XII. 1784. June–July. THE COUNTERFEIT QUEEN.
Reading edition
Counterfeit billets-doux having been palmed off on the infatuated cardinal as genuine with such complete success, the countess now ventures on a singularly bold step, nothing less than the personation of majesty itself, and actually succeeds in foisting upon the purblind prelate une belle courtisane of the Palais Royal as the beautiful, high-born Marie-Antoinette.
This incident of the nocturnal interview—the most daring of the many daring schemes of which the long intrigue was composed—is so fully and clearly, and, moreover, so artlessly, described by the “fille du monde,” who was bribed to perform the character of Marie-Antoinette on the occasion, in her memorial published at the time of the Necklace trial, as to completely exonerate the queen from having been in any way a party to it. Prior, however, to laying this statement before the reader, we have something to say respecting the new character whom we are about to introduce upon the scene.
This young person, commonly known as Mademoiselle d’Oliva, but whose real name was Leguay Designy, was born in Paris in 1761, and was consequently younger than the queen by seven years. Although her reputation was anything but spotless, she was by no means the common creature she is ordinarily represented to have been. M. Leguay Designy, her father, had been a respectable citizen, who at his death was found to have saved money, and when her mother died, a few years before the event which rendered the daughter an object of so much notoriety, Mademoiselle Leguay Designy was left with a competent provision deposited for her in the hands of trustees. These guardians however abused their trust, and after dissipating the bulk of the young woman’s property, compromised the matter by the payment of four thousand livres, which money she received in the early part of 1784, only a few months before the day rendered memorable by the midnight meeting in the park of Versailles.
Mademoiselle Leguay Designy, in her memorial, drawn up by her advocate, M. Blondel—who, perceiving that the very simplicity of his client was her best defence, had the sagacity to let her tell her story in her own way—thus describes how it was that she first became acquainted with the De la Mottes, husband and wife.
“In the month of June, 1784, I lodged,” she says, “in a small apartment in the Rue du Jour, in the Quartier St. Eustache.[90] I was not very far from the Palais Royal, where I used frequently to go of an afternoon for two or three hours with a neighbour’s child, about four years old, of whom I was very fond.
“One afternoon, in the month of July, when I was sitting in the Palais Royal, this child being along with me, I observed a stranger pass by several times; he was a tall young man, and quite alone. He looked at me fixedly, and I noticed as he came near to me that he slackened his pace as if to survey me more attentively. There was a vacant chair two or three feet from mine, in which he seated himself.
“I could not avoid bestowing my attention upon him, for his eyes kept repeatedly wandering over my person. The expression of his countenance becomes grave and earnest, and he appears agitated by a painful and anxious curiosity as he scans my entire figure very narrowly, whilst not a feature of my face escapes him.
“We met in this way in the gardens of the Palais Royal for several successive days, until at last he addressed me, and I committed the error of replying to him.
“One evening on leaving him I returned home, when I found that he had followed me without my perceiving it. Suddenly he stood before me in my apartment. He introduced himself with every sign of respectful politeness, and requested me to allow him occasionally to visit me. I could not take upon myself to deny his request, and after obtaining my consent, he was most assiduous in his calls. But I had no reason to complain of these visits, for the young man never passed the limits of propriety. He questioned me, however, with the kindest concern respecting my income and future prospects, taking a lively interest in my fate. He also spoke of powerful protectors of his own, to whom he could recommend me, and who might be able to serve me.
“Doubtless you are eager to know who this stranger was. It is time to name him; it was M. de la Motte, who represented himself to be an officer of distinguished rank, with great expectations, and supported by illustrious patrons.[91]
“It was, I think, on the occasion of his ninth visit, one morning at the beginning of August, 1784,[92] that I observed his countenance overspread with joy and satisfaction, such as he had never exhibited before. He had, he said, the most agreeable, the most interesting things to tell me.
“‘I have just left,’ continued he, ‘a person of very great distinction, who spoke a great deal about you. I shall bring the lady to see you this evening.’
“I awaited that evening with eagerness, counting every hour and every moment, for I longed to see this lady of very great distinction.
“M. de la Motte returned at night, telling me that in a few moments I should see the person about whom he had spoken in the morning. Whereupon, and without any further explanation, he withdrew.
“Scarcely had he left me, before I saw a lady enter my chamber; she was all alone—no servant was attending her. She approached me with politeness, and with looks full of affability.
“‘Madame,’ said she, smiling, ‘you must be rather surprised at my visit, unknown to you as I am.’
