XXXVI. 1786. June–Dec. THE SALPÊTRIÈRE.—TRUCKLE-BED AND PRISON FARE.—THE COUNT THREATENS THE FRENCH COURT.

“As soon as Madame de la Motte arrived at the Salpêtrière,” remarks Madame Robin, the then superior general of the hospital, “she was taken to the registry where all our prisoners are enrolled before they are sent to their several prisons: she remained near three-quarters of an hour apparently without any knowledge of what passed—totally insensible. A little after she came to herself, I begged her to search her pockets and let me take her earrings. She presented to me her right ear; she could not speak, and she was so disfigured that her shape scarce appeared to be human, yet she seemed patient as a lamb going to the fold. The huissiers then crammed her into the same hackney-coach, and conveyed her to the hall of the Salpêtrière. Before she entered the prison itself, she was taken extremely ill, and we thought she would never recover.

“We seized the first moment when she appeared to be recovering, and caused her to be placed by some of the sisters in a bed one of the prisoners had given her, which was fortunate for Madame de la Motte, otherwise she would have been under the necessity of lying in a bed full of vermin with six of the poor old women.”

“The next day,” says Madame de la Motte, “a number of girls, habited in the dress of daughters of charity, came to visit me in crowds; they appeared and disappeared like lightning. The officiating sister, Geneviève, whom I shall never forget, conducted me to a small court to take the air, and left me to return to her business. I was scarcely seated when I saw a very great number of poor women coming out of a gate into this same court, making a most dreadful clattering with their wooden shoes. As soon as they saw me they exclaimed, ‘Oh! there she is; there is the lady in the court.’ These poor creatures, whose appearance spoke a variety of wretchedness, approached and invited me to see the place destined for my reception. Some of these women took me by the arm and led me to what they called the dormitory, the place where they slept and where they worked. I had no sooner entered the door of this infernal mansion, than I recoiled with terror, but there were many women behind, who prevented me from running back, otherwise I should have fallen, so great was my horror at sight of this hall, containing one hundred and twenty-seven women, whose wretchedness may more easily be imagined than described. I shrunk back at the sight of this hideous spectacle, while big tears rolled down my cheeks, and with a voice stifled by the effect of grief, I said, like a child insensible to what passed around me, ‘Poor Valois! oh, poor Valois!’

“It will be extremely difficult for me to paint the horrors of this dreadful mansion; every effort is inadequate to give with sufficient strength of colouring the interior description of this house of misery and its wretched inhabitants. One would have imagined from their conduct and behaviour that these women had been reared in the forests, for they were almost as wild and savage as tigers, having always in their hands either stones, bottles, or chairs, ready to throw at the head of any one that displeased them. Every day teemed with new squabbles; they frequently fought together, and would sometimes beat one another almost to death. This prison was moreover a seminary of vice and depravity even too shocking to mention, and, instead of a house for the salutary correction of their souls, may more justly be denominated the place of their destruction.

“I will attempt to give a description of this abode of horrors. The entry is by a small court about twenty feet broad and forty-four in length. Opposite the entrance doors are seven dark cabins under a gallery built upon pilasters. These cabins, or rather dungeons, are in general between five and six feet long and four and a half broad; in each there is a straw bed, a mattress, without any furniture, not so much as a chair. Those women who come thither, and have money, may purchase these cabins of the old prisoners. In each of these cabins is a window about a foot and a half square, with no glass, but very thick wooden shutters, fastened with massive iron bolts. Below these shutters is another small opening to let the air into these cabins. At the bottom of this court, to the right, are four stone steps, after which is a little passage which divides the great dormitory from the little court. On the right is a small court leading to the great one, to serve as a walk for one hundred and twenty-seven females, eighty feet long and near sixty wide: the walls about sixty-two feet high. Opposite the entrance gate of the court leading to the dormitory is a chamber for one sister, to which there is an ascent of five steps.

