XIII. 1784. July. THE MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW.—“YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS.”

The memorial of the Demoiselle Leguay Designy thus proceeds:—

“Between eleven and twelve o’clock I went out with Monsieur and Madame de la Motte. I had on a white mantle and a white lace hood. I do not remember whether I carried a fan in my hand or not; I cannot say for certain. The small note was in my pocket.

“They took me into the park; there a rose was put into my hand by Madame de la Motte, who said to me: ‘You will give this rose, along with the letter, to the person who shall present himself to you, and say to him these words:—You know what this means? The queen will be there to see how your meeting passes off; she will speak to you. She is there yonder, and will be close behind you. You shall presently speak to her yourself.’

“These last words made such an impression on me, that I trembled from head to foot. I could not help telling them so: I observed to them that I did not know I was to speak to the queen. I asked them, in a stammering voice, what was the proper mode of form of speech.... M. de la Motte answered me: ‘You must always say, Your majesty.’

“I need hardly, I think, break off here to declare that, far from having had the honour of speaking to the queen, or her having done me the honour to speak to me, I did not even see her at all....

“We were still walking along when M. de la Motte met a man, to whom he said: ‘Ah! is that you?’... Afterwards, when I dined with the La Mottes, I recognised in Villette, their friend, the same person who was thus addressed by M. de la Motte....

“Madame de la Motte then accompanied me to a hedge of yoke elms, leaving me there whilst she went to fetch the great nobleman to whom I was to speak.

“I remained waiting.... The noble unknown came up, bowing as he approached me, whilst Madame de la Motte stood aside a few paces off, and appeared to watch the scene. I knew not who the great nobleman was, and although the Cardinal de Rohan now acknowledges that he was the person, I am still ignorant upon the point.

“It was a dull night, not a speck of moonlight; nor could I distinguish anything but those persons and objects which were familiar to me. It would be quite impossible for me to describe the state I was in. I was so agitated, so excited, so disconcerted, and so tremulous, that I cannot conceive how I was able to accomplish even half of what I had been instructed to do.

“I offered the rose to the great nobleman, and said to him, ‘You know what this means,’ or something very similar. I cannot affirm whether he took it or let it fall. As for the letter it remained in my pocket; I had entirely forgotten it.

“As soon as I had spoken, Madame de la Motte came running up to us, saying in a low hurried voice: ‘Quick, quick, come away!’

“I left the stranger, and after proceeding a few steps found myself with M. de la Motte, whilst his wife and the unknown went off together and were lost to our view. Count de la Motte conducted me back to the hotel, where we sat talking together until the return of his lady.

“She came home about two in the morning, when I explained to her that I had forgotten to give the note. I was afraid she would have scolded me for this negligence, but instead of doing so she evinced the greatest satisfaction, assuring me she had just left the queen, and that her majesty was in the highest degree delighted with my performance.”⁠[97]⁠

Such appears to have been the famous scene in the park of Versailles at midnight, when the Prince de Rohan, deluded by an artful woman, was fain to believe that he had been honoured with an interview with the Queen of France, and might soon expect to be openly received at court. The countess knew perfectly well that the cheat would run the risk of being detected if the dialogue were suffered to proceed too far, she therefore frightened away her dupes almost as soon as she had brought them together.

The Countess de la Motte’s own account of this interview in the park of Versailles, though at variance with that given by Mademoiselle d’Oliva, nevertheless agrees sufficiently with it to prove that the statement of the latter was perfectly sincere. The countess alleges that the idea of practising this deception upon the cardinal originated with Marie-Antoinette herself—that the choice of the actress who was to personate her, the place appointed for the interview, the young girl’s embarrassment before the meeting, were all known at the time to the queen, who was present in an adjoining arbour.

Nay, more. According to the same account, the Cardinal de Rohan was also privy to the trick played upon himself, and connived at the deceit in order to humour her majesty. Madame de la Motte’s narrative of the transaction is too long to be transcribed throughout, but it concludes in this manner:—

“The poor girl was dressed and adorned like a shrine.... Judging from the questions she had put to me since her arrival at Versailles, it was easy to see that she expected some great adventure, and had made her preparations accordingly.... Nothing could be more diverting than the embarrassment of this creature, whose real anxiety was about the issue, since she knew she was going to play her part before the queen.

“The scene was the arbour at the lower end of the grass-plot. This arbour is encompassed on its left-hand path by a hedge of hornbeam, supported by a strong lattice-work fence. At a distance of three feet from the inner part of the arbour is a second hedge, and the space between the two quicksets forms a walk which leads round the enclosure without conducting to the arbour itself.

“At the hour appointed I gave the signal by putting into Mademoiselle d’Oliva’s hand the rose which Marie-Antoinette had told me to deliver to the cardinal through her means. Having placed her at her post, I withdrew. The queen was not ten paces from me. I was distressed by d’Oliva’s timidity, and the queen doubtless experienced the same feeling, for in spite of all her reserve and watchfulness she could not contain herself, but cried out: ‘Take courage. Don’t be afraid!’ D’Oliva admitted this in her examination. The cardinal having come up, the conversation began.

“The cardinal, whose mind was at ease, since he was in the secret, exerted himself to compose the poor girl, by putting none but simple questions to her, and saying courteous things. What chiefly disconcerted her was, that he spoke of former errors forgiven, of his gratitude, and made fine promises for the future. Of all this she understood nothing, answering Yes or No at random. But the cardinal took advantage of these monosyllables to dwell upon his happiness with exaggeration, saying the prettiest things in the world ... raising her foot at the close of this speech, and respectfully kissing it. It was then Mademoiselle d’Oliva gave him the rose, which he placed against his heart, protesting that he would preserve this token all his life, and calling it the rose of happiness.

“Everything having been said that was to be said, I came forward hurriedly, and announced that Madame and the Countess d’Artois were approaching the spot. Every one vanished with lightning-like rapidity. D’Oliva returned to the seat where my husband was expecting her, the cardinal having rejoined the Baron de Planta, whom he had left at some distance on the watch, came, accompanied by him, to me, and induced me to follow him beyond the avenue, behind which he stopped to see the queen pass. Having caught sight of her as she was stealing out from the corner of the grass-plot and taking the walk leading to the terrace, he urged me to follow her majesty, and try to ascertain whether she was satisfied. Accordingly I did follow her, with light measured steps, and having overtaken her at the entrance to the château, she made me go in along with her, told me in substance that she had been much diverted, paid me a few compliments on my own account, and enjoined me not to tell the cardinal that I had seen her that evening.”⁠[98]⁠

In this account there is much that is false, and but little that is true. A counterfeit queen, and no other, was present at the interview. The cardinal was imposed upon by the trick to which of course he was not privy; and having left the park with the full conviction that he had spoken to his sovereign, was committed to the tender mercies of the countess and her confederates, who quickly proceeded to plunder him of his money.