afterwards he meets the French ambassador at Lady Spencer’s and proceeds
to draw him out. From what the ambassador lets fall, the count comes to
the conclusion that the government now wish to get him out of the way
simply to ensure his silence. “Your presence and deposition,” remarks
the ambassador, “would entirely overthrow all that has hitherto been
done, and the business would take quite a different turn.” He tells the
count that, according to the advice of the Duke of Rutland, they could
have seized him when he was at Dublin. They thought, however, they had
sufficient evidence to convict the cardinal without his testimony. Next
day the ambassador observes to him: “It was feared that you would have
espoused the cardinal’s cause in preference to that of the queen. You
know your position: the De Rohans accuse you of having run away with
the remainder of the Necklace.” He then suggests that the count, by
surrendering himself can do himself no harm, and might do the queen some
service, and undertakes to procure him a passport in eight or ten days
at the farthest. De la Motte of course wants money, or, at any rate,
hints that he does, and D’Adhémar promises him five or six thousand
livres. It is then arranged between them what the count is to say in his
defence. He is on no account to state that the countess had access to
the queen; neither is he to mention anything about the letters said to
have been sent by the queen to the cardinal. De la Motte, playing with
the ambassador like a cat does with a mouse, does not see how he can
acquit the queen; whereupon the ambassador glides off to the cardinal,
tells the count to repeat all the indecent speeches he has heard him make
respecting her majesty, who will not be displeased at his so doing. He
next advises him to say nothing about De Polignac, Coigny, Vandreuil,
Dillon, or Fersen—all belonging to the queen’s society. “As to the
Necklace,” continues D’Adhémar, “I would advise you to say that you are
persuaded the cardinal gave it, partly or wholly, to your wife. The
countess will never allow that to be the case, but I am certain it really
was so. Finally, you must not say a single word respecting the Baron de
Breteuil.” The count suggests giving up the countess’s necklace which
Gray had set, and which by this time must certainly have been in pawn, if
not sold outright. This, D’Adhémar says, would certainly please the king.
Then advising the count to change his name, and to avoid the tattling
of the _Courrier de l’Europe_, the ambassador brings the interview to a
close.
Other interviews follow; the count no doubt bleeding the ambassador from
time to time pretty freely. Although he talked enough about surrendering
himself, it is tolerably certain he had no intention of running that
risk. Vergennes, moreover, believing that the count’s presence might
damage the cardinal’s cause, received the proposition with coldness, and
did not send the required passport. D’Adhémar on one occasion showed
Count de la Motte the draft of a letter which he had sent to the king
through the Count de Vergennes, wherein he informed his majesty that
the count desired to surrender himself and justify the proceedings of
his wife. “I have, however, been tricked and betrayed by Vergennes,” he
remarked, “who kept back the letter until it was too late, for judgment
has now been pronounced.” D’Adhémar tells the count that his presence in
Paris is now more necessary than ever. “The procureur-général is going
to prefer a fresh complaint against the cardinal for ‘criminal attempts’
upon the queen, for the language he has used, the letters he has
exhibited, the pretended meetings by night, &c., and the Parliament will
be by statute obliged to try the Necklace affair over again in connection
with the new charge.” On leaving the ambassador the count hastened to a
neighbouring coffee-house, where he sees a copy of the judgment to which
M. d’Adhémar had just referred, in the _Morning Post_ newspaper, and at
once writes a savage letter to M. de Vergennes, copies of which he sends
to the English and French press.
A few days afterwards, the ambassador’s secretary tells the count that
the queen has determined to abandon the new prosecution, on account of
the scandal it would create, but will contrive to deprive the cardinal of
his blue ribbon and places at court, and banish him to herd with monks in
the savage parts of Auvergne. At this news, which indicates a stoppage of
further supplies, Count de la Motte is inconsolable, and feels, moreover,
that he has been duped. To let him down as gently as possible, the court
protection is promised him. For the future, however, the ambassador is
“not at home” to the count’s morning calls; neither does he take any
notice whatever of the count’s numerous letters.[377]
The count, now grown indignant, threatens all manner of exposures, and
with his letters to the newspapers becomes a complete nuisance to the
representatives of the French government in England; the ambassador,
however, escapes further persecution, for just at this moment he is
summoned to Paris by his government, who, after a time, relieve him of
his diplomatic functions, and appoint the Marquis de la Luzerne, brother
of the old Bishop of Langres, in his stead.
