Chapter XIV: Appendix: Detailed Description of the Diamond Necklace 387 (11)

Every time she was called upon to explain some circumstance with 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]

Whether these accusations are true or false, we have no means of judging. It is quite certain, however, that the countess considered she had acquitted herself in rather a smart manner before her judges; and when they laughed at and cheered her sallies against the abbés, she no doubt thought she had succeeded in hoodwinking not a few of them, quite forgetting that though mankind may be ready enough to be amused, it is not invariably at the expense of its reason and its judgment.

“After I had made my obeisances to the assembly,” continues the countess, “I withdrew, and was conducted by the keeper of the Conciergerie and a great many gentlemen whom I did not know, to his wife’s apartment. All paid me their compliments, all expressed their approbation, observing that I defended myself well, and that even an experienced advocate could not have pleaded my cause better.”[323]

As soon as the countess had retired, the first president gave orders for the _sellette_ to be removed, and sent to inform the cardinal that, this having been done, he could present himself before the court.[324] The Prince de Rohan entered, attired in a long purple robe, the mourning colour of cardinals, and with scarlet stockings and cap, and wearing his orders round his neck, saltier-wise. “He had,” says his admiring grand-vicar, in his most grandiloquent style, “the noble presence of a man profoundly affected, but calm, in the midst of his troubles; his countenance expressed alike respect, modesty, and dignity, which disposed his judges favourably towards him. He held himself erect at the bar, his pallid complexion indicating the ravages of a recent illness which had nearly proved fatal to him. The first president, at the request of several of the councillors, invited him to be seated during the long examination which he was about to undergo. The prince marked his sensibility of the proffered favour by a profound bow, and only availed himself of it at the third invitation. Questioned successively by certain of his judges, who hoped to obtain satisfactory information on points not perfectly plain, he astonished them by the clearness, the precision, and the force of his answers. He perceived the great interest which his humiliating situation inspired, and profited by it frankly to develop the various false steps which his good faith and credulity had caused him to take. ‘I was completely blinded,’ exclaimed he, ‘by the intense desire which I felt to regain the good graces of the queen.’ This touching scene excited a profound sensation in the breasts of the members of this august tribunal which was about to decide the fate of one of the highest personages in the kingdom.”[325]

When the examination of the cardinal was concluded, Cagliostro was summoned before the court. He presented himself before his judges dressed in a green velvet coat, embroidered over with gold lace; his hair, plaited from the top of his head, fell in small curls over his shoulders, which gave him a singular appearance, not altogether inconsistent with the character of the charlatan he was commonly believed to be. “Who are you?—whence do you come?” was asked of him. “I am a noble traveller,” he replied. At these words the countenances of the judges brightened up, and observing that they seemed well disposed towards him, Cagliostro entered boldly upon his defence, intermingling his bad French with Greek, Arabic, Latin, and Italian. His expression, his gestures, and his vivacity were as amusing as the subject-matter of his discourse, and he quitted the hall perfectly satisfied with having made his judges smile.[326]

The Demoiselle d’Oliva was examined the last. As she had already confessed all she knew, and had nothing to add to her previous testimony, the interrogatories addressed to her were not many, and she was soon permitted to retire.

XXXIII.

1786. MAY 31.

DEBATE IN THE COURT OF PARLIAMENT.—THE SENTENCES.

From half-past four in the morning of the 31st of May all the members of the cardinal’s family, women as well as men, were assembled at the door of the parliament chamber, in order to be in the way of the judges as they passed into the hall. “They employed,” we are told, “no other means of solicitation beyond preserving a mournful silence, in which might be discerned alike their grief, their firmness, and their respect for the throne and for the laws. This mode of solicitation, so noble, so worthy of the illustrious houses of Rohan, Soubise, Guéménée, and Lorraine, and at the same time so perfectly conformable to the nature of the affair in which the cardinal was implicated, made a more profound impression upon his judges than all the eloquence which was exercised in his behalf.”[327]

If the members of the cardinal’s family did not, on this occasion, publicly appeal to his judges in his favour, it is certain that during the course of the proceedings every effort had been made by the grand almoner’s relatives and friends to increase the number of his adherents among the councillors who had to judge the case. Mesdames de Marsan and de Brionne, and the Prince de Soubise, visited all the members of the Grand Chamber in turn, and solicited them in the cardinal’s behalf;[328] besides which, on the very morning of the trial, Madame de Brionne, dissatisfied with the attitude of the first president, did not scruple to reproach him in his own house with his partiality and bad faith, and to plainly tell him that it was well known he had sold himself to the Court.[329] We know that the prime minister, the Count de Vergennes, was a secret partisan of the grand almoner’s, and we know also, that M. de Laurencel, the procureur-général’s deputy, drew up a list of names of members of the Great Chamber, wherein he set forth against each the means that had been employed to gain that particular councillor’s vote. This list was found in after years among the papers which Marie-Antoinette intrusted to M. Campan during the Revolution, and which his daughter-in-law, Madame Campan, afterwards had under her charge. From this document it would seem that ladies of the highest position did not scruple to accept large bribes to exercise their powers of seduction in the cardinal’s behalf, and it was by these means, we are told, that some of the most venerable and most respectable among the judges had been corrupted.[330]