“Facing the little court is the gate of the dormitory, which is very low. This dormitory is sixty feet long and thirteen broad: the ceiling fortified with large strong joists; the wall strengthened in the same manner. In this dormitory are six beds about five feet in length, composed also of a truss of straw, a mattress, and two coarse cloth coverings. Round the beds are benches and some chairs. The right side of the window is filled with women at work, who have purchased these places, as I also paid for mine, for I had been obliged to sit down on the ground in the court, all the places, forty in number, being occupied. The walls are entirely surrounded with thick shelves, on which the women put their victuals. Beneath this dormitory is another, the half of which is below ground, where there are three or four beds in a better air than the others. Upon the right is a corridor, three feet broad and about seventy-five feet long, in which there are thirteen cabins much the same as those of which I have before spoken, with low unglazed windows and iron bars, so that the miserable inhabitants have no defence from the inclemency of the seasons, but the rain, wind, hail, and snow beat in upon the cabins. By mounting upon the window sills, you may see even to the fourth court, which is called the Court Sainte-Claire, where there are always a great number of people. Facing the dormitory is a small staircase conducting to a particular little court which leads into a square opposite to the chapel of this same prison. On the right is the cell of the superior sister, Martha. Going out on the right you come to a court leading to the kitchen, where are three doors to enter the Salpêtrière, on both sides of which there are turnkeys. As you come out from the Salpêtrière there are seven courts, and in every court there are a great number of turnkeys. On the left, opposite the entrance passage by the Court Sainte-Claire, are two porticos, leading to the three gates of the Salpêtrière. There are in all nine courts, which you have to pass before you can leave the hospital.

“The inhabitants of this den have an old petticoat for clothing, and a gown of course grey cloth, stockings of the same kind, a coarse shift, a pair of wooden shoes, and a cap. Every woman is allowed thrice a week three ounces of boiled beef, on the other days about two pennyworth of cheese, with fat broth, and five pounds of bread each day. Such is the regulation allowance for the sustenance of these wretches. Women, who before have scarce ever had a needle in their hands, are here taught to work in a short time. Some are taught to stitch wrist-bands, others to make shirts and all kinds of plain work; their labours are, however, of no advantage to them.”⁠[378]⁠

Whilst the countess is doing dreary penance in the Salpêtrière, and her husband is haunting the London “hells,” waiting the return of the French ambassador from Paris, to know whether it was intended to do him what he styles “justice,” a paragraph, no doubt instigated by the count himself, appears in some of the London newspapers, reproaching him for his timidity in not publishing a certain justificatory memoir which had been talked about for some time past. Indeed, so notorious had the matter become, that the Duke of Dorset writes to Mr. Eden (afterwards Lord Auckland), special envoy at the French court, under date December 7, 1786—a week before the appearance of the paragraph in question—informing him that the Count de la Motte was about to publish a memoir in England respecting the Necklace affair, which, as it would be certain to contain nothing but falsehoods and calumny, he advises the French government to get answered immediately on its appearance by some clever fellow, and suggests the editor of the Courrier de l’Europe, who is understood to be in their pay, as a likely sort of person for the task.⁠[379]⁠

The count, who is getting rather fond of using his pen, finding it a convenient weapon wherewith to insinuate his threats, addresses a long letter to the papers in reply to the aforesaid paragraph, and stating in explicit terms what he intends to do if this “justice,” for which he is so anxious, is not speedily done him. It did not, perhaps, occur to the count that the only justice he was entitled to demand was that already meted out to him by the highest legal tribunal in his country, namely, the Court of Parliament, which had sentenced him to the scourge, the branding-iron, and the galleys. This letter of the count’s we subjoin:

“To the Printer of the Morning Chronicle.

“Sir,

“In consequence of a letter inserted in your print of the 13th instant, I think myself called upon to interrupt a silence which I meant to keep till the return of Comte d’Adhémar; but such a conduct, in the actual state of affairs, would only serve to give weight and add importance to the groundless reproaches of timidity and indifference laid to my charge. It is incumbent on me, in this answer to your correspondent, first to account for the motives that have hitherto engaged me to silence, and then to give a slight idea of the memorial I propose to lay before the public for my justification.

“I arrived in London on the 18th of last May, and have never since moved from this capital. At that period—previous, as it appears from the above date, to the conclusion of the famous process—I had frequent interviews with the French ambassador. My memorial will contain a circumstantial detail of what passed between us at each appointment. From the line of conduct which his excellency struck out for me, as well with respect to M. de Vergennes as to my comportment before the Parliament of Paris, and from the secret motives imparted to me of the various attempts of taking me forcibly away, it will self-evidently appear that the ambassador looked upon my departure not only as certain, but that my presence, earnestly desired, and zealously solicited by the most illustrious personages (whose names I shall mention), would undoubtedly delay the sentence, and make the whole affair wear a different aspect. What was the result? The very personages alluded to, like Comte d’Adhémar, were imposed upon by a minister who, in appearance, and for form sake, feigned to second their endeavours, but who in reality overturned the structure, and brought it to the ground by his wily manœuvres and contributed alone to extricate the cardinal from the disagreeable situation in which he was implicated. May a complete disgrace reward the former for his officiousness! This is my ardent wish, and his enemies will not fail to accelerate it by their reiterated solicitations. But I resume the thread of my subject.

