XXXV. Aug. 1785–June 1786. COUNT DE LA MOTTE’S FLIGHT—COLD STEEL AND POISON.

We must now go back a little in our narrative and see what has become of Count de la Motte since his flight from Bar-sur-Aube. Beugnot mentions that he took his place in the diligence, but he seems to have gone in one of his own carriages, and posted as fast as he could, day and night, to Boulogne, where he arrived on the night of August 20, having accomplished the journey of three hundred miles, all stoppages included, in little more than forty-eight hours, and whence at noon on the 22nd he crossed over to England.⁠[369] The authorities, who had shown such remissness in not having him arrested earlier, now that he was beyond their reach began to bestir themselves, and sent orders to the officers of the marshalsea, at Boulogne and other ports, to overhaul all vessels leaving the harbour, and capture the count if they only got the chance. The officer of the marshalsea at Boulogne was lucky enough to capture the count’s carriage, which had been left behind at the “Hôtel du Lion d’Argent,” and in his simplicity set a man to watch it, for we know not how many days and nights, in the vain hope that the count would return and claim it.⁠[370] This we need hardly say he had not the remotest intention of doing.

Of the various dangers and mishaps which befel the count on this, his second visit to England, full particulars are to be found in the narrative which he himself has written of his adventures.⁠[371] He started, he tells us, with merely a hundred louis in his purse, and made with all speed for England, where, on the occasion of his former trip, he had left some diamonds, “which it was natural,” he observes, “he should procure.” His first call, therefore, was on Gray the jeweller, from whom he obtained the diamonds in question, and ere long was living on the proceeds arising from their sale. While waiting for intelligence as to the turn affairs were taking in Paris, he tells us that he visited the Haymarket Theatre one evening, and that while returning home in a hackney coach a daring attempt was made to assassinate him. His hat fortunately saved his skull. A sword was then thrust through the little window behind, and nearly spitted him to his seat. However, he seems to have escaped without bodily injury.

Under the pretence that his life was not safe in London, the count takes a journey to the north. Whether his life were really in danger it is impossible to say, but it is quite certain that his liberty was; for there were serious thoughts at this time of kidnapping him and carrying him over to France. The proposal emanated from a spy in the pay of the French government named Le Mercier. “If,” reports he, “in order to carry the individual off, cunning should not suffice, we will employ force to conduct him to some isolated spot on the banks of the Thames, where we will take care to have stationed for a fortnight previously, if necessary, one of those vessels which bring coal to London from the north. Their hulls are so thick, that it would be impossible for any one confined in the hold to make himself heard, let him cry out as loud as he will.”⁠[372]⁠

Before this amiable suggestion of the spy Le Mercier could be acted upon, Count de la Motte had taken up his quarters in Lancaster, whence he went to Dublin, next to Glasgow, and finally to Edinburgh. Here, he says, he made the discovery that an attempt had been made to poison him, as he believed, at some Dublin dinner party. At any rate, he was so ill that he was obliged to keep his bed for three months. On his recovery he found that he was watched whenever he went abroad, which was likely enough to have been the case, as at this time Count d’Adhémar, ambassador of France in England, wrote, it is said, to a great personage at the French court, stating that Count de la Motte had withdrawn among the mountains of Scotland, where the so-called privileges of the Scotch prevented any legal seizure of his person being made; nevertheless he, the ambassador, had found ten well-disposed hardy mountaineers who would undertake to capture the count and carry him over to France, for which service, as they would probably have to employ as much force as seduction in the accomplishment of it, and incur the risk of being hanged, they demanded a thousand louis each. The queen, having heard of this letter, at once said that even if it were necessary to give double this amount, there ought not to be a moment’s hesitation, since the presence of the Count de la Motte was the one thing wanting to thoroughly unveil a most abominable conspiracy and to punish the authors of it. Orders were thereupon given to place the requisite sum at the ambassador’s disposal.⁠[373] By this time, however, the count had left Edinburgh, and gone south to Newcastle-on-Tyne, where, he pretends, the capuchin, McDermott, whose acquaintance he made when last in England, bribed by the handsome offer of ten thousand pounds, attempted to poison him on several occasions.⁠[374] We do not believe a word of this; the French government were no doubt anxious to secure the count’s presence at the approaching trial, and would have been only too glad of a chance of kidnapping him; but that they, or indeed any one else, wished to put him out of the way, is extremely improbable, for it was his evidence, and not his silence, that they desired to ensure.

