nervously to his interview with the minister; but whether he was as
reticent as the cardinal bade him be on the subject of the sale of the
Necklace we have our doubts. Böhmer’s object was to get his money; but
then he dared not fly in face of the instructions he received from the
minister. He therefore played fast and loose with the cardinal, not
daring to break with him for fear he should loose his 1,400,000 livres,
but betraying him, so far as he thought he might safely venture to do, to
his acknowledged enemy. The result was that a few days afterwards, on
the recommendation of the Baron de Breteuil, who assured the jewellers
that they should be paid for the Necklace, a memorial was drawn up and
forwarded to the queen by the crown jewellers, wherein was set forth a
complete history of the negotiations which had been entered into with the
cardinal, and which had resulted in the sale to him of the Necklace, as
they believed, on her majesty’s account.
At this point the arch _intrigante_ seems to have lost her head, for on
the morning of the 4th, the day after she had made her damaging admission
to Bassenge respecting the signature to the contract, she sends her maid
to the Hôtel de Strasbourg to beg the cardinal to call upon her. He does
so, when she receives him seemingly all in tears, and tells him that she
is a victim to the malevolence of the courtiers of Versailles, who are
jealous of the favour shown her by the queen; that she is obliged to fly
to avoid their attacks, and entreats of him to afford her an asylum until
she can provide herself with some safe retreat. The stupid cardinal, not
even yet convinced that he has been duped, or, if so, fearing to admit
as much, hesitates at first, but eventually consents to receive her,
her husband, and her maid at his hôtel.[183] The countess afterwards
pretended that it was the cardinal who sent for her and the count; that
he kept them almost prisoners, and used every argument to induce them to
cross the frontier into Germany with all speed, so as to be out of the
way when the storm burst forth. She even went so far as to say that the
count was obliged to threaten to use force ere he could get released.[184]
Only one motive can be suggested for the countess taking refuge at
the Palais-Cardinal. She knew, or she suspected, that the police were
watching her house and tracking her footsteps, and she did not know how
soon the outstretched hand of justice might be upraised to strike, and
she may have thought from the cardinal’s high position, and the power
and influence of his friends and connections, that the police would
not dare to violate the sanctity of the episcopal domicile. For two
entire days the De la Mottes remained in close seclusion at the Hôtel de
Strasbourg, when finding the confinement irksome, or thinking possibly
that the affair would be certain to be hushed up, or that the law if put
in force would not trouble itself about a couple of fugitives hidden in
some far-away country town in the Champagne, they left the cardinal’s
on the evening of the 5th of August for their own house in the Rue
Neuve-Saint-Gilles.
Arrived there the De la Mottes without a moment’s loss of time appear to
have made arrangements for sending the forger Villette out of the way.
Madame, calling him aside, confides to him what he is already well aware
of, namely, that her affairs are somewhat embarrassed, and that she and
the count propose retiring to Bar-sur-Aube until the storm has blown over
and the atmosphere is a trifle clearer. Placing 4000 livres in bank-notes
in her faithful secretary’s hand, “Go you,” said she, “to Italy for a
time;” and then to console the lover, whom hard necessity forced her to
abandon, she added, “I will soon recall you near me again.” The docile
Villette promised to do as he was bid. A cabriolet seems to have been
in waiting for him in the courtyard of the countess’s house, and into
it Villette got, and a little after two o’clock in the morning he was
presumed to be on his way to self-exile.[185]
The following morning, while the count was giving some directions
respecting the last van-load of furniture, which was then being packed
in the courtyard of the hôtel, Bassenge looked in, and in answer to his
inquiries after madame’s health was informed by the count that she had
been at Versailles for the last three days pleading for the cardinal. De
la Motte added that he had only returned from Bar-sur-Aube three days
before, when he heard about the Necklace business for the first time.
“If,” remarked he in a jocular way, “the queen should ask you the meaning
of the letter of thanks which I hear you have addressed to her, why not
say it merely meant that the Necklace had always been at her disposition,
and that it was only a renewal of the offers of it which had been
previously made?”[186]
No sooner had the count seen the last van-load of furniture safely off
than he went with Father Loth to Mainguet the notary, paid him his 35,000
livres, and took away the jewels which madame had deposited with him a
few days previously.[187] These were necessary to the coming display
which the De la Mottes were bent upon making at Bar-sur-Aube. Determined
to lose no further time, the count and countess set out the same evening
for their country retreat; and it is said that at the moment the countess
stepped into the carriage she consoled the cardinal by promising to
return the very instant he should have need of her.[188]
XXII.