XXXVI.
1786. JUNE–DEC.
THE SALPÊTRIÈRE.—TRUCKLE-BED AND PRISON FARE.—THE COUNT THREATENS THE
FRENCH COURT.
“As soon as Madame de la Motte arrived at the Salpêtrière,” remarks
Madame Robin, the then superior general of the hospital, “she was taken
to the registry where all our prisoners are enrolled before they are
sent to their several prisons: she remained near three-quarters of an
hour apparently without any knowledge of what passed—totally insensible.
A little after she came to herself, I begged her to search her pockets
and let me take her earrings. She presented to me her right ear; she
could not speak, and she was so disfigured that her shape scarce appeared
to be human, yet she seemed patient as a lamb going to the fold. The
_huissiers_ then crammed her into the same hackney-coach, and conveyed
her to the hall of the Salpêtrière. Before she entered the prison itself,
she was taken extremely ill, and we thought she would never recover.
“We seized the first moment when she appeared to be recovering, and
caused her to be placed by some of the sisters in a bed one of the
prisoners had given her, which was fortunate for Madame de la Motte,
otherwise she would have been under the necessity of lying in a bed full
of vermin with six of the poor old women.”
“The next day,” says Madame de la Motte, “a number of girls, habited
in the dress of daughters of charity, came to visit me in crowds;
they appeared and disappeared like lightning. The officiating sister,
Geneviève, whom I shall never forget, conducted me to a small court to
take the air, and left me to return to her business. I was scarcely
seated when I saw a very great number of poor women coming out of a gate
into this same court, making a most dreadful clattering with their wooden
shoes. As soon as they saw me they exclaimed, ‘Oh! there she is; there
is the lady in the court.’ These poor creatures, whose appearance spoke
a variety of wretchedness, approached and invited me to see the place
destined for my reception. Some of these women took me by the arm and
led me to what they called the dormitory, the place where they slept and
where they worked. I had no sooner entered the door of this infernal
mansion, than I recoiled with terror, but there were many women behind,
who prevented me from running back, otherwise I should have fallen, so
great was my horror at sight of this hall, containing one hundred and
twenty-seven women, whose wretchedness may more easily be imagined than
described. I shrunk back at the sight of this hideous spectacle, while
big tears rolled down my cheeks, and with a voice stifled by the effect
of grief, I said, like a child insensible to what passed around me, ‘Poor
Valois! oh, poor Valois!’
“It will be extremely difficult for me to paint the horrors of this
dreadful mansion; every effort is inadequate to give with sufficient
strength of colouring the interior description of this house of misery
and its wretched inhabitants. One would have imagined from their conduct
and behaviour that these women had been reared in the forests, for they
were almost as wild and savage as tigers, having always in their hands
either stones, bottles, or chairs, ready to throw at the head of any
one that displeased them. Every day teemed with new squabbles; they
frequently fought together, and would sometimes beat one another almost
to death. This prison was moreover a seminary of vice and depravity
even too shocking to mention, and, instead of a house for the salutary
correction of their souls, may more justly be denominated the place of
their destruction.
“I will attempt to give a description of this abode of horrors. The entry
is by a small court about twenty feet broad and forty-four in length.
Opposite the entrance doors are seven dark cabins under a gallery built
upon pilasters. These cabins, or rather dungeons, are in general between
five and six feet long and four and a half broad; in each there is a
straw bed, a mattress, without any furniture, not so much as a chair.
Those women who come thither, and have money, may purchase these cabins
of the old prisoners. In each of these cabins is a window about a foot
and a half square, with no glass, but very thick wooden shutters,
fastened with massive iron bolts. Below these shutters is another small
opening to let the air into these cabins. At the bottom of this court, to
the right, are four stone steps, after which is a little passage which
divides the great dormitory from the little court. On the right is a
small court leading to the great one, to serve as a walk for one hundred
and twenty-seven females, eighty feet long and near sixty wide: the
walls about sixty-two feet high. Opposite the entrance gate of the court
leading to the dormitory is a chamber for one sister, to which there is
an ascent of five steps.
