be spared to him.
Orloff's grandfather first came into notice in an extraordinary manner.
In 1698, when Peter the Great barely escaped assassination at the hands
of his body-guard, the renowned Strelitz, he resolved to destroy the
corps altogether. This he performed effectually by cutting off their
heads by scores and hundreds. The Czar aided in this bloody work with
his own hand and decapitated many of his mutinous soldiers on a big log
of wood. One young fellow, Jan nicknamed Orell (eagle), annoyed at
finding the severed head of a comrade exactly in the spot where he had
decided to lay his own neck, kicked it aside with the remark, "If this
is my place I want more room." The Czar, delighted with the congenial
brutality of the observation, pardoned the soldier and gave him a post
in his new regiment of guards.
Slightly altering his nickname "Orell" into "Orloff," the respited
victim founded a family destined to become renowned in Russian history.
His son was taken into the ranks of the nobles, and his famous grandson
Gregory, born in 1734, became a soldier early in life. Gregory Orloff
was a man of ability, but his fortune was undoubtedly due to his
personal beauty. He was tall and handsome with a well-earned reputation
for audacious courage, always alluring to the mind of a woman. His first
appearance in the world of fashion reflects little credit upon him and
still less upon the Russian society in which he lived. He was on the
point of being sent to Siberia to think over his misdeeds at his
leisure, when a hand was extended to him which afterward raised him
almost to the summit of human greatness. The Grand Duchess Catharine
interested herself on his behalf and rescued him from Siberia. Orloff
rapidly advanced in her favor, and it may have been he who first
inspired her with the boundless ambition which he afterwards aided her
in gratifying.
At all events Gregory Orloff and his brothers were the prime movers in
that military insurrection which overthrew Peter III., a feeble, drunken
imbecile, and set up in his place his wife Catharine, a handsome
imperious strong-willed woman. The revolt took place on July 9, 1762,
and the new Empress instantly ordered her vanquished husband into
confinement. Let us trust that she ordered not his death. Catharine II.,
often called the Great, and sometimes the Holy, has enough for which to
answer without the addition of the deliberate murder of her husband to
swell the account against her. Be this as it may, the fact remains that
a fortnight later Peter III. was strangled by Alexèy Orloff, brother of
Gregory the favorite of Catharine.
Thus left in undisturbed possession of the throne the Czarina loaded
with riches and titles the brothers who had aided her. But nothing was
sufficient for the ambition of Gregory Orloff. Not content with the
position of First Subject he aspired to that of Master. Catharine, who
seemed unable to refuse him anything, was several times on the point of
recognizing him officially as her husband, and he had reason to suppose
himself on the verge of grasping the great prize of his ambition when it
was snatched away.
In 1772, being then absent upon a mission to the Turks, Orloff's credit
with Catharine was utterly destroyed by his rival Potemkin. Hurrying
back in such desperate haste that he had not a coat for which to change
his traveling cloak, in hopes of repairing his evil fortunes, Orloff was
met by an order to travel abroad. It was thus that Catharine always
relieved herself of the presence of favorites whose company had become
irksome.
Orloff, maddened with rage, set out on his travels and wandered all over
the north of Europe. It was during his exile that he heard of the
wonderful diamond that Khojeh Raphael had for sale. Knowing how fond
Catharine was of all jewels and especially of diamonds, he hoped to
propitiate her by a unique gift of the kind. Catharine took the gift,
but refused to receive the giver back into her favor. Her fickle
affections were engaged by another handsome face, and Gregory Orloff
spent the remaining years of his life in aimless journeyings varied by
an occasional visit to St. Petersburg. He died mad in 1783. He used
sometimes to address the Empress, calling upon her by the pet-name of
"Katchen"; or again he would taunt her with her unkindness.
