XXIII. 1785. August 15–23. LETTRES-DE-CACHET IN THE ŒIL-DE-BŒUF—IN THE RUE SAINT-CLAUDE—AND AT BAR-SUR-AUBE.

At noon on the 15th of August, 1785, on the festival of the Assumption, and the fête-day of Marie-Antoinette, the Cardinal de Rohan, attired in his sacerdotal robes, was waiting in the Salle de l’Œil-de-Bœuf the arrival of the king and queen, before whom he was about to celebrate high mass in the chapel of the Château of Versailles. Conspicuous among the cardinal’s vestments was his gorgeously-embroidered alb—worn by him only upon grand occasions, and valued at upwards of one hundred thousand livres, with his arms and device, in the form of medallions, crowning the larger and more brilliant flowers of which the rich and elaborate design was composed.⁠[196] The handsome Salle de l’Œil-de-Bœuf, which takes its name from the two bull’s-eye windows level with the ceiling, was thronged, according to custom, with noblemen of every degree of rank, grand court ladies, great officers of State, soldiers and dignitaries of the Church, all watching for the doors communicating with the royal apartments to be thrown open, and for the king and queen to make their appearance. As it was in the days of the Grand Monarque—as it was in Louis XVI.’s time—as it was on that eventful morning of October 7, 1789, when the château was stormed and the terror-stricken Marie-Antoinette fled across it for life, when the loud cry arose of “Save the queen”—so the Salle de l’Œil-de-Bœuf is now. Round the ceiling, from which hang suspended three magnificent chandeliers of rock-crystal, runs a handsome deep-gilt frieze of cupids, some with hunting-horns, and dogs engaged in the chase; others either reaping or binding sheaves of corn, or snaring birds or playing at see-saw. At the sides of the doorway leading into the grand looking-glass gallery, where those not having the entrée of the Œil-de-Bœuf were accustomed to congregate to see the royal procession pass, are two equestrian portraits, the one of Louis XIV. in the costume of a Roman warrior, wearing, however, his customary full-bottomed wig, with Fame crowning him with a wreath of laurel; the other of the king’s brother, the Duke d’Orléans. Facing the same doorway is an elaborate mythological picture representing the Grand Monarque surrounded by his family, all being robed in exceedingly scanty draperies, the wigs of the men forming their principal article of attire, and all having that unpleasant leer in the eyes which the painters of the seventeenth century seemed to have considered peculiarly bewitching, if not quite becoming.

Suddenly the doors are flung open, but, instead of the tall suisse shouting out the customary announcement, “Messieurs, le Roi!” the Cardinal Prince de Rohan is summoned to attend the king in his private cabinet.

On proceeding thither, the grand almoner found the king and queen together. Louis XVI., without any preliminary observations, thus abruptly addressed him:

“I hear you have purchased some diamonds of Böhmer?”

“Yes, sire,” replied the cardinal.

“Pray, what have you done with them?” inquired the king.

“I thought they had been delivered to her majesty.”

“Who commissioned you to make the purchase?”

“A lady called the Countess de la Motte-Valois, who handed me a letter from the queen, and I thought I was performing my duty to her majesty when I undertook this negotiation.”

“How, sir,” exclaimed the queen, “could you believe that I should select you, to whom I have not spoken these eight years, to negotiate anything for me, and especially through the mediation of such a woman—a woman, too, whom I do not even know?”

“I see plainly that I have been cruelly duped,” replied the grand almoner, darting upon the queen as he said so a look of indignation and disdain.⁠[197] “I will pay for the Necklace: my desire to be of service to your majesty blinded me. I suspected no trick in the affair, and I am sorry for it.”

The cardinal then took from his pocket-book a letter purporting to be written by the queen to Madame de la Motte, and intrusting her with the commission. This letter he handed to the king, who after looking at it held it towards the cardinal, saying: “This is neither written nor signed by the queen. How could a prince of the house of Rohan, and a grand almoner of France, ever think that the queen would sign herself Marie-Antoinette de France? Everybody knows that queens sign their baptismal names only.”

