whether it could not be diverted from the cardinal, the actual victim
of the fraud, to the countess and her confederates, the perpetrators of
it. Night and day, with the pertinacity of the true Jesuit, did the Abbé
Georgel pursue his plan; now visiting the Bastille and interrogating the
cardinal next examining his friends, his visitors, and his domestics,
and then again the different individuals to whom these referred him, and
taking notes of every scrap of information he obtained. For many weeks
his industry seemed to yield him no result, for as yet he was without
anything like a positive clue. At length, from hints given him by the
Abbé de Juncker, he tracked out Father Loth, one of the countess’s minor
instruments, and so far privy to, if not an actual accomplice in, her
misdeeds as to judge it prudent on his part to keep entirely in the
background until the Necklace inquiry was brought to a close.[248] For
a long time he was a most unwilling witness, but eventually the Abbé
Georgel skilfully extracted from him all that he knew, and learned
for the first time the names of Mademoiselle d’Oliva and of Rétaux de
Villette, and the _rôles_ they had been engaged to play. The announcement
of this discovery demolished in a moment the subtle political intrigue,
the object of which had been to send the Cardinal de Rohan to the
scaffold.
Encouraged by this stroke of good fortune, the abbé proceeded to track
the fugitives, for Mademoiselle d’Oliva, and Rétaux de Villette, had both
turned their backs upon Paris soon after the countess’s arrest. Through
the good offices of the Count de Vergennes, who prevailed on the king
to consent to a demand being made in his name, for the surrender of the
“_jolie demoiselle_” of the Palais Royal she was arrested at Brussels
on the 16th of October in the middle of the night by the sub-lieutenant
of police, three civic officers, a greffier, and some half-dozen of the
town guard—rather a formidable force to take an unprotected female of
four-and-twenty into custody. It is supposed to have been owing to the
exertions of Marie-Antoinette’s sister, the Duchess of Saxe-Teschen,
then _gouvernante_ of the Austrian Netherlands, that the Demoiselle
d’Oliva and her lover, a certain M. de Beausire, formerly attached to
the household of the Count d’Artois, were routed out. In a letter of
the queen’s, written to her sister, she says, “Your government, I am
certain, will second me in searching for the woman who played the part
in the garden scene, and who has taken refuge with you.”[249] D’Oliva
was at once brought to Paris, and lodged in the Bastille. She, however,
knew nothing beyond what related to the nocturnal scene in the park of
Versailles, when she had been tricked out to play the part of queen.
Yet what Mademoiselle d’Oliva did know she told with frankness and with
an air of perfect truth. A memorial, ostensibly on her behalf, was
brought out by the indefatigable abbé, containing the announcement of
the important fact, now proved beyond a doubt, that it was the humble
individual now in custody, and not the Queen of France, who took part
in the famous interview which had given rise to so much scandal. The
story was so clear, the incident so fully explained, that the malice of
ten thousand tongues was in a moment deprived of its nutriment, and
the great figure of Marie-Antoinette was suddenly withdrawn from the
scene—too late, alas! for her subsequent reputation,—while the innocence
of the cardinal was everywhere beginning to be felt.