“Facing the little court is the gate of the dormitory, which is very
low. This dormitory is sixty feet long and thirteen broad: the ceiling
fortified with large strong joists; the wall strengthened in the same
manner. In this dormitory are six beds about five feet in length,
composed also of a truss of straw, a mattress, and two coarse cloth
coverings. Round the beds are benches and some chairs. The right side
of the window is filled with women at work, who have purchased these
places, as I also paid for mine, for I had been obliged to sit down on
the ground in the court, all the places, forty in number, being occupied.
The walls are entirely surrounded with thick shelves, on which the women
put their victuals. Beneath this dormitory is another, the half of which
is below ground, where there are three or four beds in a better air than
the others. Upon the right is a corridor, three feet broad and about
seventy-five feet long, in which there are thirteen cabins much the same
as those of which I have before spoken, with low unglazed windows and
iron bars, so that the miserable inhabitants have no defence from the
inclemency of the seasons, but the rain, wind, hail, and snow beat in
upon the cabins. By mounting upon the window sills, you may see even to
the fourth court, which is called the Court Sainte-Claire, where there
are always a great number of people. Facing the dormitory is a small
staircase conducting to a particular little court which leads into a
square opposite to the chapel of this same prison. On the right is the
cell of the superior sister, Martha. Going out on the right you come
to a court leading to the kitchen, where are three doors to enter the
Salpêtrière, on both sides of which there are turnkeys. As you come out
from the Salpêtrière there are seven courts, and in every court there
are a great number of turnkeys. On the left, opposite the entrance
passage by the Court Sainte-Claire, are two porticos, leading to the
three gates of the Salpêtrière. There are in all nine courts, which you
have to pass before you can leave the hospital.
“The inhabitants of this den have an old petticoat for clothing, and a
gown of course grey cloth, stockings of the same kind, a coarse shift,
a pair of wooden shoes, and a cap. Every woman is allowed thrice a week
three ounces of boiled beef, on the other days about two pennyworth of
cheese, with fat broth, and five pounds of bread each day. Such is the
regulation allowance for the sustenance of these wretches. Women, who
before have scarce ever had a needle in their hands, are here taught to
work in a short time. Some are taught to stitch wrist-bands, others to
make shirts and all kinds of plain work; their labours are, however, of
no advantage to them.”[378]
Whilst the countess is doing dreary penance in the Salpêtrière, and
her husband is haunting the London “hells,” waiting the return of the
French ambassador from Paris, to know whether it was intended to do
_him_ what he styles “justice,” a paragraph, no doubt instigated by the
count himself, appears in some of the London newspapers, reproaching him
for his timidity in not publishing a certain justificatory memoir which
had been talked about for some time past. Indeed, so notorious had the
matter become, that the Duke of Dorset writes to Mr. Eden (afterwards
Lord Auckland), special envoy at the French court, under date December 7,
1786—a week before the appearance of the paragraph in question—informing
him that the Count de la Motte was about to publish a memoir in England
respecting the Necklace affair, which, as it would be certain to contain
nothing but falsehoods and calumny, he advises the French government to
get answered immediately on its appearance by some clever fellow, and
suggests the editor of the _Courrier de l’Europe_, who is understood to
be in their pay, as a likely sort of person for the task.[379]
The count, who is getting rather fond of using his pen, finding it a
convenient weapon wherewith to insinuate his threats, addresses a long
letter to the papers in reply to the aforesaid paragraph, and stating in
explicit terms what he intends to do if this “justice,” for which he is
so anxious, is not speedily done him. It did not, perhaps, occur to the
count that the only justice he was entitled to demand was that already
meted out to him by the highest legal tribunal in his country, namely,
the Court of Parliament, which had sentenced him to the scourge, the
branding-iron, and the galleys. This letter of the count’s we subjoin:
“To the Printer of the _Morning Chronicle_.
“Sir,
“In consequence of a letter inserted in your print of the 13th
instant, I think myself called upon to interrupt a silence
which I meant to keep till the return of Comte d’Adhémar; but
such a conduct, in the actual state of affairs, would only
serve to give weight and add importance to the groundless
reproaches of timidity and indifference laid to my charge.
It is incumbent on me, in this answer to your correspondent,
first to account for the motives that have hitherto engaged me
to silence, and then to give a slight idea of the memorial I
propose to lay before the public for my justification.