Louis XVI. then produced the copy of a letter sent by the cardinal to Böhmer, and inquired whether he had ever written such a letter. After glancing over it, the grand almoner replied that he had no recollection of having done so; but when the king asked him what he would say if the original letter, signed by himself, were shown to him, the cardinal could not but confess that the letter was genuine.

“‘If this be the case,’ observed the king, ‘explain to me the whole of this enigma. I do not wish to believe you guilty; I had rather you would justify your conduct. Account, therefore, for these manœuvres with Böhmer, these securities, and these notes.’

“In reply to the king’s remarks, the grand almoner, who was extremely confused, kept continually repeating: ‘I have been deceived, sire. I will pay for the Necklace. I ask pardon of your majesties.’ Then turning pale, and leaning against the table, he said: ‘Sire, I am too much agitated to answer your majesty in a way——’

“‘Compose yourself,’ interposed the king, ‘and retire into the adjoining closet. You will there find pens, ink, and paper; write down what you have to say to me.’

“The grand almoner retired as directed, and returned in about a quarter of an hour with a written statement of a somewhat incoherent character. After receiving it, Louis XVI. commanded him to withdraw.”⁠[198]⁠

De Besenval says that at this moment the king warned the cardinal he was about to be arrested. “Oh, sire!” exclaimed the prince, “I shall always obey the orders of your majesty, but deign to spare me the shame of being arrested in my pontifical habit before the eyes of the entire court.” “It is necessary it should be so,” replied the king. The cardinal wished to insist, but the king abruptly quitted him.⁠[199] On leaving the royal cabinet the grand almoner encountered his deadly enemy, the Baron de Breteuil, who had been lying in wait for him, and who at once called out to a sub-lieutenant of his majesty’s body-guard, “In the king’s name, follow me! Arrest the Cardinal de Rohan!” The officer proceeded to take charge of his prisoner, who, precipitated as it were in a moment from his high pinnacle of fortune, was conducted on foot in his rich pontifical vestments, guarded on all sides, and pressed upon by an amazed crowd of court idlers and hangers-on, to his hôtel looking upon the north wing of the château. The distance he had to go was not great, through the long looking-glass gallery—every eye in the immense throng with which it was lined being turned inquisitively upon him—through a few apartments and down the marble staircase, and across the marble court and the broad “Cour Royale,” with the noonday sun shedding its burning rays upon his head, and gilding as it were his gorgeous vestments; past the gaudy, gilded, and over-decorated chapel in which he, Grand Almoner of France, was never more to officiate with a king and queen and a brilliant court appearing to give ear to his ministrations; thence through the iron gate leading into the Rue des Réservoirs, where the Hôtel de Rohan—a singularly plain-looking building, with rather a pretty garden approached from a balustraded terrace in the rear, and easily identified at the present day from the circumstance of its being the residence of the receiver-general of the district—was situated.⁠[200] So soon as the necessary preparations could be made, the cardinal, guarded like a common criminal, was whisked off to Paris to the Hôtel de Strasbourg, from whence he was speedily transferred to the Bastille.

Ere, however, he quitted the palace of Versailles, “notwithstanding the escort that surrounded him, and favoured by the attendant crowd, the grand almoner stopped for a few moments, and stooping down with his face towards the wall, as if to fasten his buckle or his garter, snatched out his pencil and hastily wrote a few words on a scrap of paper placed under his hand in his square red cap. He rose again and proceeded. On entering his hôtel he contrived to slip this paper unperceived into the hand of a confidential ‘heyduc’ who waited for him at the door of his apartment.” The heyduc posts off to Paris, and arrives at the Palais-Cardinal early in the afternoon. His horse falls dead in the stable, and he himself swoons in the apartment of the Abbé Georgel after exclaiming wildly, “All is lost; the prince is arrested.” The slip of paper which drops from his hand is caught up and read with eagerness by the abbé, and in accordance with the instructions contained in it, the scarlet portfolio which held all the cardinal’s secret correspondence, including the letters—gilt-edged or bordered with vignettes bleues—penned by the phantom queen, and on which the Prince de Rohan set such store, is forthwith committed to the flames.⁠[201]⁠