Between five and six o’clock the Parliament, Grand Chamber, and Tournelle, had assembled. The number of members present amounted to sixty-two, which subsequently became reduced to forty-nine, when the loquacious clerical councillors had retired, as they were obliged to do, on its being found that the judgment involved afflictive punishments.[331]

The proceedings were opened by the procureur-général, M. Joly de Fleury, who, when contrôleur-général in former years, had experienced his share of persecution at the hands of Madame de la Motte, with whom he had now the opportunity of clearing off a few old scores. In a most able speech he submitted to the Parliament the following extremely fair proposition: First, that the Parliament should adjudge the “_approuvés_” and the pretended signature of the queen to be forgeries; secondly, that Count de la Motte should be sentenced to the galleys for life, by reason of his contumacy; thirdly, that Villette should undergo a similar sentence, and further, that he should be whipped and branded, and his effects be confiscated; fourthly, that Madame de la Motte should be confined for life in the prison of the Salpêtrière, after being whipped and branded, her effects to be likewise confiscated; fifthly, that the Cardinal de Rohan should ask pardon of the king and queen for having been wanting in respect towards their sacred persons; that he should be banished the precincts of the Court, and that, during a period to be fixed by the Parliament, he should be suspended from his office of grand almoner; that he should be sentenced to such alms-giving as the Parliament might direct; and, finally, that he should be kept in confinement until he had obeyed and satisfied the judgment now given. Sixthly, that D’Oliva be put out of court. Seventhly, that Cagliostro be acquitted.[332]

The party opposed to the queen at once rejected these proposals. No sooner had M. Joly de Fleury done speaking, than M. de Barillon, a partisan of the cardinal’s, started up and exclaimed that the conclusions to which they had just listened were not those of a procureur-général, but rather those of a minister whom it was not difficult to recognize; alluding, of course, to the Baron de Breteuil. The advocate-general, M. Séguier, to the surprise of the excited councillors, joined in this attack upon his colleague, whom he personally denounced.[333] Hereupon quite a scene ensued and accusations were bandied backwards and forwards between the legal officers of the crown. M. de Fleury reproached M. Séguier with his loose and disorderly life, with his nightly rambles in the Palais Royal, and the money that these cost him. “It may be so,” replied the other, “out of my house I do what I please, but no one has known me to sell my opinion basely to fortune.” The procureur-général made no reply to this insinuation but remained stupefied as it were with his mouth open.[334]

The incident having terminated, M. de Mineres passed in review all the various impostures of Madame de la Motte, maintained that the cardinal was not her only victim, that the jewellers had been equally deceived, for they loaded her with thanks for the exertions she had made in their behalf, and offered her presents, whereas, neither thanks nor presents were offered to the cardinal, whom the jewellers regarded simply as an instrument chosen by the countess to conduct the negotiation: other speakers instanced the letter of thanks which the cardinal had repeatedly advised the jewellers to send to the queen, as a convincing proof of his good faith. M. de Jonville, third master of requests, attributed the evidence which appeared to tell most against the cardinal entirely to the bad memory of Böhmer, of which he gave several proofs.[335]

The speeches of Councillors D’Epréménil and Fretteau, and the Abbé Sabattier, produced however the greatest effect. This celebrated trio showed the utmost boldness in attacking the court and braving its anger, and spoke vehemently in favour of the cardinal’s complete acquittal.[336] Singularly enough, it was these very same three men who, a year or two afterwards, stirred up the Parliament to refuse to register the royal edicts, and were among the first to demand the convocation of the States-general, for which acts of temerity the two last were packed off by _lettres-de-cachet_—the one to the Castle of Ham, the other to dreary Mont St.-Michel, and D’Epréménil, a few months later to the Isle of Sainte-Marguerite (Calypso’s enchanted island,) whence he returned—the Revolution having made rapid strides meanwhile—“a red-hot royalist,” to finish his career under the axe of the guillotine. M. Robert de St.-Vincent was another of those who spoke in favour of the Prince de Rohan, who, he maintained, had been deceived by the most plausible lies. He denied the legality of the procureur-général’s conclusions, and the power of the Parliament to incorporate them in its judgment, and asked for the cardinal’s acquittal. He condemned, too, the publicity given to the proceedings, and expressed his regret that the king and queen had not been advised by some wiser minister, who would have been more regardful of the dignity of the crown. The president, D’Ormesson—the same who sent the countess a few louis “by the hands of the police”—offered an amendment to the procureur-général’s proposition, to the effect that the cardinal should retain his offices and dignities, but that he should be required to ask pardon of the queen for the offence he had committed. There was no difference of opinion among the judges as to the measure of punishment to be meted out to Madame de la Motte, excepting that MM. Robert de Saint-Vincent and Dyonis du Séjour pressed the passing of sentence of death upon her. As her crime, however, had been unforeseen by the laws, this penalty could not be legally inflicted.[337]