“I arrived in London on the 18th of last May, and have never
since moved from this capital. At that period—previous, as it
appears from the above date, to the conclusion of the famous
process—I had frequent interviews with the French ambassador.
My memorial will contain a circumstantial detail of what passed
between us at each appointment. From the line of conduct which
his excellency struck out for me, as well with respect to M. de
Vergennes as to my comportment before the Parliament of Paris,
and from the secret motives imparted to me of the various
attempts of taking me forcibly away, it will self-evidently
appear that the ambassador looked upon my departure not only as
certain, but that my presence, earnestly desired, and zealously
solicited by the most illustrious personages (whose names I
shall mention), would undoubtedly delay the sentence, and make
the whole affair wear a different aspect. What was the result?
The very personages alluded to, like Comte d’Adhémar, were
imposed upon by a minister who, in appearance, and for form
sake, feigned to second their endeavours, but who in reality
overturned the structure, and brought it to the ground by his
wily manœuvres and contributed alone to extricate the cardinal
from the disagreeable situation in which he was implicated. May
a complete disgrace reward the former for his officiousness!
This is my ardent wish, and his enemies will not fail to
accelerate it by their reiterated solicitations. But I resume
the thread of my subject.
“Notwithstanding all the instructions he had received, the
ambassador could not, no more than myself, foresee a sentence
such as has been awarded. He was the first to acquaint me with
it, and at the same time hinted at plans which could not but
turn greatly to my advantage, since they tended to give me an
opportunity (which was the first wish of my heart, and for
the obtaining of which I exerted every nerve) of appearing
before the Parliament, and entering upon my justification. His
excellency further assured me, that I should meet with powerful
friends, whose patronage would counterpoise all the credit and
combined efforts of the house of Rohan.
“As those projects were never called into execution, and as the
supreme power, apprehensive of a minute explanation, pronounced
the cardinal’s fate, I thought it expedient, considering the
promises made to me, to wait the ambassador’s arrival, no
ways doubting but that, in consequence of his account of my
conduct throughout the whole business, some regard would be
paid to it, and justice done me. But if the answer I expect
from his excellency be not satisfactory—if my just demand be
not acceded to, then I shall look upon myself as free to act,
and demonstrate by a detail, equally true and well supported,
by letters which I fortunately have in my possession, and
which will corroborate my assertion, why Mademoiselle d’Oliva
was chosen by me to play a part for half an hour, not on the
terrace, as was purposely given out, but in the interior of the
garden of Versailles. The world shall be informed of the grand
object of this rehearsal, as well as the catastrophe projected
for the first night’s representation, which, by-the-by, did not
take place, on account of the principal performer having been
warned, not indeed of all the snares laid to entrap him, but
secretly put on his guard, not to expose himself imprudently
in places where he was liable to be surprised by his enemies,
who would snatch at every opportunity to effect his ruin.
It will appear that, in consequence of this caution, it was
thought desirable to alter the plan, that it gave rise to the
purchasing of the Necklace (for which I shall account in the
clearest manner _by making special mention of its real owner_,
who made my wife a present of some of the most brilliant
diamonds, which I sold in London as my property), and kept by
much the more considerable part, which may be worn in different
manners, without ever being known by the jewellers: and why?
By the concatenation of those circumstances, which happened
pending the process, my wife and I were abandoned and inhumanly
sacrificed. These illustrations will convince the public that
certain caricature print-makers whom I know, and consequently
despise, aimed at deceiving the judgment, and prepossessing
them against me, by putting in my hand a Necklace, of which I
had a very small share.
“That the readers may have nothing to wish for, and in order
to point out to them the causes of so tardy a revenge (which
was hatching without success, ever since the death of Louis
XV.), I begin my account at the era of the cardinal’s embassy
at Vienna, and trace every event that has taken place till the
final decision of the famous affair.
“I am not to be told that my memorial, if published, will, by
the secret and curious anecdotes it contains, raise against me
a host of powerful foes, who will not fail to seek for, and
meet with, sufficient opportunity to wreak their vengeance on
me. But what of that? My intentions shall be fulfilled; and,
whatever be my fate, I shall have the comfort of having left
behind me an authentic justification, and of having unveiled
the whole of the intrigue. And who knows but I may be fortunate
enough to hear one day or other, for the good of my country,
that my memorial has opened the eyes of him who has been kept
so long in the dark! But for that I shall be told the memorial
must not reach him, and all the avenues will be strongly beset.