While the foregoing events were transpiring the Count and Countess de la Motte were receiving and returning visits in tranquil security at Bar-sur-Aube. It was two days after the arrest of the cardinal that the countess set out on her visit to the Duke de Penthièvre at Château-Villain, and Beugnot was awaiting her arrival at Clairvaux in the evening. The abbot had pressed the young lawyer to pass three days there if the ensuing fête of Saint-Bernard would not frighten him, and had promised him as a reward that he should hear the famous Abbé Maury from Paris preach the saint’s panegyric. “I agreed,” says Beugnot, “with all my heart. The day of Saint-Bernard was a grand affair at Clairvaux. The poor who presented themselves at the door of the abbey received charity, and the bourgeoisie of Bar-sur-Aube and its environs were entertained at dinner in the refectory, at which the abbot presided. I desired to be present at this banquet to laugh at the abbot, who had spoken to me of this old custom as a piece of tomfoolery he was about to suppress, and had mentioned with contempt the guests who would be present at it.

“The Abbot of Clairvaux was above the middle height, and of a fine and graceful figure. When after his election he had the honour of being presented to the king at Versailles, the queen, struck with his handsome person and the dignity with which he wore the costume of his order, could not refrain exclaiming, ‘What a handsome monk!’ Dom Rocourt was polite with men and gallant with women, and with all this, or in spite of it, very stupid. I was never able,” says Beugnot, “to make him comprehend when the Revolution arrived that the age had done with him, his abbey, and his monks, who would have been only too happy to abandon him.”⁠[202] The Abbey of Clairvaux, founded in the year 1114, was one of the richest and most magnificent abbeys in France. Its annual revenue was between three and four hundred thousand francs. Situated in a picturesque glen, the conventual buildings comprised the abbot’s residence, a handsome church, said not to have been inferior to Nôtre Dame de Paris, and where several early French kings and princes lay buried, with a treasury for its ornaments and relics, an infirmary, a refectory and dormitories: besides which there were a valuable library and beautiful gardens.⁠[203] Lastly, one must not forget its gigantic wine-vat, which held upwards of 200,000 gallons. To-day the abbey is a house of detention for criminals; the site of its magnificent church—demolished during the first year of the Restoration—being now a prison-yard. The abbot usually drove out with four horses to his carriage, and had an outrider to precede him. He caused himself to be addressed as “my lord” by his monks and dependents, and by the many persons who had need of his assistance. He governed despotically numerous convents of monks and nuns that were dependent on his abbey, and it is said that he took especial pleasure in visiting the nunneries subject to his sway.⁠[204]⁠

We left Beugnot at Clairvaux waiting Madame de la Motte’s return. Soon after eight o’clock she made her appearance, when he at once acquainted her with the engagement he had entered into. She wished to share it and remain for the fête of Saint-Bernard, but the abbot excused himself, explaining to her that the fête was altogether a religious one, and that the ladies who commonly inhabited Clairvaux fled from it on that day, abandoning it to the religious of Saint-Bernard and to their children. They returned, however, on the following day, and the abbot, who was lost in reverence and adoration of Madame de la Motte, pressed her to augment their number. He was no doubt aware of the intimate connection which existed between the countess and the Cardinal de Rohan, and he treated her accordingly like a princess of the church.

A large company was assembled at the abbey on this particular evening in anticipation of meeting the Abbé Maury, whose arrival from Paris was now momentarily expected. The clock having struck nine without the looked-for guest making his appearance, the company sat down to the supper-table. Scarcely had they taken their seats, however, before the sound of carriage-wheels announced some new arrival. This proved to be the Abbé Maury, with “his Jesuitic eyes, his impassive brazen face, image of all the cardinal sins,” who, after being welcomed by his brother ecclesiastic, and introduced to the guests in the supper-room, without being allowed time to change his travelling-dress, took his seat at table, when, as a matter of course, he was at once assailed by the inquiry as to whether there was anything stirring in Paris—in fact, any news.

“‘What mean you?—any news?’ replied the Abbé Maury; ‘why, where do you all come from? There is a piece of news which none can understand, which has astonished and bewildered all Paris. The Cardinal de Rohan, Grand Almoner of France, was arrested last Tuesday, the festival of the Assumption, in his pontifical vestments, as he was leaving the king’s cabinet. They talk of a Diamond Necklace which he was to have bought for the queen, but which he did not buy at all. Is it not inconceivable that for such a bauble as this a grand almoner of France should have been arrested in his pontifical vestments—do you understand, in his pontifical vestments?—and on leaving the king’s cabinet?’