Before D’Oliva’s memorial made its appearance, however, and indeed,
before the counterfeit queen’s capture, Madame de la Motte had been
engaged in furnishing her counsel with the materials for a memorial on
her own behalf, which was made public early in November, when, in all
probability, she had not heard of D’Oliva’s arrest. This formed number
one of that series of lying “Mémoires” issued by the countess, which,
in their endeavour to explain away certain new evidence that had come
to light, contradicted former statements made by her, contradicted each
other, and at times contradicted themselves. The countess avers that
so great was the excitement on the occasion of the issue of her first
memorial, that M. Doillot, her advocate, was obliged to have a guard at
his house during the distribution of the copies, six thousand of which
were sold in the course of a day or two.[250]
The countess, who had been in the Bastille for several months, feeling
by no means dissatisfied with the turn her case was apparently taking,
and contenting herself with denying all knowledge of the Necklace,
experienced a certain degree of disquiet on learning of the arrest of
Mademoiselle d’Oliva; still, her fertile brain was soon at work to
concoct some kind of explanation of the circumstances to which this new
witness might be expected to depose. Besides, if it came to the worst,
could she not fall back upon her system of general denial? and was not
D’Oliva a person of notoriously bad character, whose word would weigh
as nothing against that of a descendant of the house of Valois? It must
have been about this time that she would have also heard from her counsel
of the rumours afloat respecting the depositions which Carbonnières,
intendant of the cardinal’s household, had procured in England from the
jewellers Gray and Jefferys, and have seen how necessary it was that the
more complete story which she would now be constrained to tell should fit
in all its parts with this new and unexpected evidence. It was more than
ever requisite that she should be wakeful, since she had heard, like the
rest of the world, that the prosecution would be a contest between the
queen and the Baron de Breteuil on the one hand, and the Prince de Rohan
and his powerful partisans on the other; and there are strong reasons
for believing that the home secretary and other enemies of the cardinal
had insinuated to her, through various channels, that if she could only
produce good evidence against the grand almoner, no other victim would be
required. If we can believe her own statement, that “mercenary hireling,”
as she calls him, Commissary Chénon, “made use of every argument to
exasperate me against the cardinal,” and wound up by saying, “He indeed
may lay all manner of things to your charge, but make yourself easy, we
shall take care to saddle him with everything.”
XXIX.
1786. JAN.
THE TRIAL: EXAMINATION OF THE ACCUSED.
At length, after the law had exhausted its customary period of delay, the
examination of the accused commenced. The Cardinal de Rohan was first
questioned, and told his story much the same as the reader has already
gathered it from the preceding pages. Mademoiselle d’Oliva was next
examined, and simply confirmed all that she had stated in her published
memorial, from which we have quoted the chief passages. Pecuniary
embarrassment, she said, was the sole reason of her leaving Paris within
a few weeks of the time that Madame de la Motte was arrested, for it was
then that her creditors began to press her for payment of their claims.
She went to Brussels by the recommendation of a person who lived in the
same house that she did, and whom she knew to be a native of that place.
It was now the countess’s turn, for as yet Rétaux de Villette had proved
more than a match for the sleuth-hounds of the Abbé Georgel, and was
still skulking in some safe retreat. As for Cagliostro, his examination
was to be deferred until after the countess’s had been brought to a close.
Madame de la Motte commenced by detailing the chief incidents in her
career, from the time she was taken notice of by the Marchioness
de Boulainvilliers until the moment of her first introduction to
the Cardinal de Rohan, with something like a regard for truth. When
questioned respecting her pretended intimacy with the queen, she said
she had not the honour of being known to her, and denied ever having
represented that she had access to her; averred that she had never shown
any letters purporting to be from her majesty; that she had never been
honoured with letters from her, and consequently could not have shown any
such letters.
With regard to Mademoiselle d’Oliva, the countess stated that all she
knew of her arose from casually meeting her in the Palais Royal, when
she learnt from her that her husband, who was a friend of Monsieur de
Choiseul, had left her, and gone to America. Compassionating her lonely
condition, and finding her to be, to all appearances, a well-conducted
young person, she had asked her to her house, “and had taken her on one
occasion to Versailles, where she stayed with her for three days.” When
asked if she had not told D’Oliva that she was a lady of the court, on
terms of close intimacy with the queen, by whom she was charged to find
a person who would render her majesty some service, for which a reward
of fifteen thousand francs would be given, she ridiculed the entire
affair. She maintained it to be an invention on the part of the cardinal
and Father Loth, who both knew of the unpleasantness that had arisen
between her husband and herself with regard to the woman D’Oliva, whom
she afterwards found by her behaviour to be anything but the respectable
person she represented herself, being, in fact, a common courtesan who
had been receiving the visits of Count de la Motte for some time past.