“I replied that the surprise could not be otherwise than agreeable to me.
“This person was the wife of my pretended patron; she was Madame de la Motte, but she took good care not to say so then. I offered the lady a chair, she drew it herself close to my own, and sat down. Then leaning over towards me, with a look at once cautious and confiding, whilst her eye appeared to gleam with an expression of benevolent regard, she said to me, in a low voice, what I am about to relate.
“‘Confide, my dear pet, in what I am going to say, I am a gentlewoman belonging to the court.’
“At the same time she drew out a pocket-book, and having opened it, showed me several letters, which she declared to me were written to her by the queen.
“‘But, madame,’ answered I, ‘all this is a mystery to me; I cannot understand it.’
“‘You will soon understand it, my pet. I possess the queen’s full confidence; we are like hand and glove together. She has just given me another proof of this trust, by commissioning me to find her a person to do something which will be explained at the proper time. I have made choice of you, and, if you like to undertake it, I will make you a present of 15,000 livres (francs); but the present that you will receive from the queen will be much more considerable. I cannot tell you my name just yet, but you shall soon be informed who I am. If, however, you do not think my word sufficient, and desire to have security for the 15,000 livres, we will go directly to a notary’s.’”
[In the following paragraph the pen of the advocate has evidently been at work.]
“Ye simple and trustful hearts, pause for a moment after reading this artful speech from the boldest and most audacious intriguer that ever lived. Fancy yourselves in my place, deign to consider what my feelings must have been, what I must have thought and imagined, I, a poor girl of twenty-three, unacquainted with either intrigue or business. What would you have said? What would you have done under similar circumstances?
“From that moment I was no longer myself. I answered Madame de la Motte that I should be proud to be able to do anything that would be agreeable to the queen, without any motive of personal interest to prompt me.
“She replied immediately, ‘The Count de la Motte will call for you to-morrow evening in a carriage, and will carry you to Versailles.’”[93]
The reader will not fail to observe the precision with which the countess enters on her course of action; the quickness with which she manages to come to the point. Her husband takes a fortnight to bring about the introduction of his wife, while she settles everything at a single interview.
The next day the count, who is accompanied by Rétaux de Villette, takes Mademoiselle Leguay to Versailles at the appointed time, and leaves her with his wife in their apartments at the Hôtel de la Belle Image, kept by the Sieur Gobert, and situated in the Place Dauphine, at that time one of the most aristocratic quarters of the royal town. This place is octagonal in shape, and the houses, which range from four to five storeys high, all have some sort of pretension about them; they have either open balustrades running along the parapets, or carved cornices with enriched mouldings surmounting the windows, or ornamental iron balconies. Most of them too have large portes cochères. The Place, which in Madame de la Motte’s days was a large open space, where the public sedan-chairs—the chaises bleues and the brouettes—used to ply for hire, is to-day laid out as a flower garden, and has in the centre a bronze statue of General Hoche, after whom the Place is now named. The house where the countess lodged was formerly known as “La Belle Image,” but it no longer preserves its sign. It is, however, easily recognisable, being the first house (No. 8)[94] in the angle on the right hand, on entering the Place from the Rue Hoche. All the apartments, with the exception of the attics, must have been of a superior class. Now-a-days the ground floor is appropriated to a “Magasin Anglais,” where English cutlery, and needles and pins, and reels and balls of cotton, and patent medicines and pickles, and old brown Windsor soap, and biscuits are exposed for sale. To return, however, to Mademoiselle Leguay, whose memorial thus proceeds:
“It was only then I learnt the name and condition of Madame de la Motte, that she was the wife of Count de la Motte, that she went by the title of Countess de Valois at Versailles, and that the queen used to write to her in that name.”
The belle courtisane of the Palais Royal, whose resemblance to Marie-Antoinette is said to have been singularly striking,—she was remarkable for the elegance of her figure, had blue eyes and chestnut-coloured hair[95]—is now dressed and tricked out in coquettish négligé—a white robe en chemise, bordered and lined with rose colour, and a white lace hood—for the famous interview which the Cardinal de Rohan had so earnestly solicited of the queen, with whom the miserable dupe flattered himself he had been all this while corresponding. The memorial continues:
“Madame de la Motte delivered to me a small note, folded in the usual way, but without telling me either what it contained or to whom it was addressed, or even by whom it was written. Neither she nor her husband spoke to me on the subject. Madame de la Motte merely said, ‘I will take you this evening into the park, and you will deliver this letter to a great nobleman whom you will meet there.’”[96]