together. Louis XVI., without any preliminary observations, thus abruptly
addressed him:
“I hear you have purchased some diamonds of Böhmer?”
“Yes, sire,” replied the cardinal.
“Pray, what have you done with them?” inquired the king.
“I thought they had been delivered to her majesty.”
“Who commissioned you to make the purchase?”
“A lady called the Countess de la Motte-Valois, who handed me a letter
from the queen, and I thought I was performing my duty to her majesty
when I undertook this negotiation.”
“How, sir,” exclaimed the queen, “could you believe that I should select
you, to whom I have not spoken these eight years, to negotiate anything
for me, and especially through the mediation of such a woman—a woman,
too, whom I do not even know?”
“I see plainly that I have been cruelly duped,” replied the grand
almoner, darting upon the queen as he said so a look of indignation and
disdain.[197] “I will pay for the Necklace: my desire to be of service
to your majesty blinded me. I suspected no trick in the affair, and I am
sorry for it.”
The cardinal then took from his pocket-book a letter purporting to be
written by the queen to Madame de la Motte, and intrusting her with the
commission. This letter he handed to the king, who after looking at
it held it towards the cardinal, saying: “This is neither written nor
signed by the queen. How could a prince of the house of Rohan, and a
grand almoner of France, ever think that the queen would sign herself
_Marie-Antoinette de France_? Everybody knows that queens sign their
baptismal names only.”
Louis XVI. then produced the copy of a letter sent by the cardinal to
Böhmer, and inquired whether he had ever written such a letter. After
glancing over it, the grand almoner replied that he had no recollection
of having done so; but when the king asked him what he would say if the
original letter, signed by himself, were shown to him, the cardinal could
not but confess that the letter was genuine.
“‘If this be the case,’ observed the king, ‘explain to me the whole
of this enigma. I do not wish to believe you guilty; I had rather you
would justify your conduct. Account, therefore, for these manœuvres with
Böhmer, these securities, and these notes.’
“In reply to the king’s remarks, the grand almoner, who was extremely
confused, kept continually repeating: ‘I have been deceived, sire. I will
pay for the Necklace. I ask pardon of your majesties.’ Then turning pale,
and leaning against the table, he said: ‘Sire, I am too much agitated to
answer your majesty in a way——’
“‘Compose yourself,’ interposed the king, ‘and retire into the adjoining
closet. You will there find pens, ink, and paper; write down what you
have to say to me.’
“The grand almoner retired as directed, and returned in about a quarter
of an hour with a written statement of a somewhat incoherent character.
After receiving it, Louis XVI. commanded him to withdraw.”[198]
De Besenval says that at this moment the king warned the cardinal he was
about to be arrested. “Oh, sire!” exclaimed the prince, “I shall always
obey the orders of your majesty, but deign to spare me the shame of being
arrested in my pontifical habit before the eyes of the entire court.”
“It is necessary it should be so,” replied the king. The cardinal wished
to insist, but the king abruptly quitted him.[199] On leaving the royal
cabinet the grand almoner encountered his deadly enemy, the Baron de
Breteuil, who had been lying in wait for him, and who at once called out
to a sub-lieutenant of his majesty’s body-guard, “In the king’s name,
follow me! Arrest the Cardinal de Rohan!” The officer proceeded to take
charge of his prisoner, who, precipitated as it were in a moment from his
high pinnacle of fortune, was conducted on foot in his rich pontifical
vestments, guarded on all sides, and pressed upon by an amazed crowd of
court idlers and hangers-on, to his hôtel looking upon the north wing of
the château. The distance he had to go was not great, through the long
looking-glass gallery—every eye in the immense throng with which it was
lined being turned inquisitively upon him—through a few apartments and
down the marble staircase, and across the marble court and the broad
“Cour Royale,” with the noonday sun shedding its burning rays upon his
head, and gilding as it were his gorgeous vestments; past the gaudy,
gilded, and over-decorated chapel in which he, Grand Almoner of France,
was never more to officiate with a king and queen and a brilliant court
appearing to give ear to his ministrations; thence through the iron
gate leading into the Rue des Réservoirs, where the Hôtel de Rohan—a
singularly plain-looking building, with rather a pretty garden approached
from a balustraded terrace in the rear, and easily identified at the
present day from the circumstance of its being the residence of the
receiver-general of the district—was situated.[200] So soon as the
necessary preparations could be made, the cardinal, guarded like a
common criminal, was whisked off to Paris to the Hôtel de Strasbourg,
from whence he was speedily transferred to the Bastille.