Such was the life and death of Gregory Orloff. The diamond to which his
name was given although accepted by Catharine seems not to have been
worn by her as a personal ornament. It was mounted in the Imperial
Sceptre where it has ever since remained undisturbed. In its latter
state of tranquil splendor it differs signally from the Regent whose
European career, as we have seen, has been a singularly stormy one. As
the sceptre is used only at coronations the history of the Orloff
becomes one of long repose and seclusion, diversified by transient
re-entrances into grandeur as successive Czars appear upon the scene to
be crowned.
The most singular coronation which has ever been performed was probably
that which followed the death of Catharine and preceded the consecration
of her son and successor. Catharine died in 1797 after a reign of
thirty-five years. But before she could be buried there was a ceremony
to be performed, the like of which had never been seen.
Her son Paul, a taciturn individual who seems never to have forgotten
his father's miserable death, performed an expiatory coronation in his
honor, seeing that that ceremony had been neglected in Peter's life. For
this purpose the body of the long-dead Czar was disinterred and was
dressed in the Imperial robes. The ornaments of the coronation which had
been fetched expressly from Moscow for the purpose were then disposed
about the mouldering figure. It must have been a grisly sight--the
crowned skeleton of the murdered Peter lying beside his wife's body with
Orloff's diamond banefully glittering on his bony hand. Nor was this
all. With a genius for grim appropriateness the new Czar summoned the
two surviving murderers of his father to attend as chief mourners. These
were Prince Baratinsky and Alexèy Orloff. The former overcome by the
horror of his recollections fainted away many times; but Orloff, with
iron indifference, stood four hours bearing the pall of the man he had
strangled with his own hands thirty-five years before. After performing
this public penance both men were banished from Russia.
The coronation of a sovereign is always a stately ceremony; but the
installation of the Czars of Russia is elaborate almost beyond
description. The ceremonial invariably followed is that used at the
coronation of Peter the Great and his Empress. The ritual is largely
religious, as the Czar is Head of the Church as well as Emperor. The
sceptre of course plays an important part and is taken up and put down a
bewildering number of times. The following extract from a work entirely
devoted to the explanation of the many comings and goings and uprisings
and downsittings will give a slight idea of what a performance the
coronation is:
"The Metropolitan having received the Sceptre from the hands of the
noble bearer carries it to the Emperor who takes it in his right
hand. The Metropolitan says, 'Most pious, most powerful, and very
great Emperor of all the Russias, whom God has crowned, upon whom
God has shed His gifts and His Grace, receive the Sceptre and the
Globe. They are the symbols of the supreme power which the Most
High has given thee over thy peoples, that thou mayest govern them
and obtain for them all the happiness they desire.' And the Emperor
takes the Sceptre and sits upon the throne."
But this is not nearly all. The sceptre, which is graphically if
somewhat grotesquely called the Triumph-stick, is held only for a brief
time. The Emperor at the end of the prayer, lays it upon a velvet
cushion and upon another he places the globe or Empire-apple as it is
termed. Then he calls to himself the Czarina and crowns her with his own
imperial diadem. But the consort is not invested with any imperial
power, therefore she does not receive either the sceptre or the globe.
After having crowned his wife, the Czar again seats himself upon his
throne holding his Stick and his Apple in either hand. Cannons roar,
bells clang and multitudes shout "Long live the Father!" while all
present bow low before the monarch in adoration. Then the new Czar and
Czarina receive the communion with more stately movings about from place
to place. Finally the _Te Deum_ is sung, the crowned Emperor, sceptre in
hand, walks forth, and the intricate ceremonial is thus brought to a
close, having been in continuance some four or five hours.
The Regalia, which includes seven or eight crowns, is kept in the
Kremlin in an upper room "where," says a traveller, "they [the crowns,
etc.] look very fine on velvet cushions under glass cases." The Czars
are always crowned in Moscow, the ancient capital of Russia.
Paul, having performed the weird ceremony already described, then had
himself duly and solemnly crowned. His reign was a short one however,
and in 1801 he gave place to his successor Alexander, in the orthodox
Russian manner--that is to say he was strangled.