The discussion, which was very animated, continued throughout the day. At two o’clock in the afternoon the sitting was suspended, in order that the judges might dine at a table which the first president had had set out for them in the hall of St.-Louis; the greater number, we are told, ate standing, and by half-past three the sitting was resumed. Between nine and ten o’clock at night, after the final voting had taken place, the following judgment was delivered.[338]

“The Court, the Great Chamber assembled, in the exercise of its jurisdiction and on the conclusions of the procureur-général of the king, declares that the words ‘_approuvé_’ and the signature, ‘_Marie-Antoinette de France_,’ have been fraudulently appended to the margin of the document, entitled, ‘Propositions and Conditions of Price and Payment’ for the Necklace brought in question at this trial, and which are falsely attributed to the queen; orders that the said words ‘_approuvé_,’ and the said signature, ‘_Marie-Antoinette de France_,’ shall be struck out and erased from the said document, and that mention shall be made of the present decree on the same, which will be and shall remain deposited in the criminal registry of the Court,[339] of all of which affirmation shall be made by the court registrar.

“Adjudging the consequences of the contumacy declared good and valid by the decree of the Court of the 10th of April, 1786, against Marc-Antoine-Nicolas de la Motte accused, absent—

“For the facts proved by the proceedings condemns the said Marc-Antoine-Nicolas de la Motte to be flogged and beaten naked with rods, and branded with a hot iron on the right shoulder with the letters ‘G. A. L.’ by the public executioner; this done to be led and conducted to the galleys of the king, there to be detained to serve our said king as convict for life.[340]

“Declares all the goods of the said Marc-Antoine-Nicolas de la Motte acquired and confiscated to the king, or whomsoever he may appoint, a fine of two hundred livres to the king being previously levied thereon: which sentence, by reason of the contumacy of the said De la Motte, shall be written upon a tablet, which shall be affixed to a post planted for this purpose in the Place de Grève (place of execution).

“Banishes Louis-Marc-Antoine Rétaux de Villette from the kingdom for life.

“Condemns Jeanne de Valois de Saint-Remi de Luz, wife of Marc-Antoine-Nicolas de la Motte, while having a halter round her neck, to be flogged and beaten naked with rods, and branded with a hot iron upon both shoulders with the letter ‘V,’ by the public executioner; this done, to be led and conducted to the prison of the Salpêtrière, there to be detained and confined for life.[341]

“Declares likewise all the goods of the said De la Motte, and the said Rétaux de Villette, acquired and confiscated to the king, or to whomsoever he may appoint; a fine of two hundred livres to the king being previously levied upon each.

“Upon the complaint and accusation brought at the request of the procureur-général of the king against Marie-Nicole Le Guay, alias d’Oliva or Dessigny, puts the parties out of court and discharges the process.

“Discharges Alexandre de Cagliostro and Louis-René-Édouard de Rohan from the complaint and accusation brought against them at the request of the procureur-général of the king.

“Orders, that the memorials printed for Jeanne de Saint-Remi de Valois de la Motte shall be and shall continue to be suppressed, as containing false statements, injurious and calumnious alike against the said Cardinal de Rohan and the said De Cagliostro.

“Upon the remainder of the request of the said De Cagliostro, alike against Commissary Chénon and De Launay, governor of the Bastille, puts it out of court, without prejudice to his appeal when and how he may be advised; upon the rest of the demands, requests, and conclusions of the parties puts these out of court.

“Gives permission to the Cardinal de Rohan and the said De Cagliostro to cause the present judgment to be printed and posted up wheresoever it may seem good to them.”[342]

Contemporary accounts agree in stating that something like ten thousand people were assembled in the courts and passages of the palace and in the neighbourhood of their approaches, all anxious to learn the judgment of the Parliament.[343] Crowds streamed across the Pont Neuf, the Pont Saint-Michel, the Pont-au-Change, and the Ponts Notre-Dame, coming from all parts of Paris. There were courtiers, men of letters, financiers, abbés, avocats, avoués, shopkeepers and their wives, students, working men, soldiers, police agents, men and women from the _halles_, and idlers of every description. “About nine o’clock at night,” says Madame de la Motte, “I heard a report like that of acclamation in the courtyard. I ran to look out of one of the windows which commanded a view of the court, and saw crowds of people running very fast by the great staircase. I could not distinctly understand what they said, except that one of them, who was very near the window, cried out, ‘Bravo! bravo! Upon my word, it is very fortunate for the cardinal; but what will become of poor Madame de la Motte?’ The moment these words vibrated in my ear, they were like an electric shock. Unable to sustain myself, my legs bent under me: I tottered and sank into a chair. When I was a little recovered, the keeper of the Conciergerie, assisted by his son, conducted me to my apartment, where having left me for a few minutes, with a view of gaining authentic information of the definitive sentence of the court, they soon after returned. ‘The cardinal,’ said they, ‘is put out of court, and delivered from further process; Cagliostro and D’Oliva are the same; Villette, madame, is banished, as well as you.’ ‘For how long?’ ‘I believe, for three years; but everybody blames the judges. We think there will be some alteration.’”[344]

It is likely enough that, out of consideration for the countess and her well-known violent temper, the foregoing innocent piece of deception was practised upon her by the keeper of the Conciergerie, who soon afterwards prevailed upon her to retire to rest. Meanwhile the judges were leaving the palace, pressed upon by an immense crowd of people, who made the walls of the old building ring again with their acclamations. A thousand voices shouted out, “_Vive le Parlement!_” “_Vive le Cardinal!_” The market women, throwing themselves in the way of the departing councillors, vociferated their applause, and offered them bouquets of flowers. M. Titon, one of the reporters of the case, who, with his fellow-reporter, Dupuis de Marcé, had adopted the conclusions of the procureur-général, threw the flowers back again with marked ill-humour, to let the people see that he merited no share of this popular ovation. Something, however, more substantial than flowers were in store for M. Titon, for the king conferred on him the post of civil lieutenant in reward for his zeal.[345]

When MM. Target and De Bonnières, the advocates who had advised the cardinal to take his trial before the Parliament, sought to enter the record office to communicate the judgment to their client, curt old De Launay, governor of the Bastille, who had the Prince de Rohan in his charge, informed them that he had received specific orders from the Baron de Breteuil not to allow any one to speak to his prisoner. On its being represented to him that the cardinal was no longer in legal custody, since he had been formally discharged of the accusation against him by the judgment of the Parliament just rendered, and on the bystanders expressing their disapprobation by loud murmurs, he eventually permitted the two advocates to enter. “The cardinal, robed in the Roman purple,” says Cagliostro, “was carried off in triumph;”[346] and so he was, but to the Bastille. As soon as the interview between the grand almoner and his counsel had terminated, De Launay informed him that, the Parliament having separated, he would have to return to that gloomy state prison. Hearing this, the cardinal proceeded to follow his gaoler to the carriage, while the people rushed forward, and kissed both his hands and his garments. To impose upon the crowd De Launay gave orders for the vehicle to be driven “to the hôtel,”[347] and the people, imagining the Palais-Cardinal to be intended, ran beside the carriage, shouting their congratulations, and only quitted it when it disappeared within the walls of the grim old fortress, every stone of which was destined in little more than three short years to be razed to the ground.

XXXIV.

1786. JUNE.

THE SENTENCES CARRIED OUT.—“WHAT IS RESERVED FOR THE BLOOD OF THE BOURBONS?”

The evening following that on which judgment was pronounced, the gates of the Bastille were opened to the cardinal, who returned to the Palais-Cardinal at half-past ten o’clock at night. There he found the members of his family and the people of the _quartier_ waiting to receive him, and testify their joy at his acquittal.[348]

Cagliostro shared the popular ovations. He, too, was conducted back in a sort of triumph to the Bastille, where he remained until he recovered possession of the portfolio and other effects, minus, however, the one hundred thousand francs in cash and bills seized in his house, he tells us, by Commissary Chénon. He left the Bastille late at night in a hackney coach. The evening, he says, was dark, the part of the city he lived in retired, but when he arrived at his house in the Rue Saint-Claude he found himself welcomed by the acclamations of thousands. The doors of his hôtel had been burst open; the courtyard, the staircase, the very apartments—indeed, every corner of the house was crowded with people.[349]