“Notwithstanding all the instructions he had received, the ambassador could not, no more than myself, foresee a sentence such as has been awarded. He was the first to acquaint me with it, and at the same time hinted at plans which could not but turn greatly to my advantage, since they tended to give me an opportunity (which was the first wish of my heart, and for the obtaining of which I exerted every nerve) of appearing before the Parliament, and entering upon my justification. His excellency further assured me, that I should meet with powerful friends, whose patronage would counterpoise all the credit and combined efforts of the house of Rohan.

“As those projects were never called into execution, and as the supreme power, apprehensive of a minute explanation, pronounced the cardinal’s fate, I thought it expedient, considering the promises made to me, to wait the ambassador’s arrival, no ways doubting but that, in consequence of his account of my conduct throughout the whole business, some regard would be paid to it, and justice done me. But if the answer I expect from his excellency be not satisfactory—if my just demand be not acceded to, then I shall look upon myself as free to act, and demonstrate by a detail, equally true and well supported, by letters which I fortunately have in my possession, and which will corroborate my assertion, why Mademoiselle d’Oliva was chosen by me to play a part for half an hour, not on the terrace, as was purposely given out, but in the interior of the garden of Versailles. The world shall be informed of the grand object of this rehearsal, as well as the catastrophe projected for the first night’s representation, which, by-the-by, did not take place, on account of the principal performer having been warned, not indeed of all the snares laid to entrap him, but secretly put on his guard, not to expose himself imprudently in places where he was liable to be surprised by his enemies, who would snatch at every opportunity to effect his ruin. It will appear that, in consequence of this caution, it was thought desirable to alter the plan, that it gave rise to the purchasing of the Necklace (for which I shall account in the clearest manner by making special mention of its real owner, who made my wife a present of some of the most brilliant diamonds, which I sold in London as my property), and kept by much the more considerable part, which may be worn in different manners, without ever being known by the jewellers: and why? By the concatenation of those circumstances, which happened pending the process, my wife and I were abandoned and inhumanly sacrificed. These illustrations will convince the public that certain caricature print-makers whom I know, and consequently despise, aimed at deceiving the judgment, and prepossessing them against me, by putting in my hand a Necklace, of which I had a very small share.

“That the readers may have nothing to wish for, and in order to point out to them the causes of so tardy a revenge (which was hatching without success, ever since the death of Louis XV.), I begin my account at the era of the cardinal’s embassy at Vienna, and trace every event that has taken place till the final decision of the famous affair.

“I am not to be told that my memorial, if published, will, by the secret and curious anecdotes it contains, raise against me a host of powerful foes, who will not fail to seek for, and meet with, sufficient opportunity to wreak their vengeance on me. But what of that? My intentions shall be fulfilled; and, whatever be my fate, I shall have the comfort of having left behind me an authentic justification, and of having unveiled the whole of the intrigue. And who knows but I may be fortunate enough to hear one day or other, for the good of my country, that my memorial has opened the eyes of him who has been kept so long in the dark! But for that I shall be told the memorial must not reach him, and all the avenues will be strongly beset. I am aware of it. But on the other hand, I shall observe that there exists a powerful party, whose interests it is to forward it, who have been long employed in working a mine, which only waits a favourable opportunity for explosion. To hasten this, if my memorial has, as it were, the effects of a match, I shall look upon all the misfortunes I have encountered as the path leading directly to that event, and shall think myself sufficiently rewarded for the injuries and persecutions I have experienced.

“After this declaration, sir, I trust I shall be no longer reproached with a timidity unknown to me; and that, considering the infamous manner in which I have been treated, no one will blame my just resentment.

“I am, very sincerely, Sir,

“Your very humble servant,

“Count de la Motte.

“No. 10, Charlotte Street, Rathbone Place.”⁠[380]⁠

That this letter may not fail in its effect, it is again published in the same newspaper, two days afterwards, in the original French. One can well conceive that the mail-bags that day carried a goodly number of copies of the journal in question to the French capital, and there can hardly be a doubt but that the count’s letter, coupled with the note which the Duke of Dorset had addressed to the English ambassador at the court of Versailles, and which had been communicated to the French government, created considerable consternation among the party of the queen.