reference to which the statements of the rest of the accused tallied
and directly contradicted her own assertions, those present glanced at
one another expecting that she would be mute at last, and yield to the
weight of evidence against her. But no; her fertile invention, like that
of Napoleon at Marengo, supplied her at a moment’s warning with some new
combination. When asked to explain the source whence she had derived the
means of supporting her extravagant expenditure during her twelve months
of display, she replied that she had met with princely benefactors. The
Cardinal de Rohan had alone given her 203,720 livres. Observing the
looks of incredulity with which this statement was received, to account
for the cardinal’s unheard-of liberality, she explained to her judges
that relations of a very tender nature existed between her and the grand
almoner.[296] She asserted, moreover, that she had got up the scene with
D’Oliva in the park of Versailles to revenge herself upon the cardinal
for an infidelity of which he had been guilty.[297] Among her other
“princely benefactors” she enumerated Madame, the Countess de Provence,
who, she stated, had given her 13,200 livres, while the Duke d’Orléans
had given her 12,000 livres, the Duke and Duchess de Chartres 26,000, the
Duke de Choiseul 12,000, the Duke de Penthièvre 8,400, M. de Castries
3,000, and the contrôleur-général 6,000. All these statements were of
course false. For instance, the Countess de Provence had only given her
twelve or fifteen louis, and this immediately after the fainting scene,
we imagine; the contrôleur-général had given her about fifty louis;
and M. de Castries eight hundred, instead of three thousand livres. M.
d’Ormesson, whose name she does not mention, said he had sent her a few
louis _by the hands of the police_; while, as regards the eight thousand
four hundred livres which she pretended she had received from the Duke de
Penthièvre, the chief of his council, the Abbé de Noir, who happened to
be present, rose up and indignantly declared the countess’s assertion to
be false.[298] Being asked to explain what she had done with the 150,000
livres extorted from the Cardinal de Rohan in August and October, 1784,
in the queen’s name, Madame de la Motte calmly smiled, and with a look of
offended dignity and wounded innocence, vowed that she had never so much
as seen the money.
As each damaging fact came to light the countess did not content herself
with launching tirades of abuse merely against the witnesses, “who
swore,” she tells us, “precisely what the cardinal’s advocates pleased
to put into their mouths.” According to her own admissions, she on more
than one occasion abused her judges to their faces,[299] while behind
their backs she heaped upon them every variety of vituperative epithet.
Commissary Chénon was “a wretch and a cunning dissembler;”[300] Fremyn
was her “inveterate enemy;”[301] Dupuis de Marcé was “bought over,”
was a “creature of the house of Rohan,” was “a monster,” “a sly and
venomous serpent,” “a perfidious miscreant,” and “prevaricated to a
scandalous excess.”[302] Both he and Fremyn were “dissemblers,” both
“would convict the innocent rather than hear the truth;” “every ray of
evidence which would have made in my favour was refracted and broken
by the medium through which it passed;”[303] both had “the villany to
alter and interpolate the records.”[304] She further accused the deputy
procureur-général and the judges of having “caballed against her;”[305]
maintained that even the registrar, Le Breton, was “in the cardinal’s
interest.”[306] So, too, was the governor of the Bastille, rigorous old
De Launay, to whom she moreover applies the epithet of “this perfidious
governor.”[307]
While these examinations were proceeding, and when it was perfectly
well known that Count de la Motte was residing in security on the
other side of the Channel, an abundance of legal formalities were gone
through to ensure his arrest, had he only happened to have been within
the jurisdiction of the Paris Parliament. For instance, on the 15th of
December, 1785, a writ of capture of the count’s body was decreed, and
on the 15th of the following January, Regnault, “huissier of our said
court,” was despatched to Bar-sur-Aube to execute the writ in question.
On the 13th of February it was ordered that the said Marc-Antoine-Nicolas
de la Motte should be summoned that day se’nnight by public proclamation,
to have law and justice done upon him, which summoning accordingly
took place in the town of Bar-sur-Aube, and subsequently at Paris, “by
Simonin, sole sworn crier of the king, provost and viscount of Paris,
and huissier of the Châtelet of Paris, accompanied by Regnault, huissier
of our said court.”[308] Count de la Motte, however, failed to put in an
appearance at either place.