She admitted that D’Oliva walked in the park of Versailles with her
husband and Villette, on some evening in July of the year 1784, while
she was promenading with the Cardinal de Rohan, but she utterly denied
the whole story of dressing her up to personate the queen, and then
conducting her to the park and instructing her what she was to say on
being addressed by a great personage to whom she was to hand a letter
and a rose. The countess protested that she felt highly indignant at the
mere suggestion of these “numerous falsehoods,” these “horrible reports;”
that “the entire thing was most absurd, and nothing but a foolish and
incredible fable, most wretchedly concocted by its author, the Prince de
Rohan.” She said, of course it was false that she had ever told D’Oliva
that the queen was pleased at the way in which she had acquitted herself,
or that she had read a letter to her, purporting to be from the queen,
saying the same thing; and as for having given D’Oliva one thousand or
three thousand livres, or any money whatever, after this affair, she had
certainly done nothing of the kind.
When asked if she had obtained from the Cardinal de Rohan two sums of
50,000 livres and 100,000 livres, in the months of August and November,
1784, in the queen’s name, she simply ridiculed the suggestion, and
pertinently asked, was it likely the cardinal would have been so mad as
to have handed over to her such considerable amounts as these without
receiving orders perfectly well known to have come from the queen, or, at
any rate, without taking some kind of acknowledgment from her for them?
On being questioned with respect to the Necklace, the countess denied
having had anything whatever to do with its purchase. She said she only
saw the jewellers once before it was sold to the cardinal, on which
occasion she peremptorily declined meddling in the affair. When asked
if she had carried or had shown to the cardinal a letter purporting
to be from the queen, wherein the queen expressed a wish to possess
the Necklace, she ingeniously observed, that if it were intended to be
suggested that she had been the bearer of any such letter as that alluded
to, she desired the letter might be produced, for it was the cardinal’s
duty to have preserved a document of such importance. She admitted
having casually spoken to the cardinal about the Necklace the day after
the jewellers had shown it to her, but the cardinal appeared to pay no
attention to what she said, although he afterwards sent to her for the
jewellers’ address. She certainly showed his note to Böhmer and Bassenge,
but never said or hinted to them that he was acting on behalf of the
queen, whose name was never once mentioned. With regard to the actual
purchase of the Necklace she knew positively nothing until several days
afterwards, when the cardinal told her that he had bought it for the
queen.
As to the contract, the countess declared it had not been given to her
to show to the queen, and consequently she could not have returned it to
the cardinal “approved” and signed. When the contract was first shown to
her she immediately recognised the body of it as being in the cardinal’s
handwriting, but she did not know the writing of the signature: she
positively denied having written it herself, or that it had been signed
by any person she knew.[251]
In reply to further questions, Madame de la Motte stated that she did not
know when the Necklace was handed over, and could not say whether she
saw the cardinal at Versailles on the 1st of February, 1785, although she
saw him most days when he was there. She had no hesitation in declaring
the story about the cardinal bringing the Necklace to her house, and
the casket being handed over to a person who came with a note from
the queen, to be absolutely false from beginning to end. The countess
indignantly denied ever having had the Necklace in her possession, or
having had it taken to pieces; but, knowing well enough that there was
evidence forthcoming of her and her husband having sold some of the
diamonds forming part of it, she endeavoured to make her admission fit,
as it were, with the evidence she thought likely to be brought forward.
She maintained, however, that she was merely acting as agent for the
cardinal, who, she said, sent her first of all twenty-two diamonds in
a little box, with a note bidding her sell them as soon as she could.
Subsequently he sent her a second box, containing a number of small
diamonds which she was likewise to dispose of. The first parcel of
diamonds Villette, she said, endeavoured to sell, but was unsuccessful,
and they were eventually sold to the jeweller Paris for fifteen
thousand livres, by recommendation of Monsieur Filleul,[252] advocate
of Bar-sur-Aube, and this amount she duly remitted to the cardinal, who
afterwards sent her sixteen other diamonds, which she sold to the same
person for sixteen thousand livres, and forwarded the amount to the
cardinal in the early part of May. The small diamonds, she said, she sold
to Regnier, together with one of larger size which the cardinal had given
her, for the sum of five thousand five hundred and forty francs. The two
diamond rings which, it will be remembered, were set by Regnier, were
set, she said, for the cardinal, and she asserted the same with respect
to a _bonbonnière_ which Regnier had encircled with diamonds for the
count.