I am aware of it. But on the other hand, I shall observe that
there exists a powerful party, whose interests it is to forward
it, who have been long employed in working a mine, which only
waits a favourable opportunity for explosion. To hasten this,
if my memorial has, as it were, the effects of a match, I
shall look upon all the misfortunes I have encountered as the
path leading directly to that event, and shall think myself
sufficiently rewarded for the injuries and persecutions I have
experienced.
“After this declaration, sir, I trust I shall be no longer
reproached with a timidity unknown to me; and that, considering
the infamous manner in which I have been treated, no one will
blame my just resentment.
“I am, very sincerely, Sir,
“Your very humble servant,
“COUNT DE LA MOTTE.
“No. 10, Charlotte Street, Rathbone Place.”[380]
That this letter may not fail in its effect, it is again published in
the same newspaper, two days afterwards, _in the original French_. One
can well conceive that the mail-bags that day carried a goodly number
of copies of the journal in question to the French capital, and there
can hardly be a doubt but that the count’s letter, coupled with the note
which the Duke of Dorset had addressed to the English ambassador at
the court of Versailles, and which had been communicated to the French
government, created considerable consternation among the party of the
queen.
XXXVII.
DEC., 1786–JUNE, 1787.
MYSTERIOUS HINTS GIVEN TO THE COUNTESS TO EFFECT HER ESCAPE.—SHE RESOLVES
ON ATTEMPTING IT.
It must have been about this time that hints were given to Madame de la
Motte with reference to attempting to escape from her confinement. Her
own version of the manner in which these hints were given is like most of
her statements about herself, strongly tinged with the romantic; still
it is tolerably certain that hints of some kind or another were given to
her. She fixes the date when these overtures commenced not later than
the beginning of December, 1786; but considering that she deferred her
attempt to escape until July of the following year, we should be inclined
to fix it at some later period, and certainly subsequent to the time when
the French court were made acquainted with the letters just referred to.
However, we will let her tell the story in her own words:
“It was about the latter end of November or the commencement of December,
1786, that one of the soldiers, doing duty as sentinel in the court of
the Salpêtrière, to see that the women made no holes in the dormitory
to escape by the aqueducts, passed the end of his musket through a
broken part of the wall and attempted to touch Angelica, who waited upon
me as a servant, and who was sentenced to be confined for life in the
Salpêtrière. ‘What do you want with me?’ asked Angelica. ‘Is not your
name Angelica?’ said he, softly; ‘are you not the person who waits upon
Madame de la Motte?’ ‘Yes,’ replied she. ‘Very well,’ said he; ‘I heard
many lords and ladies yesterday, in the Palais Royal, mention your name
as being the person who is so attentive to her. Tell me if you want
anything. I always carry about me an ink-stand, paper, &c., which I will
furnish you with, as I know you have not permission to write. Prepare
your letters, if you wish to write to anybody, and I will take charge of
them.’
“Angelica thanked him for his kindness, but frankly confessed she could
neither read nor write.
“‘No matter,’ replied he, ‘there is your mistress, Madame de la Motte; I
would advise you to get her to write for you to the different ladies who
come here, and beg her to recommend you to their goodness.’
“Two days after this, about three in the morning, the same soldier again
touched Angelica with his musket, and gave her a packet of gilt paper,
a large bundle of quills, a bottle of ink, and a letter for herself.
‘Madame de la Motte will read it to you,’ said he. Next day Angelica
brought me the letter, at every line of which I was struck with such
astonishment that I could scarce believe my eyes. This mysterious letter
was as follows:
“Assure yourself, Mademoiselle Angelica, that I shall be extremely
happy if I can be instrumental in procuring your liberty. Command me,
and believe that I shall seize every opportunity of being useful to you
[and, immediately preceding the last line,] ‘UNFORTUNATE, put this letter
before the light—’TIS UNDERSTOOD—be sure to be discreet.’
“After having read to Angelica so much of this letter as concerned her, I
made use of some pretext to send her to the dormitory, and the moment I
was alone put the letter to the light, when writing began to appear as if
by the power of magic. At length all was visible, and the following words
astonished my eyes: