VIII. 1781–1783. THE DIAMOND NECKLACE AGAIN.—STILL NOT SOLD.

While the events narrated in the last chapter have been transpiring, let us see how it has fared with our friends the crown jewellers and their Diamond Necklace. M. Bassenge, after scouring Europe through, and ascending and descending principal and back staircases innumerable, and dancing wearying attendance in court saloons and antechambers, has returned home without effecting a sale. “Not a crowned head of them can spare the eighty thousand pounds. The age of Chivalry is gone, and that of Bankruptcy is come. A dull deep-presaging movement rocks all thrones: Bankruptcy is beating down the gate, and no chancellor can barricade her out. She will enter, and the shoreless fire-lava of Democracy is at her back. Well may kings a second time ‘sit still with awful eye,’ and think of far other things than necklaces.”⁠[57]⁠

Bassenge’s mission having been without result, let us turn to M. Böhmer, and see what kind of luck has attended his efforts. On the 22nd of October, 1781, the Queen of France gave birth to a dauphin. Böhmer, who felt this to be a favourable opportunity for him to renew his application, flew to the palace with his casket under his arm, and saw the king, at that moment the happiest man in the land. Louis XVI. received the jeweller with much condescension, and taking the casket from him, carried it to the queen, telling her, with animated looks, that he had got a present for her. But Marie-Antoinette had no sooner recognised the gorgeous gem which she had formerly rejected than she refused to receive it, even at the king’s hands; nor could the most earnest solicitations on his part abate in the smallest degree the feeling of antipathy with which, guided by her prophetic instincts, she seems to have regarded the fatal jewel.

“Is it,” asked she, “that Böhmer may take girls covered with diamonds to the opera, that you would pay him for his folly in manufacturing this Necklace?”

While uttering these words the queen was greatly excited. Her nurse felt her pulse, and finding it very high begged the king not to insist further. Louis XVI. withdrew completely disconcerted.⁠[58]⁠

Now Böhmer, the crown jeweller, was a Saxon, and we all know that the Saxons are a persevering race who do not readily desist from a pursuit. Besides, he had gained a step; the king had as good as sanctioned the purchase; he was won over, and in due time the queen might be brought to relent and consent to become the possessor of the most splendid set of brilliants in the world. Moreover she was known at one time to have entertained a woman’s partiality for costly jewels. What could be the reason of her present antipathy? Was it natural in one so young and handsome? Was it consistent? Was it, indeed, sincere?

This persecution of Marie-Antoinette, which had begun in 1774, was continued for ten years; and every time the palace guns announced a new accouchement the indefatigable Böhmer, his casket under his arm, was the first to carry his loyal congratulations to the feet of his sovereign. In due time the crown jeweller became noted for this kind of loyalty, so that whenever he was met with in the streets of Versailles, certain wags used to point him out and ask each other, “Serait-ce la Reine qui accouche?”

Madame Campan, in her well-known work, assures us that this persistent Saxon was for a long time the plague of the queen’s life. She relates, among other instances of Böhmer’s persecution, that he one day presented himself before her majesty, who had the young princess her daughter with her at the time, in a state of unusual excitement. Throwing himself at the queen’s feet, he burst into tears, and exclaimed that he could put off his creditors no longer, that he was a ruined man unless she took compassion on him and became the purchaser of his Necklace, and that if she rejected his appeal he would throw himself into the Seine, and so put an end to his misery. The queen reproved him mildly for his rash threat, but at the same time told him that if he were madman enough to put an end to his existence, it would not be she who was responsible for the misfortune. She reminded him that she had not given the order for the jewel, and advised him to extricate himself from his difficulties by taking the Necklace to pieces and disposing of the diamonds piecemeal.⁠[59]⁠

Mademoiselle Bertin, the queen’s milliner, asserts that at the time she was engaged in preparing the wedding trousseau of the bride of the Infant of Portugal, M. de Souza, the Portuguese ambassador, confided to her that he was commissioned by his sovereign to buy for the future Infanta the most magnificent present which could be met with in all Paris, and that he had decided upon purchasing the crown jewellers’ Diamond Necklace. Mademoiselle Bertin mentioned the circumstance to Marie-Antoinette the following day, while engaged with her at her toilette.

“I am very glad of it,” observed the queen. “I shall send for Böhmer, and will certainly thank M. de Souza for having relieved me of this hateful Necklace.”

When Böhmer entered, the queen took up a book and read for some minutes before speaking, as her habit was when she wished to evince her displeasure, which, on this occasion, must have been the result either of inexplicable caprice or feminine jealousy at a foreign princess becoming the possessor of that jewel to which the negotiations and travels of Böhmer and Bassenge had given a kind of European celebrity, and which had caused such a sensation among queens and women. At length, laying down her book and casting on Böhmer a severe glance, she observed:

“I am very glad to hear, sir, that you have sold your Necklace.”

“My Necklace, madame!” replied the astonished Böhmer.

“Yes, your Necklace, that M. de Souza is about to send to Lisbon.”

Böhmer having given an emphatic denial to the story, the queen, we are told, cast on Mdlle. Bertin a withering look as if to reproach her for having needlessly alarmed her.

There was a reception that day, and when M. de Souza appeared, the queen, contrary to all the rules of court etiquette, went straight up to him and said, briskly:

“I have to inform you, M. de Souza, that you will not have the Necklace; it is sold.”

M. de Souza appearing astonished,

“You will not have it, sir,” continued she, in a tone of triumph. “I am sorry for it.” Saying which she returned to her ladies.⁠[60]⁠

Thus matters stood at the close of 1783, ten years after the order for this ill-fated jewel had been given by the infatuated lover of Madame Dubarry. Although all France was at this time wildly rejoicing over the recently concluded peace between France and England, there was gloom and depression at the Grand Balcony in the Rue Vendôme, for creditors were still urgent and even threatening, and the question again arose: “What is now to be done?”