XXXII.
1786. MAY 29, 30.
THE CONCIERGERIE.—BEFORE THE COURT OF PARLIAMENT, GRAND CHAMBER, AND
“TOURNELLE.”
At eight o’clock on the night of the 29th of May, 1786, while the
countess was quietly seated at supper, the gaoler of the Bastille burst
into her room with the disagreeable intelligence that her business,
“which looked a devilish bad affair indeed, was likely to be terminated
_à la grève_” (that is, by the gallows). “Hold you in readiness at
eleven o’clock,” said he, “for they will begin with you.” At eleven,
accordingly, she was conducted to the council hall, where, after being
searched by the _huissiers de la chaîne_, she was taken in a coach to
the Conciergerie, that grim, grey stone building, at the river’s brink,
on the Ile de la Cité, whose time-worn, massive, conical-capped round
towers frown disdainfully upon the crowd of handsome modern buildings
around,—the one unrestored specimen of mediæval architecture of the least
importance in all Paris.[309] To this same dismal prison some six years
subsequently, Marie-Antoinette herself was sent, quitting it only when
she went forth to die upon the scaffold.
“Released from the Bastille,” says Madame de la Motte, “Paris appeared
to me superb, but our journey seemed extremely short. It was near
midnight. All the front yard before the court of the Palais de Justice
was illuminated, as well as the court itself; it was as light as day. The
palace was amazingly crowded; all the guard were under arms. An officer
came to give me his arm to alight from the carriage. I was conducted
to a large hall, which they call the _greffe_, whither I was attended
by four or five hundred persons. All the passages, the tables, every
place was crowded.... I listened with pleasure to a profusion of civil
things that were said to me by the surrounding multitude, many of whom
expressed very warm and sincere wishes for my success, and seemed much
pleased at the manner in which I returned their civilities. About two
o’clock, finding myself fatigued, I expressed a desire to take some rest;
and after paying my respects to this numerous company, the keeper’s wife
conducted me to the apartment prepared for my reception.”[310]
At six o’clock the Parliament, both Grand Chamber and Tournelle,[311]
began to assemble. The princes and princesses of the house of Condé,
allied to that of the cardinal, and of the houses of Rohan, Soubise and
Guéménée, had gone into mourning, and thus significantly attired, placed
themselves in a line in the corridor along which the councillors of the
Grand Chamber had to pass, so that they might salute them as they entered
the hall.[312] When they arrived, Madame de Marsan, pointing to the
cardinal’s assembled relatives, said to the councillors—“Gentlemen, you
are about to judge the whole of us.”[313] Upwards of sixty judges took
their seats. The sittings were long and numerous, as it was necessary to
read over the reports of the previous proceedings. A master of requests,
a friend of the cardinal’s, took notes of all that the judges said
while this was going on, and passed them to the cardinal’s counsel, who
found means of communicating with the prisoner, and of advising him as
to the course he should pursue when under examination. The counsellor
d’Epréménil too, a warm partisan of the grand almoner’s, likewise
apprised his friends of many particulars which it was important for them
to be acquainted with.[314]
The countess was in readiness, in the event of being summoned, by about
half-past six o’clock. “It has been said,” remarks she, “that I was
tricked out and dressed; but the truth is, I had plain cambric linen, a
cambric cloak, and for a bonnet a half-undress gauze, without ribbons,
and was even without powder in my hair. The gauze cap which I wore on
my head very little squared with the ridiculous assertion that I was
dressed. They began with poor Oliva,[315] who was delayed with her child.
[She had given birth to an infant since her arrest.] The keeper’s wife,
to whom I expressed a desire to see her, brought her to my chamber,
which was very near. I consoled the mother, but I gently reproved her
for the wrongs she had done me in following so blindly the advice of her
advocates relative to the supposed letter of the queen which she said I
had shown her.”[316]
The countess is mistaken in supposing that D’Oliva was the first to be
interrogated. It was Villette who had that honour. He entered the hall
and took his place on the _sellette_ with “his eyes bathed in tears,”
and during his examination showed more good faith and repentance than
he had heretofore done, avowing all his crimes without the slightest
reserve. It was remarked, however, that for the first time he seemed
anxious to accuse the cardinal, whom he had previously sought to shield,
by maintaining that he had been the dupe of the falsehoods and intrigues
of Madame de la Motte. Villette’s examination was soon over, and between
ten and eleven o’clock the keeper of the Conciergerie and his son
conducted the countess up “the little staircase,” which all criminals
were obliged to ascend. Fremyn, “the dissembler,” then came forward and
took her hand, and led her to the hall where the judges were assembled.