In 1812 the Orloff and its magnificent companions had to fly from
Moscow. In the beginning of September in that terrible year, finding
that the mountains of slain on the bloody field of Borodino could not
stop Napoleon, the Russians sullenly retired before him. On the third of
the month the Regalia was carried out of Moscow and lodged in a place of
safety in the interior. This flight was followed by that of everybody
and everything that was portable. When Napoleon entered on the
fourteenth it was to find an absolute desert in Moscow, only a few
stragglers, prisoners and beggars having been left.
Alexander I., strange to say, died peacefully in 1826, leaving the
throne to his brother Nicholas. Nicholas has been aptly called "the Iron
Czar." He was the third son of his father, but his elder brother,
Constantine, having no taste for the perilous glory of a crown renounced
his rights in favor of Nicholas. There was some delay in crowning the
new Czar owing, says the Court Circular with decorous gravity, to the
illness and death of the late Emperor's widow who survived her husband
but five months. In reality, however, the delay was caused by events
more serious to the peace of mind of the new sovereign. A revolution,
which seems an indispensable accompaniment to a change of rulers in
Russia, exploded after the accession of Nicholas and came near to
costing him his life. This event seems to have further hardened a nature
that was already sufficiently severe, and when Nicholas went to Moscow
in August, 1826, his coronation progress was not meant to gladden the
people but to make them quake. When the Czar left the Cathedral of the
Assumption, his crown upon his head and his sceptre in his hand, "his
face looked as hard as Siberian ice." So wrote of him an eye-witness,
who further says the people were too frightened to cheer--they dropped
on their knees with their faces in the dust. It was a gloomy coronation
notwithstanding all the diamonds and glitter of the pageant. There was
but one redeeming incident that spoke of human kindliness and affection.
When the Czar had been crowned his mother, the widow of the murdered
Paul, advanced to do homage to him as her sovereign, but the Czar knelt
before his mother and implored her blessing. After the Empress Mother
came Constantine, the elder brother, who had waived his rights to the
crown, and he was in turn affectionately embraced by Nicholas. This
exhibition of fraternal affection in Russia, where brothers had been
known to strangle each other in order to grasp the much-coveted
sceptre, was considered as something quite unprecedented. The Court
Chronicler of the day speaks of it with emotion as a sight to move the
hearts of gods and men.
Nicholas died in the middle of the Crimean War and Alexander II. reigned
in his stead. The extraordinary pomp of his coronation has never been
surpassed. He in his turn held in his hand Orloff's great diamond as the
symbol of absolute power. Yet he, who could deal as he chose with the
lives of all his subjects, had not power to save his own from the hand
of the assassin. The murder of Alexander II. by Nihilists in March,
1881, is fresh in memory as also the succession of the present Czar. The
Orloff was then once more taken from its repose in the sumptuous privacy
of the Kremlin to enhance the splendors of an Imperial Coronation.
Within a short time the Orloff has served to grace yet another splendid
ceremony. On the occasion of the recent installation of the Czarevitch
as Hetman of the Don Cossacks, the sceptre as well as the crown and
globe, were exhibited to the admiring multitudes of Novo Tcherkask.
Such is the career of the imperial diamond given by Gregory Orloff to
his Empress. In appearance the gem differs materially from the Regent.
It is essentially an Asiatic stone, presenting all the peculiarities of
its Eastern birthplace. It is variously described as of about the size
of a pigeon's egg or of a walnut. One writer expresses disappointment at
it, remarking that the sceptre resembles a gold poker, and the Mountain
of Light (a name sometimes given to the Orloff) "which we had pictured
to ourselves as big as a walnut was no larger than a hazel-nut!" Never
having seen this diamond the present writer cannot speak of its apparent
size; but if the drawings are reliable it is certainly a monstrous
"hazel-nut" of a diamond.