“As soon as this intelligence reached my ear,” says Count Beugnot, whose narrative we are quoting, “I glanced at Madame de la Motte, whose napkin had fallen from her hand, and whose pale and rigid face seemed as it were immovably fixed above her plate. After the first shock was over she made an effort and rushed out of the room, followed by one of the chief attendants. In the course of a few minutes I left the table and joined her. The horses were already put to her carriage, so we at once set forth.”

“‘I have perhaps done wrong in leaving so suddenly, above all in the presence of the Abbé Maury,’ remarked Madame de la Motte. ‘Not at all,’ replied I; ‘your relations with the cardinal are known, and almost avowed. He may have to forfeit his life perhaps; your plan is to run away in advance of couriers, letters, or news. You would have done wrong in losing time by supping at Clairvaux—but can you explain this arrest to yourself?’ ‘No,—at least only through some trick of Cagliostro’s: the cardinal is infatuated with him: it is not my fault, I have warned him a hundred times.’ ‘So much the better,’ remarked I; ‘but what is this story about a Necklace which the cardinal has been buying for the queen? How is it that a cardinal is charged with such a purchase? and how comes it about that the queen should choose for such a commission Prince Louis, whom she openly detests?’ ‘I repeat to you, it is all Cagliostro.’ ‘But you have received this charlatan at your house. Are you not compromised in any way with him?’ ‘Absolutely not in the least, and I am perfectly tranquil; I did very wrong to leave the supper-table.’ ‘It was not wrong. If you are tranquil on your own account, you ought not to be so on account of an unfortunate friend.’ ‘Ah! bah! you do not know him; only see him in a difficulty; he is capable of abusing a hundred persons, of saying a hundred foolish things to get himself out of it.’ ‘Madame de la Motte,’ replied I, ‘you have just said more than I wished to hear; I have a last service to propose to you; it is now ten o’clock at night, we are approaching Bayet. I am going to leave you there in care of a friend for whom you know I can answer. I will return with your carriage to Bar-sur-Aube, and will warn M. de la Motte, who in an hour’s time can come and fetch you in a post-chaise drawn by your best pair of horses. He will take charge of your most valuable effects, and you will together take, this very night, the road to Châlons, since that to Troyes would not be safe for you. Do not go to Boulogne, Calais, or Dieppe, at which places instructions perhaps have been already given to stop you; between these ports there are twenty places where for ten louis they will land you in England.’ ‘Sir,’ replied Madame de la Motte, ‘you are wearying me; I have allowed you to go on to the end because I was thinking of something else. Is it necessary to repeat to you ten times running that I have nothing to do with this affair? I repeat it, I am very sorry at having left the table, as though I were an accomplice in your cardinal’s fooleries.’ ‘Madame,’ observed I, ‘let us say no more on the subject. Still I should like to add once more—after your avowal—that you will repent not having followed my advice. May Heaven grant in this case that your repentance may not be more poignant than usual.’

“We drove along in silence for half a hour. As we entered the town I entreated her to at least burn any papers which might compromise her or the cardinal. ‘It is,’ said I, ‘a measure dictated by honour on the one side and by prudence on the other.’ She consented; I offered to assist her, and as she did not refuse, on leaving the carriage I accompanied her to her room. Her husband, who had left home early in the morning to join a hunting party, had not yet returned. We opened a large chest of sandal-wood filled with papers of all colours and dimensions. Being nervously anxious to make quick work of the matter, I inquired if there were amongst them any bills of exchange, bonds, bank-notes, or drafts, and on receiving an answer in the negative I proposed to throw the entire heap into the fire. She insisted on at least a cursory examination being made of them. We proceeded with it, very slowly on her part, very precipitately on mine. It was whilst casting furtive glances upon some of the hundreds of letters from the Cardinal de Rohan, that I saw with pity the ravages which the delirium of love, aided by that of ambition, had wrought in the mind of this unhappy man. It is fortunate for the cardinal’s memory that these letters were destroyed, but it is a loss for the history of human passions. What must have been the state of society when a prince of the church did not hesitate to write, to sign, and to address to a woman letters which in our days a man who respects himself the least in the world might commence reading, but would certainly never finish?