In this well-known apartment of the ancient Palais de Justice, where in
the early days of the French monarchy the kings of the Capetian race were
accustomed to keep their court, the Grand Chamber of the Paris Parliament
had held its sittings for upwards of a century; and here it was that,
under the presidency of the king, the famous _lits de justice_ were
likewise held. At the present day the Court of Cassation, the supreme
court of appeal in France in matters criminal as well as civil, holds its
“solemn audiences” in this celebrated chamber, the interior of which,
in this renovating age, has not a single trace of its ancient mediæval
character remaining to it.[317]
“The appearance of the hall, crowded as it was in every part, was to me,”
remarks Madame de la Motte, “a most tremendous sight; it was an awful,
an alarming crisis. It is here that, accused without guilt, I was tried
without justice, and condemned without proof, the accusation against me
being supported on the narrow foundation of false testimony, apparent
even to my very judges as contradictory and replete with absurdity. Too
soon I understood the ambiguous meaning of my counsel, who, in attempting
to prepare me for the occasion, had spoken to me of the ‘_sellette_.’ I
heard a number of voices tending to encourage me, and striving to inspire
me with confidence. ‘Must I then occupy this seat?’ exclaimed I; ‘must
I be forced into this _sellette_, formed only for the reception of the
guilty?’ Agitated by the most heartrending sensations, I remained a long
time in a most dreadful situation, my knees knocking together, and
my whole frame trembling with agitation, and feeling myself unable to
articulate a single syllable. At length, but I scarce know how, I found
myself seated, overwhelmed with shame at finding myself surrounded by
such a number of judges, by such a crowd of spectators.”[318]
Such is the account which the countess herself gives of this incident. A
contemporary record of the proceedings states, however, that she seated
herself in the _sellette_ with an impudent air, which she maintained
throughout the two hours she was under examination, and indeed until she
quitted this seat of shame.[319] After she was seated she heard, she
says, “a general cry, which was re-echoed throughout the hall: ‘Proceed,
proceed, madame; take courage!’ This encouragement, from so many of my
judges, supported my sinking spirits; their looks animated me, and by
degrees I was in a condition to answer them with that _consistency of
truth and energetic fortitude which innocence alone inspires_.
“So great was the malice of Fremyn against me that he could not help
exhibiting, even in the very face of my judges, a degree of rudeness and
indelicacy which, upon such an occasion, in such a situation, but ill
became him. This man came up to me rudely and desired me to take off
my hood. I looked at him very attentively, and said, ‘Even before this
august assembly you prove at this very moment how much you are my enemy.’
The assembly applauded what I said, and remonstrated with an air of
disapprobation, ‘Oh! why do you so? Let the lady wear her calash.’
“The chief president, M. d’Aligre, now read to me my first interrogatory,
which was expressed in so very few words that my judges could not
determine from my reply whether I was innocent or not. ‘I should wish,’
I remarked, ‘that my judges would interrogate me upon those points
which have relation to the Necklace; to these I am particularly anxious
to reply, that I may have an opportunity of demonstrating what I have
already advanced, what I have above a hundred times repeated, and
what I have never swerved from.’ The judges all exclaimed that I was
right, and were unanimously agreed to make some additions to the first
interrogatory, which did not mention a syllable of the leading point of
accusation—the Diamond Necklace. ‘The cardinal has stated,’ said they,
‘that he brought the Necklace himself to your house at Versailles, and
that he waited in an alcove till the arrival of a person who was to
fetch it on the part of the queen; that you insinuate it was one of her
majesty’s pages; that this man, as described by the cardinal, is very
dark, has large black eyebrows, thin and tall, with large black eyes, his
figure extremely slender. The cardinal observes also, that the alcove was
about half open.’
