Cagliostro at Strasbourg, renewed her acquaintance with him in the
_salons_ of the Palais-Cardinal, where she was now a constant visitor.
For a time it was an affair of diamond cut diamond between them. She
flattered the arch impostor with the finest art, appeared to be his dupe,
and broke out into loud exclamations of surprise when he performed his
tricks and practised his delusions in her presence. The crafty cheat was
himself cheated. By degrees he became persuaded that she was really a
confidant of the French queen, that she had credit at court, and would
soon have power. Fully convinced of her influence, and perceiving,
as he thought, that his patron the cardinal would by her assistance
retrieve his political fortune, he encouraged that sanguine prelate,
and worked, as we have seen, upon his imagination, with a view to dispel
any lingering doubt he might chance to entertain. So infatuated did
Cagliostro become under the influence of his own delusions on the one
side, and the spell of this enchantress on the other, that the countess
would appear to have controlled the crafty necromancer even in the
performance of his own spells.[129]
Cagliostro, after he was regularly settled in Paris, became a frequent
visitor at the countess’s house—he and madame, we are told, were like
two fingers on one hand—where he was received with an amount of respect
verging on to reverence. The De la Mottes and he were close neighbours,
for he lived at the Hôtel de Chavigny, in the Rue Saint-Claude, only
a couple of streets off. “The house which he occupied, and which was
afterwards the residence of Barras, was one of the most elegant of the
quarter.[130] In the _salon_, decorated with oriental luxury, and bathed
in a kind of semi-daylight when it was not resplendent with the blaze of
a hundred lights, the pursuits of the philosopher and conspirator might
be divined by the side of the projects of the quack. There one saw the
bust of Hippocrates, and, in a black frame, inscribed in letters of gold,
a literal translation of Pope’s Universal Prayer.”[131] Here Cagliostro
lived in state, giving balls, assemblies, and audiences at which he
insolently offered his hand to his fair disciples to kiss, while he
treated his male visitors, and at times even the cardinal himself, with
marked disdain.[132]
Young Beugnot, who met Cagliostro at one of Madame de la Motte’s _petits
soupers_, tells us that the countess previously warned him that she
would be obliged to disarm the inquietude of Cagliostro, who, for no
reason whatever, invariably refused to sup if he thought that any one
had been invited to meet him. Moreover, she begged Beugnot to ask him
no questions, not to interrupt him when he was speaking, and to answer
with readiness any inquiries he had addressed to him. “I subscribed,”
says Beugnot, “to these conditions, and would have accepted even harder
ones to gratify my curiosity. At half-past ten the folding doors were
thrown open, and the Count de Cagliostro was announced. Madame de la
Motte precipitately quitted her arm-chair, rushed up to him and drew him
into a corner of the _salon_, where I presume she begged him to pardon my
presence. Cagliostro advanced towards me and bowed, without appearing at
all embarrassed at perceiving a stranger. He was of medium height, rather
stout, had a very short neck, and a round face ornamented with two large
eyes sunken in his head, and a broad turn-up nose; his complexion was of
an olive tinge; his _coiffure_ was new in France, his hair being divided
into several little tresses, which, uniting at the back of the head, were
tied up in the form known as the ‘club.’ He wore a French cut coat of
iron grey embroidered with gold lace, and carried his sword stuck in the
skirts, a scarlet vest trimmed with _point d’Espagne_, red breeches, and
a hat edged with a white feather. This last article of dress was still
necessary to mountebanks, dentists, and other medical _artistes_ who made
speeches and sold their drugs out of doors. Cagliostro’s costume was
relieved by lace ruffles, several costly rings, and shoe-buckles of an
old pattern but brilliant enough to pass for very fine diamonds.
“There were at supper only the members of the family, among whom I
include Father Loth, _minime_ of the Place Royale, who reconciled, I
know not how, his sacred functions with the place of second secretary
to Madame de la Motte. He used to say mass for her on Sundays, and
charged himself during the rest of the week with commissions at the
Palais-Cardinal which the first secretary thought beneath his dignity.
Neither must I count as a stranger the Chevalier de Montbreul, a veteran
of the green rooms, and still a good conversationalist, who was prepared
to affirm almost any mortal thing, and was found, as if by chance,
wherever Cagliostro appeared, ready to bear witness to the marvels he
had performed, and to offer himself as a positive example miraculously
cured of I know not how many diseases, of which the names alone were
sufficiently startling.
“There were then nine or ten of us at table; Madame de la Motte had
on one side of her Cagliostro and Montbreul, and I was on her other
side, facing the former, whom I made a point of examining by stealth,
and still did not know what to think of him; the face, the style of
dressing the hair, the whole of the man, impressed me in spite of myself.
