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]