“‘Absurdities like these, gentlemen,’ rejoined I, ‘raise my indignation,
and I am convinced they will have a similar effect upon you.’ I then
pointed out the contradictions in the cardinal’s assertions, explaining
how, when he saw M. Villette at the confrontation, he immediately said
that he recollected his profile, and that he was the very same person
to whom I gave the Necklace; M. Villette being, in every respect,
diametrically the reverse of the cardinal’s description. I called the
particular attention of my judges to this circumstance, as it showed them
the kind of reliance they could place on the remainder of the cardinal’s
allegations. ‘Even if there did come a man, as the cardinal pretends,’
I went on to say, ‘does it wear a semblance of propriety, that if he
brought a letter or note written to me, the cardinal should act upon
that, even although the note should say the bearer was to be trusted
with the jewels in question? Now the cardinal ought not to have returned
me this note, which would then have become a receipt for him; both this
note and the other, which mentions the receipt of the jewel, saying, “it
is superb,” and which MM. St. James, Bassenge, and Böhmer, all depose to
having seen in the cardinal’s hands. I request him to bring these letters
before my judges, as well as two hundred others which he has read to me,
and told me that they all came from the queen; and ask that he should be
called upon to declare whether these letters were written by M. Villette.
I hope you will emphatically insist that the cardinal shall produce them
to the court, to be compared with that same _approuvé_ of the contract
with the jewellers, which Villette himself confesses to have written. If
my judges will take the trouble to examine these, I dare affirm that they
will find letters in three different hands, but not a single one in the
hand of M. Villette.’
“‘Messieurs St. James and Böhmer have deposed that they have read a
letter in the hands of the cardinal upon the terrace at Versailles,
containing this expression: “I am perfectly contented with the jewel; it
is superb,” &c. These persons have further deposed that the cardinal at
the same time informed them that this letter came from the queen; and
I, for my part, gentlemen, repeat what I have previously deposed,[320]
and do now positively affirm and most solemnly declare, that I have also
seen—that I have also myself read that letter.’
“The president then asked me if I really believed that letter came from
the queen as well as the two hundred other letters which the cardinal
showed me. I replied, that ‘the cardinal had given me his confidence and
trusted me with his secrets. During the whole time I was so intrusted, he
told me that he had seen the queen, and received letters from her;’ which
was all I could, consistent with delicacy and propriety, permit myself to
say.
“I had scarce uttered these words, when four abbés all rose up at once,
though at some distance from each other, and began their speeches
together. Nothing was to be heard but the hoarse jargon of contention.
At length the discord abated, and the three gave way to the first; but
as his question was of no consequence, I did not condescend to make
any reply. At this, many persons present significantly shrugged their
shoulders. The second and third were of a piece with the first; the
fourth, as having more pretension to wit, I thought it necessary to reply
to. This was the Abbé Sabattier, whose stentorian voice almost shook the
foundations of the hall. ‘The countess,’ said he, ‘pretends that she has
not interfered in any way concerning the sale of the Necklace. Why, then,
when she was asked, “Who those persons were she had at her table?” did
she reply that “They were persons with whom she had business?” I maintain
that this answer goes to prove that she has been concerned in the sale
of the Necklace; for if it were not to treat with them respecting it,
why should she have any business with them?’ I looked at this great and
penetrating genius with all that admiration which so shrewd a remark was
entitled to. ‘The question,’ said I, ‘that the Abbé Sabattier puts to me
is destitute of common sense; it is, therefore, unnecessary to reply to
it.’ All the voices then raised themselves with one accord, bawling to
the registrar, ‘Write down what madame says, that the Abbé Sabattier’s
question is unworthy an answer, and has in it neither reason nor common
sense!’