“Among these motley papers there were invoices, offers of estates for sale, prospectuses and advertisements of new inventions, &c. Some of the letters were from Böhmer and Bassenge, and made mention of the Necklace, spoke of terms expired, acknowledged the receipt of certain sums, and asked for larger ones. I consulted Madame de la Motte as to what should be done with them. Finding her hesitate, I took the shortest course, and threw them all into the fire. The affair occupied a considerable time. When it was over I took my leave of Madame de la Motte, urging her more strongly than ever to depart. She only answered me by promising to go to bed immediately. I then quitted her apartments, the atmosphere of which was poisoned by the odour arising from burning paper and wax impregnated with twenty different perfumes. It was three o’clock in the morning; at four o’clock she was arrested, and at half-past four was on her way to the Bastille. The examination which I had made of her papers, although a superficial one, had settled my doubts. I had observed so much extravagance in the letters of the cardinal, that I believed both he and the countess lost, and the one through the other.”⁠[205]⁠

The countess was sound asleep when the officers of justice arrived. An inspector of police drew aside the bed curtains, and arousing her, showed her the lettre-de-cachet for her arrest.⁠[206] From this moment until her departure from Bar-sur-Aube the countess was closely guarded by exempts and cavalry of the marshalsea, while other exempts compelled her husband, who had returned home in the meantime, to accompany them while they made a strict search throughout the house.⁠[207]⁠

“M. de la Motte,” observes Beugnot, “was very little affected at the arrest of his wife. He had been hunting the day before, and contemplated devoting several more days to this amusement. He called on me at six o’clock in the morning, and told me in a quiet, confidential sort of way, of the countess’s arrest. He assumed a calmness in my presence that surprised me. ‘Madame,’ said he, ‘will only be away for three or four days at the utmost. She is going to give the minister some explanations which he requires of her. I reckon that she will return on Wednesday or Thursday, when we will go and meet her, and bring her home in triumph.’ ‘Sir,’ I replied to him, ‘you are I dare say unaware that last night I advised your wife to start at once for England, and by the quickest route. Had she followed my counsel, she would not be as she now is, on the high road to Bastille. I now advise you to follow the course I suggested to her, which will be much safer for you than losing precious time and deceiving yourself by vain illusions.’ The count shrugged his shoulders and left me, humming a tune. On the same day he took his place in the diligence, and gained England without delay. It was on the 18th of August that he left. Four days afterwards the police came to arrest him,”⁠[208] but found their bird had flown.

Neither the forger Villette nor the counterfeit queen D’Oliva were objects of suspicion even until several weeks had elapsed; but eight days after the arrest of the cardinal, the Count de Cagliostro and his wife were arrested and sent to join the grand almoner and the Countess de la Motte in the Bastille. In a memorial prepared by Cagliostro, wherein he puts forward a claim for damages on account of the losses sustained by him in consequence of this arrest, he says: “On August 23, 1785, the Commissary Chénon came to my house, attended by a bailiff and eight police-officers. He told me that he had orders to escort me to the lieutenant of police. He asked me for my keys, and obliged me to open my escritoire, which contained various medicines, amongst others six bottles of precious balsam. The bailiff in my presence seized upon the articles he chose to take, and particularly four bottles of the balsam. The sbirri that accompanied him followed their chief’s example, and the pillage began.”

The count then proceeds to estimate the amount of this pillage item by item, and ends by bringing it up to the considerable sum of 100,000 livres (£4000 sterling). Amongst these items he cites a green pocket-book containing forty-seven bank notes of 1000 livres each, besides which he asserts there were gold and silver coin—double-louis, sequins, and Spanish quadruples—plate, jewels, diamonds, &c., taken away.⁠[209]⁠

The cardinal’s equerry and particular confidant, the Baron de Planta—a man of shady character, who had held a commission in a Swiss regiment in France, had been broke for some misconduct, and had been for years under a cloud at the time he was picked up by the Prince de Rohan during his Vienna embassy—was likewise arrested, but had the luck to get released after undergoing a brief examination.⁠[210]⁠