I waited for him to open his mouth. He spoke I know not what jargon,
half Italian, half French, plentifully interlarded with quotations in
an unknown tongue, which passed with the unlearned for Arabic. He had
all the talking to himself, and found time to go over at least twenty
different subjects in the course of the evening, simply because he gave
to them merely that extent of development which seemed good to him. Every
moment he was inquiring if he was understood, whereupon everybody bowed
in turn to assure him that he was. When starting a subject he seemed like
one transported, raised his voice to the highest pitch and indulged in
the most extravagant gesticulations. The subjects of his discourse were
the heavens, the stars, the grand _arcanum_, Memphis, transcendental
chemistry, giants, and the extinct monsters of the animal kingdom. He
spoke, moreover, of a city in the interior of Africa ten times as large
as Paris, and where he pretended he had correspondents.” Beugnot further
mentions, that in between his rhapsodies he would chatter the most
frivolous nonsense to the Countess de la Motte, whom he designated his
dove, his gazelle, and his white swan. After supper he addressed numerous
questions to Beugnot, one following another with extraordinary rapidity.
To all the count’s catechising the young advocate invariably replied by
a respectful avowal of his ignorance, and subsequently was surprised
to learn from Madame de la Motte that Cagliostro had conceived a most
favourable opinion, not merely of his deportment, but likewise of his
knowledge.[133]
XVIII.
1785. FEB.
THE DIAMOND NECKLACE IS DELIVERED.
The Cardinal de Rohan obtained possession of the Necklace early on the
morning of the 1st of February, 1785, and had not long to wait ere he was
honoured with the queen’s commands to deliver it into her royal custody.
We shall give two accounts of how this delivery was effected—namely, the
story told by the countess, and the statement made by the cardinal in his
memorial.
The cardinal of course expected, from having rendered the queen a service
for which she could not feel otherwise than grateful, that he would
have been permitted to deliver the rich jewel to Marie-Antoinette in
person, and when he received from Madame de la Motte the following note,
purporting to be written by the queen, he imagined his expectations were
on the point of being realized:—
“This evening (Feb. 1), at nine o’clock, you must be at the countess’s
house (at Versailles) with the casket and in the usual costume. Do not
leave until you hear from me.”
The countess lodged, as the reader will remember, at “La Belle Image,”
in the Place Dauphine, and thither, on this sharp winter’s night—it
was a hard frost, and the ground was almost like glass—the cardinal
proceeded, wrapped up in a long great-coat, and wearing a slouched hat
that concealed his features. One can imagine the countess’s nervous
state on this eventful evening—can see her posted at the window on the
watch, peering through the frost on the panes into the dark and almost
silent Place, eager for a glimpse of the grand almoner with the coveted
treasure. At last two figures are seen crossing the broad square from the
Rue de la Pompe, at the end of which is the Hôtel de Rohan—one is the
cardinal, the other a man-servant he has brought with him, who carries
the casket, and whom he dismisses a few doors off “La Belle Image.”
“At half-past eight o’clock,” says Madame de la Motte, “the cardinal
called upon me in his disguise, carrying under his arm the casket
containing the Necklace, which he set down on a chest of drawers. At
half-past nine Lesclos,[134] that faithful messenger of her majesty, whom
she so often employed in delicate missions—Lesclos, a man perfectly well
known to the cardinal, and the necessary confidant of all the little
irregularities mentioned in the correspondence between him and the
queen—called upon me with a letter from her majesty which ran thus:—
“‘The minister (the king) is at present with me, and I cannot tell how
long he will stay. You know the person I send. Deliver the casket to him,
and stay where you are. I do not despair of seeing _thee_ to-day.’”
“The cardinal,” continues the countess, “having read this note, delivered
to the faithful Lesclos, with his own hands, the casket containing the
Necklace which he had himself deposited on the chest of drawers. Lesclos
went out.”[135]
Such is Madame de la Motte’s statement. Let us compare it with the
cardinal’s, which we extract from one of the memorials produced in his
defence at the trial:—
“On his (the cardinal’s) arrival at Versailles he called upon Madame
de la Motte, who was living in the Place Dauphine; he took with him
Schreibert, his _valet de chambre_, who had charge of the casket. The
cardinal, when they had reached the house, took it from him and went
up-stairs by himself. He found Madame de la Motte alone, and presented to
her the rich burden he was carrying.
“Some time after a man, who announced himself as a messenger from the
queen, entered the apartment. The cardinal withdrew cautiously into an
alcove which was half open. The man delivered a note. Madame de la Motte
sent him for a moment outside the room, then came towards the cardinal
and read to him the letter containing the order for delivering up the
casket to the bearer. The man was then called in again, the casket was
given into his hands, and he took his departure.... Who was that man?
To the cardinal he seemed to be the same that he had descried in the
park of Versailles on the night of the 11th of August, 1784, close to
Mademoiselle d’Oliva.”[136]
We will undertake to answer the cardinal’s interrogatory. The messenger
was an accomplice of the countess’s: none other than the forger Rétaux
de Villette, made up for the occasion “with large black eyebrows, and
pale face,” and the letter of which he was the bearer was one of his
own numerous forgeries. At any rate the countess’s _femme de chambre_,
Rosalie Briffaut, deposed to having opened the door to him at the precise
hour on that particular night, when he immediately entered the countess’s
apartment.
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.