“The abbé, a good deal nettled, exclaimed, loudly, ‘Gentlemen, I have a
right to speak without being an object of derision, however much what
I may have said may amuse you.’ At this they all burst into a roar of
laughter. As soon as they had finished exercising their risibility,
‘Gentlemen,’ said I, ‘the questions of Messieurs the abbés do not in the
least surprise me. I am forewarned that these gentlemen, who are about
five in number, have had some hopes of recruiting their party by the
addition of a sixth, and that all will give their votes in favour of the
cardinal.’ The registrar was now ordered, with a great deal of solemnity,
to read to me the question of this aforesaid sagacious abbé, whom I
answered in the following manner:—
“‘Gentlemen, the jewellers have indeed charged me in their depositions,
but in their confrontations, where they were with me face to face, they
have discharged me, since in carrying them the cardinal’s note which
requested their address, Bassenge admits that I desired him to use
particular caution in dealing with the cardinal. I ask my judges if the
jewellers are under no obligation to me, however slight it may be? Am
I not the primary cause of the sale of the Necklace [no doubt of it,
and the jewellers must indeed have felt greatly obliged to the countess
for the share she had altogether in the business], since it was to the
cardinal I spoke of it, who purchased it, he says, for the queen? Laporte
himself positively deposed that I had told him above a hundred times
that I would have nothing to do with the sale of the Necklace, and even
that I absolutely rejected the offer of two hundred thousand livres in
diamonds. I would further observe to my judges, that if I had wished to
have appropriated the Necklace to my own use, I should certainly, in that
case, have accepted the jewellers’ offer, so as to conceal my intention
of stealing the Necklace.’
“M. de Bretignières, honorary counsellor, who sat near me, now asked
me a question. ‘Since then, madame,’ said he, ‘you have read and seen
such a great number of letters in the cardinal’s hands, you can tell
us what they contained, and if the cardinal answered them?’ I replied,
that the question was extremely indiscreet and dangerous, and that it
had better be put to the cardinal, who could be commanded to produce
these letters, in which case the counsellor could satisfy his curiosity
by reading them himself. My judges still insisting on clear categorical
answers respecting these letters, I was obliged to reply as to their
contents. ‘Yes, gentlemen,’ answered I, ‘one of them makes mention of
an appointment broken—of their pleasure at meeting; others “thee’d” and
“thou’d” the cardinal.’ ‘Does madame really believe that these letters
came from the queen—were written by the queen herself?’ ‘I do not know
whether I ought to declare my thoughts concerning the acts of a queen,
whom I am bound to honour and respect.’ ‘But did not madame think these
expressions very strong—too strong to induce her to believe that they
came from the sovereign?’ ‘That was the reason of my first expressing
astonishment to the cardinal.’ ‘What answer did he make?’
“I was at length obliged to answer fully the questions which were put,
feeling, after being so persecuted, that I could not retreat; but I
cannot now remember the immense number of questions I was asked, nor the
answers I gave. ‘Bravo! bravo!’ frequently exclaimed many of my judges.
‘Certainly, certainly,’ said they, clapping their hands, ‘’tis well
replied.’ ‘Let the lady alone,’ cried out numerous voices.”
The “Compte rendu” of the Necklace case fortunately enables us to
supply the deficiency in the countess’s memory with respect to the
foregoing incident. It seems that, in referring to a particular letter
which she first of all stated commenced with the words “Send _to_ the
little countess,” and which letter she asserted had been shown to her
by the cardinal as written by the queen, she continually misquoted the
opening phrase, converting it into “Send _by_ the little countess.” M.
Barillon, after pointing out this variation in her evidence, asked of
her the reason of it—a simple enough question, not requiring, one would
think, much consideration to answer. The countess, however, after much
hesitation, remarked with an air of mystery that she did not wish to
reply to it; because, by doing so, she would offend the queen. Whereupon,
several of the judges represented to her that the sacred persons of
their majesties could not suffer by any statement she might make, and
that she owed the whole truth to justice. Then, getting angry, she
exclaimed, that the letter really commenced with the words, “Send _thou_
the little countess,” and she added that the cardinal had shown her
upwards of two hundred letters in which the queen “thou’d” and “thee’d”
the grand almoner, and made assignations with him, several of which had
taken place.[321]
The countess tells us that she now made observations on the whole of
the accusation against her. “All the questions which had been addressed
to me,” she goes on to say, “together with my answers, were written
down and read over to me. The president then asked me if I had anything
more to add, to which I replied in the negative, only I particularly
entreated that my judges would condescend to examine thoroughly into this
business with an impartial eye, from whence I could not but entertain the
strongest hopes that their definitive judgment would be in my favour.”
“My enemies,” remarks Madame de la Motte, “have laboured to convey the
impression that before my judges I was bold and loquacious. They accused
me, too, of pride. They were also kind enough to put words into my mouth
which I never made use of, making me say, with respect to the cardinal,
‘I am going to confound this great knave.’”[322]