1785. AUGUST 8–17.
TWELVE DAYS’ STATE AT BAR-SUR-AUBE.
The countess had informed Beugnot, who had called upon her a short
time previously to inquire if she had any commands for Bar-sur-Aube,
whither he was about returning to spend his holidays, that it would not
be until the commencement of October, that she would again have the
pleasure of seeing him. “I was therefore very much surprised,” observes
he, “to see Madame de la Motte arrive at Bar-sur-Aube in the early
part of August, bringing with her her entire establishment, husband
included. Villette alone remained in Paris as a forlorn sentinel, and,
what appeared most strange, every day there arrived waggons loaded with
furniture—a far larger quantity in fact than the house would hold—and
magnificent furniture too. There were numerous handsome mirrors and
looking-glasses with which the walls of the _salon_, already resplendent
with a profusion of gilding, were decorated; the chairs and couches,
covered with beautiful tapestry, were also gilt.[189] Furet’s clocks,
and Adams and Chevalier’s marble groups and bronzes ornamented the
mantelpieces, and scattered about the _salon_ were some of those costly
fancies with which the arts contrive to tempt the extremest opulence,
such as a pair of automatic canaries that sang a duet together, and
another automaton bird, which flew about the room of itself. There were
likewise two gold musical boxes—things which have become common enough
since, but were still rare at that time; and clocks which by means of
certain mechanical arrangements displayed different scenes every hour
they struck. On seeing these things, one divined that they could only
have been bought by people tired of their money and anxious for the
first opportunity of flinging it out of window. In the dining-room were
two magnificent buffets on which were displayed a profusion of valuable
porcelain and two complete services of silver plate.”[190] The hangings
of the countess’s bed were of crimson velvet trimmed with gold lace and
fringe and embroidered with gold and spangles, while the counterpane was
worked all over with pearls[191] brought, it will be remembered, by the
count from England, and for which Gray had charged him over two thousand
two hundred pounds, and which, according to the countess, were reported
in the neighbourhood to be of the value of one hundred and fifty thousand
livres. “As a consummation of imprudence,” remarks Beugnot, “the De la
Mottes exhibited a casket containing more than two hundred thousand
livres worth of diamonds, the count himself being supplied with a far
larger quantity than seemed proper for an honest man.”
“In the De la Mottes’ stables were twelve splendid horses, and in
their coach-house no fewer than five or six handsome carriages, made
in England,” says Beugnot, “with a care and intelligence which showed
that expense was the last thing these people troubled themselves about.”
Among these vehicles was a light and beautiful cabriolet in the form
of a balloon, and upwards of ten feet high. In this singular vehicle
the Count de la Motte used to drive about the neighbourhood, stared at
by the gaping peasants and townspeople.[192] The countess when paying
visits of ceremony rode in a carriage drawn by six horses with little
silver bells jingling at their collars and foxes’ brushes flopping at
their ears. She was invariably preceded by a couple of outriders, and
one day greatly astonished the Abbot of Clairvaux—who, though a little
king in these parts, only sported four horses himself—by driving up to
the abbey gateway in this unwonted state. The number of servants on the
De la Motte establishment was considerable, and their liveries were as a
matter of course extremely rich. Among them was one of those little negro
pages called “jokeis,” then much in fashion, engaged for madame’s special
service. In short, the count and countess at this period of their career
displayed in all their appointments a magnificence and a profusion more
than rivalling that of the wealthiest families in France.
Madame’s superb embroidered robes and her valuable point lace were only
in keeping with the splendour of her household display. As for her
jewels, she no longer depended on a pair of diamond bracelets to attract
attention, for had she not now the magnificent pair of girandole earrings
for which Gray the jeweller had charged the count six hundred pounds
sterling, and the diamond star-shaped brooch which had cost another four
hundred pounds, and one of the handsomest diamonds in the whole Necklace
set as a ring by Regnier, besides other diamond rings innumerable?
The necklace, formed of “twenty-two of the very finest diamonds from
the festoons,” which Gray had mounted in accordance with the count’s
instructions, was flashing at this moment in the jeweller’s shop window,
13, New Bond Street, dazzling the eyes of Piccadilly and Bond Street
loungers, and exciting the envy of high-born English beauties; for Gray,
hard man that he was, would not part with the handsome jewel to the
Capuchin McDermott—whom the count had commissioned to procure it, and who
had made application for it to Gray on the count’s behalf—until he had
been paid the expense of setting.
“We used to think,” remarks Beugnot, “that the Cardinal de Rohan paid for
all this brilliant extravagance, and we admired the good use which his
eminence made of the funds of the grand almonry. The first representation
we had witnessed of the magnificence of the De la Motte household had
astonished us; at this fresh display we felt uneasy and well nigh
indignant. Neither husband nor wife showed the least inquietude. Their
dinners were excellent; and fête followed upon fête. They endeavoured to
attract the neighbourhood to their house and get invited out in return,
and to a certain extent they succeeded.”[193]
Within about ten miles or so of Bar-sur-Aube is Brienne, famous for its
military school, where the young Bonaparte it will be remembered studied
mathematics and the art of war; and where, in the neighbouring château,
lived Louis Loménie de Brienne, last Count of Brienne, who was brother of
the Archbishop of Sens, prime minister of France just before the outbreak
of the Revolution, and himself war minister for a time under Louis XVI.
The ends of both brothers were alike untimely. One, the archbishop, died
from a midnight carouse in which he was forced to join by the Jacobin
emissaries who came to carry him off from his palace at Sens to the
guillotine; the other by the guillotine itself, going thither in the same
set of tumbrils as Madame Elisabeth, the king’s sister. At the Château
de Brienne—a splendid edifice built by the count with the large fortune
he received with his wife, the daughter of a rich _fermier-général_—as
at almost every other château of importance at this period, private
theatricals appear to have been in vogue.
“M. de la Motte one day mentioned to me,” remarks Beugnot, “that he had
received an invitation to one of these entertainments at the Château de
Brienne, and would be pleased if I would accompany him and accept of a
seat in his carriage. Being well known to M. de Brienne, I acceded to
the count’s request without hesitation, and on the appointed day we set
forth in a gorgeous equipage drawn by four splendidly-caparisoned horses,
and with three footmen behind us. Prior to our starting I felt strongly
inclined to recede, as I foresaw that I should have to undergo my share
of ridicule for this ostentatious display. On our arrival at the château
we alighted to the great scandal of those who saw us arrive. Happily for
us the preparations for the play absorbed almost everybody’s attention,
and among others that of the master and mistress of the house. We entered
the _salon_ so that we might be seen, and passed from thence into the
_salle de spectacle_. I was seated by the side of M. de la Motte, and
soon perceived that he was the object of malevolent glasses, which were
passed from hand to hand with shruggings of shoulders and mocking smiles.
He certainly furnished a good subject for them, for he was dressed in a
most singular style, and, what was in the worst of taste, diamonds were
displayed in every part of his toilette at a period when the greatest
simplicity already reigned in male attire.”
One can picture the count with one side of his three-cornered hat looped
up with the magnificent diamond aigrette which he had bought of Gray, and
with the medallion set with diamonds for which he had given two hundred
and thirty pounds attached to a ribbon round his neck; with his diamond
watch-chain, his various diamond rings, and his diamond snuff-box, value
one hundred and twenty pounds; and with one or other of the very handsome
steel swords which he had brought over with him from England swinging at
his side.
“The count wore a dress coat of sky-blue cloth, a white waistcoat
embroidered all over, and breeches of canary-colour taffeta. Still
this only indicated the somewhat antiquated elegant; but here is what
completed the absurdity. Madame de la Motte had taken it into her head
to have the left facing of her husband’s coat embroidered over with a
fine bouquet of lilies and roses intermixed. Nothing of the kind had been
worn by any one up to that time, and most certainly not since. Everybody
was asking what it could possibly mean: there were some who professed
to see in it a sort of parody upon the united escutcheons of monsieur
and madame, one of which contained _fleurs-de-lis_, the other roses.
Stupidity and self-conceit could hardly have gone further.