During the same month, while the Cardinal de Rohan was at Saverne, she
said, one Carbonnières, a member of the cardinal’s household, came to
her in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Gilles, at six o’clock in the morning, and
inquired if it would be possible for her to undertake a journey to
Saverne in four days’ time, some urgent business which he had in hand
preventing him from going himself. He had something of great value and
importance to transmit to the cardinal, who, he knew, would be very much
pleased with her if she but did what he asked. At the expiration of the
four days, Carbonnières, she said, brought her a large sealed packet, and
lent her his walking-cane, and directed the coachman to proceed by the
Porte St. Martin as far as Pantin, the first stage. On reaching Saverne
she put up at an inn, and apprised the cardinal of her arrival, whereupon
he sent over one of his own carriages to fetch her. Immediately she saw
the cardinal she gave him the sealed packet, and he asked her to stay and
dine with him, but as she was dressed in man’s clothes she was obliged to
decline. The cardinal, after thanking her for the trouble she had been
at on his account, then made her a present of the _bonbonnière_ which
Regnier had mounted with diamonds for him. “Open it,” he said, “and you
will find something.” She did as directed, and saw it was full of unset
diamonds. On leaving the cardinal intrusted her with a packet of letters
for Carbonnières, which, on her arrival at Paris, she duly forwarded to
the Hôtel de Strasbourg, together with the walking-cane which had been
lent to her.
At this point of her examination the countess essayed what she thought
would prove a grand _coup_, which, bewildering and astonishing her
judges, would make her innocence apparent with due melodramatic effect.
She stated that in the month of March of the year before she went,
accompanied by her niece, a little girl of ten or twelve years of age,
daughter of Madame de la Tour, to the Hôtel de Strasbourg to meet that
great, that extraordinary man, as the cardinal invariably called him,
the Count de Cagliostro, whom she had seen at Strasbourg four years
previously, and who was on the present occasion to exhibit some of
his marvellous performances. She and her niece were conducted to the
cardinal’s sleeping apartment, which was lighted up with twenty or thirty
candles, when Count Cagliostro, calling her niece to him, took her upon
his knee, and made her promise never to reveal to any one what she was
about to see. He then dressed her out with a blue, green, and black
ribbon, and also a white ribbon, to which was attached a cross and a
star, and put on her a white apron covered over with different orders,
and ornamented with beautiful silver lace. He next placed his naked sword
upon her head, and pronounced these words: “I command thee, in the name
of the Great Cofte and of the angels Michael and Raphael to show me what
I shall presently tell thee;” and, taking her niece by the hand, he led
her behind a screen where there was a table and a bottle of very clear
water, on which he made her place her hand. The count then passed to the
other side of the screen, where Madame de la Motte and the cardinal were
seated, and commanded them to keep strict silence. He then pronounced
certain words, of the meaning of which she understood nothing—but which
the cardinal told her were to drive away the evil spirit—and said to her
niece: “Say, ‘I command thee to make me see all that I desire.’ Strike!
What dost thou see? Hold thy hand always upon the bottle. What dost thou
see?” “Nothing, monsieur.” “Strike again. Strike! strike! What dost thou
see? Dost thou not see a woman dressed in white, with a long fair face?”
“Yes, monsieur.” “Who is it? Dost thou not see the queen? Dost thou know
her?” “Yes, monsieur; it is the queen.” “Say again, ‘In the name of the
Great Cofte I command thee to show me all that I shall desire.’ Strike!
What dost thou see, little one? Seest thou not an angel on thy right,
who turns towards thee as though to embrace thee? Seest thou?” “Yes,
monsieur.” “Ah well! embrace him!”