Ere, however, he quitted the palace of Versailles, “notwithstanding the
escort that surrounded him, and favoured by the attendant crowd, the
grand almoner stopped for a few moments, and stooping down with his face
towards the wall, as if to fasten his buckle or his garter, snatched out
his pencil and hastily wrote a few words on a scrap of paper placed under
his hand in his square red cap. He rose again and proceeded. On entering
his hôtel he contrived to slip this paper unperceived into the hand of a
confidential ‘heyduc’ who waited for him at the door of his apartment.”
The heyduc posts off to Paris, and arrives at the Palais-Cardinal early
in the afternoon. His horse falls dead in the stable, and he himself
swoons in the apartment of the Abbé Georgel after exclaiming wildly,
“All is lost; the prince is arrested.” The slip of paper which drops
from his hand is caught up and read with eagerness by the abbé, and in
accordance with the instructions contained in it, the scarlet portfolio
which held all the cardinal’s secret correspondence, including the
letters—gilt-edged or bordered with _vignettes bleues_—penned by the
phantom queen, and on which the Prince de Rohan set such store, is
forthwith committed to the flames.[201]
While the foregoing events were transpiring the Count and Countess
de la Motte were receiving and returning visits in tranquil security
at Bar-sur-Aube. It was two days after the arrest of the cardinal
that the countess set out on her visit to the Duke de Penthièvre at
Château-Villain, and Beugnot was awaiting her arrival at Clairvaux in
the evening. The abbot had pressed the young lawyer to pass three days
there if the ensuing fête of Saint-Bernard would not frighten him, and
had promised him as a reward that he should hear the famous Abbé Maury
from Paris preach the saint’s panegyric. “I agreed,” says Beugnot, “with
all my heart. The day of Saint-Bernard was a grand affair at Clairvaux.
The poor who presented themselves at the door of the abbey received
charity, and the _bourgeoisie_ of Bar-sur-Aube and its environs were
entertained at dinner in the refectory, at which the abbot presided. I
desired to be present at this banquet to laugh at the abbot, who had
spoken to me of this old custom as a piece of tomfoolery he was about to
suppress, and had mentioned with contempt the guests who would be present
at it.
“The Abbot of Clairvaux was above the middle height, and of a fine and
graceful figure. When after his election he had the honour of being
presented to the king at Versailles, the queen, struck with his handsome
person and the dignity with which he wore the costume of his order, could
not refrain exclaiming, ‘What a handsome monk!’ Dom Rocourt was polite
with men and gallant with women, and with all this, or in spite of it,
very stupid. I was never able,” says Beugnot, “to make him comprehend
when the Revolution arrived that the age had done with him, his abbey,
and his monks, who would have been only too happy to abandon him.”[202]
The Abbey of Clairvaux, founded in the year 1114, was one of the richest
and most magnificent abbeys in France. Its annual revenue was between
three and four hundred thousand francs. Situated in a picturesque glen,
the conventual buildings comprised the abbot’s residence, a handsome
church, said not to have been inferior to Nôtre Dame de Paris, and where
several early French kings and princes lay buried, with a treasury for
its ornaments and relics, an infirmary, a refectory and dormitories:
besides which there were a valuable library and beautiful gardens.[203]
Lastly, one must not forget its gigantic wine-vat, which held upwards of
200,000 gallons. To-day the abbey is a house of detention for criminals;
the site of its magnificent church—demolished during the first year of
the Restoration—being now a prison-yard. The abbot usually drove out
with four horses to his carriage, and had an outrider to precede him. He
caused himself to be addressed as “my lord” by his monks and dependents,
and by the many persons who had need of his assistance. He governed
despotically numerous convents of monks and nuns that were dependent on
his abbey, and it is said that he took especial pleasure in visiting the
nunneries subject to his sway.[204]
We left Beugnot at Clairvaux waiting Madame de la Motte’s return. Soon
after eight o’clock she made her appearance, when he at once acquainted
her with the engagement he had entered into. She wished to share it and
remain for the fête of Saint-Bernard, but the abbot excused himself,
explaining to her that the fête was altogether a religious one, and that
the ladies who commonly inhabited Clairvaux fled from it on that day,
abandoning it to the religious of Saint-Bernard and to their children.
They returned, however, on the following day, and the abbot, who was lost
in reverence and adoration of Madame de la Motte, pressed her to augment
their number. He was no doubt aware of the intimate connection which
existed between the countess and the Cardinal de Rohan, and he treated
her accordingly like a princess of the church.
A large company was assembled at the abbey on this particular evening
in anticipation of meeting the Abbé Maury, whose arrival from Paris
was now momentarily expected. The clock having struck nine without the
looked-for guest making his appearance, the company sat down to the
supper-table. Scarcely had they taken their seats, however, before
the sound of carriage-wheels announced some new arrival. This proved
to be the Abbé Maury, with “his Jesuitic eyes, his impassive brazen
face, image of all the cardinal sins,” who, after being welcomed by his
brother ecclesiastic, and introduced to the guests in the supper-room,
without being allowed time to change his travelling-dress, took his seat
at table, when, as a matter of course, he was at once assailed by the
inquiry as to whether there was anything stirring in Paris—in fact, any
news.
“‘What mean you?—any news?’ replied the Abbé Maury; ‘why, where do you
all come from? There is a piece of news which none can understand,
which has astonished and bewildered all Paris. The Cardinal de Rohan,
Grand Almoner of France, was arrested last Tuesday, the festival of the
Assumption, in his pontifical vestments, as he was leaving the king’s
cabinet. They talk of a Diamond Necklace which he was to have bought for
the queen, but which he did not buy at all. Is it not inconceivable that
for such a bauble as this a grand almoner of France should have been
arrested in his pontifical vestments—do you understand, in his pontifical
vestments?—and on leaving the king’s cabinet?’
“As soon as this intelligence reached my ear,” says Count Beugnot, whose
narrative we are quoting, “I glanced at Madame de la Motte, whose napkin
had fallen from her hand, and whose pale and rigid face seemed as it
were immovably fixed above her plate. After the first shock was over she
made an effort and rushed out of the room, followed by one of the chief
attendants. In the course of a few minutes I left the table and joined
her. The horses were already put to her carriage, so we at once set
forth.”
“‘I have perhaps done wrong in leaving so suddenly, above all in the
presence of the Abbé Maury,’ remarked Madame de la Motte. ‘Not at all,’
replied I; ‘your relations with the cardinal are known, and almost
avowed. He may have to forfeit his life perhaps; your plan is to run away
in advance of couriers, letters, or news. You would have done wrong in
losing time by supping at Clairvaux—but can you explain this arrest to
yourself?’ ‘No,—at least only through some trick of Cagliostro’s: the
cardinal is infatuated with him: it is not my fault, I have warned him a
hundred times.’ ‘So much the better,’ remarked I; ‘but what is this story
about a Necklace which the cardinal has been buying for the queen? How
is it that a cardinal is charged with such a purchase? and how comes it
about that the queen should choose for such a commission Prince Louis,
whom she openly detests?’ ‘I repeat to you, it is all Cagliostro.’ ‘But
you have received this charlatan at your house. Are you not compromised
in any way with him?’ ‘Absolutely not in the least, and I am perfectly
tranquil; I did very wrong to leave the supper-table.’ ‘It was not wrong.
If you are tranquil on your own account, you ought not to be so on
account of an unfortunate friend.’ ‘Ah! bah! you do not know him; only
see him in a difficulty; he is capable of abusing a hundred persons, of
saying a hundred foolish things to get himself out of it.’ ‘Madame de
la Motte,’ replied I, ‘you have just said more than I wished to hear; I
have a last service to propose to you; it is now ten o’clock at night,
we are approaching Bayet. I am going to leave you there in care of a
friend for whom you know I can answer. I will return with your carriage
to Bar-sur-Aube, and will warn M. de la Motte, who in an hour’s time can
come and fetch you in a post-chaise drawn by your best pair of horses.
He will take charge of your most valuable effects, and you will together
take, this very night, the road to Châlons, since that to Troyes would
not be safe for you. Do not go to Boulogne, Calais, or Dieppe, at which
places instructions perhaps have been already given to stop you; between
these ports there are twenty places where for ten louis they will land
you in England.’ ‘Sir,’ replied Madame de la Motte, ‘you are wearying
me; I have allowed you to go on to the end because I was thinking of
something else. Is it necessary to repeat to you ten times running that
I have nothing to do with this affair? I repeat it, I am very sorry at
having left the table, as though I were an accomplice in your cardinal’s
fooleries.’ ‘Madame,’ observed I, ‘let us say no more on the subject.
Still I should like to add once more—after your avowal—that you will
repent not having followed my advice. May Heaven grant in this case that
your repentance may not be more poignant than usual.’
“We drove along in silence for half a hour. As we entered the town I
entreated her to at least burn any papers which might compromise her or
the cardinal. ‘It is,’ said I, ‘a measure dictated by honour on the one
side and by prudence on the other.’ She consented; I offered to assist
her, and as she did not refuse, on leaving the carriage I accompanied
her to her room. Her husband, who had left home early in the morning
to join a hunting party, had not yet returned. We opened a large chest
of sandal-wood filled with papers of all colours and dimensions. Being
nervously anxious to make quick work of the matter, I inquired if
there were amongst them any bills of exchange, bonds, bank-notes, or
drafts, and on receiving an answer in the negative I proposed to throw
the entire heap into the fire. She insisted on at least a cursory
examination being made of them. We proceeded with it, very slowly on her
part, very precipitately on mine. It was whilst casting furtive glances
upon some of the hundreds of letters from the Cardinal de Rohan, that I
saw with pity the ravages which the delirium of love, aided by that of
ambition, had wrought in the mind of this unhappy man. It is fortunate
for the cardinal’s memory that these letters were destroyed, but it is
a loss for the history of human passions. What must have been the state
of society when a prince of the church did not hesitate to write, to
sign, and to address to a woman letters which in our days a man who
respects himself the least in the world might commence reading, but would
certainly never finish?
“Among these motley papers there were invoices, offers of estates for
sale, prospectuses and advertisements of new inventions, &c. Some of the
letters were from Böhmer and Bassenge, and made mention of the Necklace,
spoke of terms expired, acknowledged the receipt of certain sums, and
asked for larger ones. I consulted Madame de la Motte as to what should
be done with them. Finding her hesitate, I took the shortest course,
and threw them all into the fire. The affair occupied a considerable
time. When it was over I took my leave of Madame de la Motte, urging her
more strongly than ever to depart. She only answered me by promising to
go to bed immediately. I then quitted her apartments, the atmosphere
of which was poisoned by the odour arising from burning paper and wax
impregnated with twenty different perfumes. It was three o’clock in the
morning; at four o’clock she was arrested, and at half-past four was on
her way to the Bastille. The examination which I had made of her papers,
although a superficial one, had settled my doubts. I had observed so much
extravagance in the letters of the cardinal, that I believed both he and
the countess lost, and the one through the other.”[205]
The countess was sound asleep when the officers of justice arrived. An
inspector of police drew aside the bed curtains, and arousing her, showed
her the _lettre-de-cachet_ for her arrest.[206] From this moment until
her departure from Bar-sur-Aube the countess was closely guarded by
_exempts_ and cavalry of the marshalsea, while other _exempts_ compelled
her husband, who had returned home in the meantime, to accompany them
while they made a strict search throughout the house.[207]
“M. de la Motte,” observes Beugnot, “was very little affected at the
arrest of his wife. He had been hunting the day before, and contemplated
devoting several more days to this amusement. He called on me at six
o’clock in the morning, and told me in a quiet, confidential sort of
way, of the countess’s arrest. He assumed a calmness in my presence that
surprised me. ‘Madame,’ said he, ‘will only be away for three or four
days at the utmost. She is going to give the minister some explanations
which he requires of her. I reckon that she will return on Wednesday or
Thursday, when we will go and meet her, and bring her home in triumph.’