“When the play was over we returned to the _salon_. The assembly was
composed of the distinguished families of the neighbourhood and of men of
letters from Paris—of the Abbé Morellet, la Harpe, Masson de Morvilliers,
&c. I saluted Madame de Brienne, who scarcely condescended to nod to me
in return, and then turned her back upon me. My reception by the master
of the house was reduced to a ‘Good evening, sir,’ uttered in a dry tone.
One feels ill at ease in the midst of a numerous circle after having
been coldly received by the host and hostess. I continued standing, not
knowing whither to bend my steps in the midst of this hostile camp, when
my good star brought to the _salon_ the Count de Dampierre, a great
bore, who relieved me of my difficulty by at once seizing hold of me. He
profited by the opportunity to speak to me of innovations of every kind
which were already fermenting in his brain; and under the circumstances
it was quite a treat to me to listen to him. In order that we might not
be separated during supper, he dragged me at once to table, and seated
me by his side, when he offered me in his own person the example of an
individual capable of speaking with warmth and eating with avidity at one
and the same moment. I was occasionally a trifle inattentive, owing to
my desire to observe how my travelling-companion was faring; but M. de
Dampierre always brought me back to the subject of his discourse. ‘Never
mind him,’ he would say, ‘he’s only some poor devil of a swell at whose
expense people have been amusing themselves for the last two hours. Do
you know him?’
“‘Yes, a little.’
“‘Well, what is he? Is he one of us? Does he know where we are?’
“‘Not the least in the world.’
“‘Well, then, let them do what they please with him;’ and M. de Dampierre
forthwith resumed his dissertation.
“I only knew from the tales told by some of the guests of the tricks
which had been played upon M. de la Motte at the supper-table. It seems
that in spite of the splendid repast spread before his eyes he had been
debarred from partaking of the slightest nourishment, and that he rose
from the table as badly ballasted as Sancho Panza at the conclusion of
the first feast served to him under his own government. This could only
have been brought about by a concert of ‘good turns,’ the success of
which enraptured the originators who came to relate the affair to us. The
Count de Dampierre inveighed against this interruption:
“‘Ah! well, well! but leave us alone; we have neither diamonds nor
canary-coloured breeches, nor bouquets embroidered at our button-holes.
There is your man cowering in the chimney-corner: go and laugh at his
expense, since he is in the humour to submit to it, and permit us to talk
sense!’
“After a time M. de la Motte grew bold, and came to me to propose that we
should leave. I consented with all my heart; but there still remained a
dreg at the bottom of the cup for me to swallow.
“When I went in all humility to salute M. de Brienne, and to ask him
almost tremblingly if he had any commands to give me for Bar-sur-Aube,
he signalled to me to advance, so that in getting clear of the hands of
M. de Dampierre I fell into those of M. de Brienne, who was quite M. de
Dampierre’s equal in holding fast to a good listener. M. de Brienne had
not been at table, and had had of course nothing to do with the practical
jokes of which M. de la Motte had been the victim. Indeed, he had
listened with suppressed anger to the account which had been given him
of the tricks played off upon the count, still he did not approve of my
having presented myself at his house in such company. I excused myself as
well as I could, assuring him M. de la Motte had informed me that he was
invited for that particular day. M. de Brienne proved to me that whether
M. de la Motte was invited or not, I did very wrong to accompany him. I
agreed with him, and asked his pardon, as the shortest way of terminating
the discussion, whereupon he immediately opened a conversation upon
another subject. There were scarcely any affairs in the commune in which
M. de Brienne did not take a lively interest, and he did me the honour to
consult me upon many of them, consequently there were plenty of materials
for a lengthened conversation.