As for Rétaux de Villette, he himself tells us that he was recommended by both the gaoler and the executioner to take his departure as rapidly as possible—advice which he was only too ready to follow. “Outside the city gate,” he says, “a great man, who belonged, I believe, to the cardinal, took me on one side, and gave me a purse of fifty-five louis, and a note to the Abbé d’Aimar, to whom, he told me, I was to make known my future wants. When, however, I desired to profit by these instructions, I could obtain no reply.”[350] Cagliostro says that Villette was banished in the ignominious sense of the term—that is, led out of prison, with a rope round his neck, by the executioner, who, when they arrived together at the city gate, gave him, first of all, a loaf, and then a kick behind, with strict injunctions never to return.[351] The fifty-five louis, however, were some sort of salve to the indignity offered to the person of the ex-gendarme.

Mademoiselle d’Oliva, on being told that she was adjudged “_hors de cour_,” thought it to be a prohibition against her going to Versailles any more, and faithfully promised to observe it.[352]

It will be readily understood that the sentences of the Parliament excited the indignation of both the king and the queen. The former inveighed against the judgment as being a most outrageous one. The cardinal, he said, knew too well the usages of the Court to have been idiot enough to believe that Madame de la Motte was admitted near the queen, or was charged with any such commission as that of the purchase of the Necklace.[353]

As for Marie-Antoinette, she was profoundly afflicted. “Come and weep with me, come and console your friend, my dear Polignac,” she writes; “the judgment which has just been pronounced is a shameful insult. I am bathed in tears of grief and despair. One can flatter oneself with nothing when perversity exhausts every means to crush my spirit. What ingratitude! But I shall triumph over the wicked by tripling the good which I have always tried to do. They will feel greater pleasure in afflicting me than I shall in revenging myself upon them. Come, my dear heart.”[354]

In writing to her sister, the queen does not restrain her indignation that the cardinal, whom she believed to be the most guilty in the affair, should have been allowed to escape. It is thus she expresses herself:—

“1st June, 1786.

“I need not tell you, my dear sister, how indignant I feel at the judgment which has just been pronounced by the parliament. It has no respect for royalty; it is a shameful insult, and I am bathed in tears of despair. What! a man who had the audacity to lend himself to that indecent and infamous scene in the arbour, who supposed that he had an assignation with the Queen of France, with the wife of his king, that the queen had received a rose from him,[355] and had suffered him to throw himself at her feet, should not, when a throne is concerned, be held guilty of high treason, but should be simply regarded as one who had been deceived! It is odious and revolting. Pity me, my good sister; I did not merit this injury, I who have endeavoured to do good to all who surround me, and who only remember that I am the daughter of Marie-Thérèse, to show myself, as she recommended me when embracing me at my departure, French to the very bottom of my heart. To be so sacrificed to a perjured priest, to a lewd intriguer, how grievous! But do not think that I shall allow myself to do anything unworthy of me. I have declared that I will never seek to revenge myself beyond doubling the good which I have already done. I need not tell you that the king is indignant like myself; he exiles the cardinal to La Chaise-Dieu, and Cagliostro is expelled from France. Adieu! My children are well. We all embrace you, and press you to our hearts.”[356]

To Madame Campan, who knew more of the particulars of the intrigue than any one else about the queen, Marie-Antoinette mournfully said: “Make me your compliments of condolence; the intriguer who wished to ruin me, or to obtain money by abusing my name, and forging my signature, has just been acquitted. But as a Frenchwoman, also receive my compliments of condolence. A people is indeed unhappy to have for supreme tribunal a set of men who are swayed by their own passions, many of whom are susceptible of corruption, while the remainder are possessed of an audacity which they are only too ready to manifest against authority, as they have just shown in so marked a manner.”[357]

“At this epoch,” says Madame Campan, “the happy days of the queen terminated. Adieu for ever to the peaceful and simple pleasures of Trianon, to the fêtes where once shone the magnificence, intellect, and good taste of the court of France; adieu, above all, to that consideration and respect, the forms of which surround the throne, but of which the reality alone is its solid base.”[358]

Spite of the judgment of the Parliament, the cardinal was not allowed to go entirely scot-free. The king at once wrote to the Baron de Breteuil, requiring him to demand from the cardinal the resignation of his office of grand almoner, and the surrender of the various orders the king had conferred upon him. Accompanying this letter was a _lettre-de-cachet_ banishing the cardinal within three days to his abbey of the Chaise-Dieu, in the midst of the Auvergne mountains, where the king sarcastically intimated he would not be likely to receive much company. Until his departure he was commanded to see no one, except his relatives and counsel. If nothing else could be done, a stop could, at any rate, be put to receptions and ovations at the Palais-Cardinal.