Some days afterwards the Count de Cagliostro, who was not satisfied with
this _séance_, at which all had not been made visible that he desired,
directed that her niece should be dressed entirely in white, with her
hair hanging loosely down, when he recommenced the same ceremony. The
cardinal, on this occasion, forced her to go behind the screen, and
Cagliostro made her and her niece go upon their knees, after which he
said to the latter: “I ordain thee, &c. What seest thou, little one? Look
at the point of my sword. Dost thou not see some one kneeling? Who is it?
Name them!” “It is my lord cardinal and my aunt.” “What does my lord do?”
“He takes a crown of six livres from a snuff-box which you hold in your
hand.” “What further does he do?” “He takes a crown of three livres out
of the same box.” “What more dost thou see at the point of my sword? Dost
thou not see a magnificent palace and gardens?” “Yes, monsieur.” “Whom
dost thou see there?” “No one, monsieur.” “Look again; look well.” “I
see nothing, monsieur.” Then Cagliostro, finding that she saw nothing,
said to the cardinal: “She is too old, she is not pure. I must have
another child.” To which the cardinal remarked: “I understand, one of
those you know well.”
Eight days afterwards, Cagliostro went through a similar performance with
two young children by turns, and in the following month there was another
_séance_ at the cardinal’s hôtel, when Cagliostro directed a table to be
taken to one end of the saloon, and a large number of lighted candles
to be placed upon it. He then laid his naked sword, crossing it with a
poignard, in the centre, and arranged around it a quantity of medals,
and the crosses of Jerusalem and St. Andrew, and commanded the countess
to lay her hands upon them, and swear that she would never divulge what
she was about to see and hear, and what was going to be proposed to her.
Then, turning to the cardinal, Cagliostro said to him: “Prince, go now;
go now, prince.” They spoke together in a low tone, and the cardinal
went to his secretary, which stood by the side of his cabinet, and
brought from it a rather large oval-shaped box of white wood, whereupon
Cagliostro said to him: “There is still another; bring it forth.” On
opening these boxes they were both found to be full of diamonds, and the
cardinal then said to her: “Will your husband go to England if I send
him? I will give him two thousand crowns, which he can place with some
banker here for a draft upon London.” Whereupon she asked the cardinal
the name of this banker and his address, to which he replied: “It is
Bergaud (Perregaux), Rue du Sentier; he is my ordinary banker. Here, take
the diamonds; I will settle the price. Impress upon your husband on no
account to sell them without first of all having them set, and tell him
he must not bring any unset ones back with him.”
The count went to England as the cardinal had suggested, and shortly
afterwards the cardinal said to her, “Write to your husband to send me
what money he has received, for I have some pressing payments to make.
You remember seeing a lady with me during Holy week. I have promised
her five hundred thousand livres. She is a German, and is about to
marry a gentleman of Versailles so as to legitimatise a child of which
I am the father.” On being written to, her husband hastened home again,
bringing with him drafts upon Bergaud (Perregaux) for 121,000 livres, a
medallion set with brilliants valued at one thousand crowns, a pair of
girandole earrings valued at two thousand crowns, a diamond pin, and two
large diamond rings, which, together with the drafts for one hundred and
twenty-one thousand livres, were handed to the cardinal, who returned the
earrings, the pin, and the medallion, saying, “Here, keep these for your
trouble.” She told the cardinal that her husband had left behind him,
in England, a quantity of diamonds to be sold or else set, to which the
cardinal replied, that he would prefer their being sold, but would see
about this on his return from Saverne.[253]
One can very well understand that on the conclusion of this marvellous
narrative the sitting of the court was adjourned, and that on the
following day Madame de la Motte was asked by her judges what witnesses
she could bring forward in support of the extraordinary statements she
had made. The countess replied there was only the servant who brought
her the first box of diamonds from the cardinal, as the note which
accompanied it had been taken possession of by the Prince de Rohan with
all his other letters to her, when she was confined under lock and key at
the Palais-Cardinal.