“Poor M. de la Motte remained at a distance, watching our gestures, and
awaiting the moment when I should be at liberty. During all this time
people passed and repassed him with expressions of contempt or pity. I
did not dare utter his name, though I had observed he had been waiting
for me fully an hour. I risked a first salute to M. de Brienne, as if
about to take my leave, but he paid no attention whatever to it, and
continued speaking. A few minutes afterwards I made a new attempt to
release myself, whereupon my host proposed to me to sleep at Brienne. As
our discussion continued I could see that my travelling-companion was on
live coals. At last, by a courageous effort, I succeeded in disengaging
myself, and left with M. de la Motte. We stepped into his magnificent
carriage, having behind us two footmen with lighted torches, and a negro
covered from head to foot with silver lace. The windows of the _salon_
looked out upon the court of honour of the château; Madame de Brienne
and every one present were at the windows to observe the magnificence
of our departure, and saluted us by clapping their hands, laughing, and
indulging in mocking remarks which distinctly reached our ears. The
carriage only rolled on the faster.”[194]
A day or two afterwards Madame de la Motte proposed to Beugnot to
accompany her on a visit she was about to pay to the Duke de Penthièvre,
but Beugnot, not wishing to place himself in a ridiculous position a
second time, very decidedly declined the honour. He however accepted the
countess’s offer to set him down at Clairvaux, where he had been invited,
and which was on the road from Bar-sur-Aube to Château-Villain, and to
call and fetch him on her return in the evening.
“In accordance with this arrangement,” says Beugnot, “we left
Bar-sur-Aube at eight o’clock in the morning of the 17th of August,
1785, a day I shall never forget. Madame de la Motte having set me down
at Clairvaux, as had been agreed, went on to Château-Villain, where
she dined and met with a reception which astonished those who composed
the Penthièvre court. The duke himself re-conducted the countess at
her departure to the door of the _salon_ opening on to the grand
staircase, an honour which he did not pay even to duchesses, but reserved
exclusively for princesses of the blood-royal, so strongly were the
lessons of Madame de Maintenon on the honours to be paid to illegitimacy
impressed upon his mind.”[195]
XXIII.
1785. AUGUST 15–23.
LETTRES-DE-CACHET IN THE ŒIL-DE-BŒUF—IN THE RUE SAINT-CLAUDE—AND AT
BAR-SUR-AUBE.
At noon on the 15th of August, 1785, on the festival of the Assumption,
and the fête-day of Marie-Antoinette, the Cardinal de Rohan, attired
in his sacerdotal robes, was waiting in the Salle de l’Œil-de-Bœuf the
arrival of the king and queen, before whom he was about to celebrate
high mass in the chapel of the Château of Versailles. Conspicuous among
the cardinal’s vestments was his gorgeously-embroidered alb—worn by him
only upon grand occasions, and valued at upwards of one hundred thousand
livres, with his arms and device, in the form of medallions, crowning
the larger and more brilliant flowers of which the rich and elaborate
design was composed.[196] The handsome Salle de l’Œil-de-Bœuf, which
takes its name from the two bull’s-eye windows level with the ceiling,
was thronged, according to custom, with noblemen of every degree of rank,
grand court ladies, great officers of State, soldiers and dignitaries
of the Church, all watching for the doors communicating with the royal
apartments to be thrown open, and for the king and queen to make their
appearance. As it was in the days of the Grand Monarque—as it was in
Louis XVI.’s time—as it was on that eventful morning of October 7, 1789,
when the château was stormed and the terror-stricken Marie-Antoinette
fled across it for life, when the loud cry arose of “Save the queen”—so
the Salle de l’Œil-de-Bœuf is now. Round the ceiling, from which hang
suspended three magnificent chandeliers of rock-crystal, runs a handsome
deep-gilt frieze of cupids, some with hunting-horns, and dogs engaged in
the chase; others either reaping or binding sheaves of corn, or snaring
birds or playing at see-saw. At the sides of the doorway leading into
the grand looking-glass gallery, where those not having the _entrée_ of
the Œil-de-Bœuf were accustomed to congregate to see the royal procession
pass, are two equestrian portraits, the one of Louis XIV. in the costume
of a Roman warrior, wearing, however, his customary full-bottomed wig,
with Fame crowning him with a wreath of laurel; the other of the king’s
brother, the Duke d’Orléans. Facing the same doorway is an elaborate
mythological picture representing the Grand Monarque surrounded by his
family, all being robed in exceedingly scanty draperies, the wigs of
the men forming their principal article of attire, and all having that
unpleasant leer in the eyes which the painters of the seventeenth century
seemed to have considered peculiarly bewitching, if not quite becoming.
Suddenly the doors are flung open, but, instead of the tall _suisse_
shouting out the customary announcement, “_Messieurs, le Roi!_” the
Cardinal Prince de Rohan is summoned to attend the king in his private
cabinet.