About this time, namely, early in April, 1786, a woman named Costa, wife of one of the ambassador’s spies, who had succeeded in scraping acquaintance with Count de la Motte, crossed over to Paris with a letter from the count to M. Doillot, Madame de la Motte’s counsel, in which he stated that he could make the innocence of his wife clear as day if he only dared come forward. The count insinuated that he had a letter of the cardinal’s, inquiring of him whether he had succeeded in disposing of the diamonds.⁠[375] On the woman Costa’s return to England she went, according to her own account, by direction of the Paris police to Count d’Adhémar, who bade her tell her husband to take a house at Newcastle-on-Tyne, so as to facilitate the drugging of the count and conveying him on board a French ship which was lying ready in the harbour under the command of one Surbois, an exempt of the French police. Madame Costa asserted that her husband had already received a bribe of a thousand guineas for this purpose (less a commission of sixty guineas which the ambassador’s secretary deducted for his little pickings out of the affair), and had been promised nine thousand guineas more when the count was safe on board.⁠[376] Costa, however, seems to have let the count into the secret, and they came up to London together to work upon the ambassadorial exchequer as best as they could.

Arrived there on the 18th of May, Count de la Motte tells us that shortly afterwards he meets the French ambassador at Lady Spencer’s and proceeds to draw him out. From what the ambassador lets fall, the count comes to the conclusion that the government now wish to get him out of the way simply to ensure his silence. “Your presence and deposition,” remarks the ambassador, “would entirely overthrow all that has hitherto been done, and the business would take quite a different turn.” He tells the count that, according to the advice of the Duke of Rutland, they could have seized him when he was at Dublin. They thought, however, they had sufficient evidence to convict the cardinal without his testimony. Next day the ambassador observes to him: “It was feared that you would have espoused the cardinal’s cause in preference to that of the queen. You know your position: the De Rohans accuse you of having run away with the remainder of the Necklace.” He then suggests that the count, by surrendering himself can do himself no harm, and might do the queen some service, and undertakes to procure him a passport in eight or ten days at the farthest. De la Motte of course wants money, or, at any rate, hints that he does, and D’Adhémar promises him five or six thousand livres. It is then arranged between them what the count is to say in his defence. He is on no account to state that the countess had access to the queen; neither is he to mention anything about the letters said to have been sent by the queen to the cardinal. De la Motte, playing with the ambassador like a cat does with a mouse, does not see how he can acquit the queen; whereupon the ambassador glides off to the cardinal, tells the count to repeat all the indecent speeches he has heard him make respecting her majesty, who will not be displeased at his so doing. He next advises him to say nothing about De Polignac, Coigny, Vandreuil, Dillon, or Fersen—all belonging to the queen’s society. “As to the Necklace,” continues D’Adhémar, “I would advise you to say that you are persuaded the cardinal gave it, partly or wholly, to your wife. The countess will never allow that to be the case, but I am certain it really was so. Finally, you must not say a single word respecting the Baron de Breteuil.” The count suggests giving up the countess’s necklace which Gray had set, and which by this time must certainly have been in pawn, if not sold outright. This, D’Adhémar says, would certainly please the king. Then advising the count to change his name, and to avoid the tattling of the Courrier de l’Europe, the ambassador brings the interview to a close.

Other interviews follow; the count no doubt bleeding the ambassador from time to time pretty freely. Although he talked enough about surrendering himself, it is tolerably certain he had no intention of running that risk. Vergennes, moreover, believing that the count’s presence might damage the cardinal’s cause, received the proposition with coldness, and did not send the required passport. D’Adhémar on one occasion showed Count de la Motte the draft of a letter which he had sent to the king through the Count de Vergennes, wherein he informed his majesty that the count desired to surrender himself and justify the proceedings of his wife. “I have, however, been tricked and betrayed by Vergennes,” he remarked, “who kept back the letter until it was too late, for judgment has now been pronounced.” D’Adhémar tells the count that his presence in Paris is now more necessary than ever. “The procureur-général is going to prefer a fresh complaint against the cardinal for ‘criminal attempts’ upon the queen, for the language he has used, the letters he has exhibited, the pretended meetings by night, &c., and the Parliament will be by statute obliged to try the Necklace affair over again in connection with the new charge.” On leaving the ambassador the count hastened to a neighbouring coffee-house, where he sees a copy of the judgment to which M. d’Adhémar had just referred, in the Morning Post newspaper, and at once writes a savage letter to M. de Vergennes, copies of which he sends to the English and French press.

A few days afterwards, the ambassador’s secretary tells the count that the queen has determined to abandon the new prosecution, on account of the scandal it would create, but will contrive to deprive the cardinal of his blue ribbon and places at court, and banish him to herd with monks in the savage parts of Auvergne. At this news, which indicates a stoppage of further supplies, Count de la Motte is inconsolable, and feels, moreover, that he has been duped. To let him down as gently as possible, the court protection is promised him. For the future, however, the ambassador is “not at home” to the count’s morning calls; neither does he take any notice whatever of the count’s numerous letters.⁠[377]⁠

The count, now grown indignant, threatens all manner of exposures, and with his letters to the newspapers becomes a complete nuisance to the representatives of the French government in England; the ambassador, however, escapes further persecution, for just at this moment he is summoned to Paris by his government, who, after a time, relieve him of his diplomatic functions, and appoint the Marquis de la Luzerne, brother of the old Bishop of Langres, in his stead.