‘Sir,’ I replied to him, ‘you are I dare say unaware that last night
I advised your wife to start at once for England, and by the quickest
route. Had she followed my counsel, she would not be as she now is,
on the high road to Bastille. I now advise you to follow the course I
suggested to her, which will be much safer for you than losing precious
time and deceiving yourself by vain illusions.’ The count shrugged his
shoulders and left me, humming a tune. On the same day he took his place
in the diligence, and gained England without delay. It was on the 18th
of August that he left. Four days afterwards the police came to arrest
him,”[208] but found their bird had flown.
Neither the forger Villette nor the counterfeit queen D’Oliva were
objects of suspicion even until several weeks had elapsed; but eight
days after the arrest of the cardinal, the Count de Cagliostro and his
wife were arrested and sent to join the grand almoner and the Countess
de la Motte in the Bastille. In a memorial prepared by Cagliostro,
wherein he puts forward a claim for damages on account of the losses
sustained by him in consequence of this arrest, he says: “On August 23,
1785, the Commissary Chénon came to my house, attended by a bailiff and
eight police-officers. He told me that he had orders to escort me to the
lieutenant of police. He asked me for my keys, and obliged me to open
my escritoire, which contained various medicines, amongst others six
bottles of precious balsam. The bailiff in my presence seized upon the
articles he chose to take, and particularly four bottles of the balsam.
The _sbirri_ that accompanied him followed their chief’s example, and the
pillage began.”
The count then proceeds to estimate the amount of this pillage item by
item, and ends by bringing it up to the considerable sum of 100,000
livres (£4000 sterling). Amongst these items he cites a green pocket-book
containing forty-seven bank notes of 1000 livres each, besides which
he asserts there were gold and silver coin—double-louis, sequins, and
Spanish quadruples—plate, jewels, diamonds, &c., taken away.[209]
The cardinal’s equerry and particular confidant, the Baron de Planta—a
man of shady character, who had held a commission in a Swiss regiment in
France, had been broke for some misconduct, and had been for years under
a cloud at the time he was picked up by the Prince de Rohan during his
Vienna embassy—was likewise arrested, but had the luck to get released
after undergoing a brief examination.[210]
XXIV.
1785. AUG. 19–SEPT. 13.
A DREARY DAY AND NIGHT’S DRIVE.—THE BASTILLE.—A “VALOIS” SERVED OFF
PEWTER.
As we have already mentioned, the Cardinal de Rohan immediately after
his arrest was conducted, closely guarded, to his hotel at Versailles.
In the afternoon of the same day he was removed to Paris, to the
Palais-Cardinal, where he remained during the night; the officer
commanding the escort of royal body-guards, having been solemnly
cautioned to that effect, slept in the same apartment as his prisoner,
whom he never trusted out of his sight for a single instant.
The day following the Marquis de Launay, governor of the Bastille, came
to receive the grand almoner into his custody, and to transfer him to
the iron grip of that mysterious state prison which rarely rendered up
its victims until they were snatched away by the icy hand of Death. The
cardinal wished to go thither on foot under cover of the night, so as to
be free from observation. This favour was granted him, and, what is far
more remarkable, he was allowed to take with him a couple of _valets de
chambre_ and a secretary, and was informed that he would be permitted to
see his friends at stated times in the hall of this gloomy fortress.[211]
At a later period of his confinement, he was allowed to drive of an
evening along the Boulevards in the Governor’s carriage, strictly guarded
of course, and to give grand dinners in his rooms.[212]