The Diamond Necklace


Paris, that city of sensations, was shaken to its centre by tidings of a

new and startling event. The Cardinal de Rohan, grand almoner of France,

at mass-time, and when dressed in his pontifical robes, had been

suddenly arrested in the palace of Versailles and taken to the Bastille.

Why? No one knew; though many had their opinions and beliefs. Rumors of

some mysterious and disgraceful secret beneath this arrest, a mystery in
br /> which the honor of Marie Antoinette, the queen of France, was involved,

had got afloat, and were whispered from end to end of the city, in which

"the Austrian," as the queen was contemptuously designated, was by no

means a favorite.



The truth gradually came out,--the story of a disgraceful and

extraordinary intrigue, of which the prince cardinal was a victim rather

than an accessory, and of which the queen was utterly ignorant, though

the odium of the transaction clung to her until her death. When, eight

years afterwards, she was borne through a raging mob to the guillotine,

insulting references to this affair of the diamond necklace were among

the terms of opprobrium heaped upon her by the dregs of the Parisian

populace.



What was this disgraceful business? It is partly revealed in the graphic

account of an interview with the king which preceded the arrest of the

prince cardinal. On the 15th of August, 1785, Louis XVI. sent for M. de

Rohan to his cabinet. He entered smilingly, not dreaming of the

thunderbolt that was about to burst upon his head. He found there the

king and queen, the former with indignant countenance, the latter grave

and severe in expression.



"Cardinal," broke out the king, in an abrupt tone, "you bought some

diamonds of Boehmer?"



"Yes, sir," rejoined the cardinal, disturbed by the stern severity of

the king's looks and tone.



"What have you done with them?"



"I thought they had been sent to the queen."



"Who gave you the commission to buy them?"



"A lady, the Countess de La Motte Valois," answered the cardinal,

growing more uneasy. "She gave me a letter from the queen; I thought I

was obliging her Majesty."



The queen sharply interrupted him. She was no friend of the cardinal; he

had maligned her years before, when her husband was but dauphin of

France. Now was the opportunity to repay him for those malevolent

letters.



"How, sir," she broke out severely; "how could you think--you to whom I

have never spoken for eight years--that I should choose you for

conducting such a negotiation, and by the medium of such a woman?"



"I was mistaken, I perceive," said the cardinal, humbly. "The desire I

felt to please your Majesty misled me. Here is the letter which I was

told was from you."



He drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to the king. Louis took

it, and cast his eyes over the signature. He looked up indignantly.



"How could a prince of your house and my grand almoner suppose that the

queen would sign, 'Marie Antoinette of France?'" he sternly demanded.

"Queens do not sign their names at such length. It is not even the

queen's writing. And what is the meaning of all these doings with

jewellers, and these notes shown to bankers?"



By this time the cardinal was so agitated that he was obliged to rest

himself against the table for support.



"Sir," he said, in a broken voice, "I am too much overcome to be able to

reply. What you say overwhelms me with surprise."



"Walk into the room, cardinal," said the king, with more kindness of

tone. "You may write your explanation of these occurrences."



The cardinal attempted to do so, but his written statement failed to

make clear the mystery. In the end an officer of the king's body-guard

was called in, and an order given him to convey Cardinal de Rohan to the

Bastille. He had barely time to give secret directions to his grand

vicar to burn all his papers, before he was carried off to that

frightful fortress, the scene of so much injustice, haunted by so many

woes.



The papers of De Rohan probably needed purging by fire, for the order to

burn them indicates that they contained evidence derogatory to his

position as a dignitary of the church. The prince cardinal was a vain

and profligate man, full of vicious inclinations, and credulous to a

degree that had made him the victim of the unscrupulous schemer, Madame

de La Motte Valois, a woman as adroit and unscrupulous as she was

daring. Of low birth, brought up by charity, married to a ruined

nobleman, she had ended her career by duping and ruining Cardinal de

Rohan, a man whose character exposed him to the machinations of an

adventuress so skilful, bold, and alluring as La Motte Valois.



So much for preliminary. Let us take up the story at its beginning. The

diamond necklace was an exceedingly handsome and highly valuable piece

of jewelry, containing about five hundred diamonds, and held at a price

equal to about four hundred thousand dollars of modern money. It had

been made by Boehmer, a jeweller of Paris, about the year 1774, and was

intended for Madame Dubarry, the favorite of Louis XV. But before the

necklace was finished Louis had died, and a new king had come to the

throne. With Louis XVI. virtue entered that profligate court, and Madame

Dubarry was excluded from its precincts. As for the necklace, it

remained without a purchaser. It was too costly for a subject, and was

not craved by the queen. The jeweller had not failed to offer it to

Marie Antoinette, but found her disinclined to buy. The American

Revolution was going on, France was involved in the war, and money was

needed for other purposes than diamond necklaces.



"That is the price of two frigates," said the king, on hearing of the

estimated value of the famous trinket.



"We want ships, and not diamonds," said the queen, and ended the

audience with the jeweller.



A few months afterwards, M. Boehmer openly declared that he had found a

purchaser for the necklace. It had gone to Constantinople, he said, for

the adornment of the favorite sultana.



"This was a real pleasure to the queen," says Madame Campan. "She,

however, expressed some astonishment that a necklace made for the

adornment of French women should be worn in the seraglio, and,

thereupon, she talked to me a long time about the total change which

took place in the tastes and desires of women in the period between

twenty and thirty years of age. She told me that when she was ten years

younger she loved diamonds madly, but that she had no longer any taste

for anything but private society, the country, the work and the

attentions required by the education of her children. From that moment

until the fatal crisis there was nothing more said about the necklace."



The necklace had not been sold. It remained in the jeweller's hands

until nearly ten years had passed. Then the vicious De La Motte laid an

adroit plan for getting it into her possession, through the aid of the

Cardinal de Rohan, who had come to admire her. She was a hanger-on of

the court, and began her work by persuading the cardinal that the queen

regarded him with favor. The credulous dupe was completely infatuated

with the idea. One night, in August, 1784, he was given a brief

interview in the groves around Versailles with a woman whom he supposed

to be the queen, but who was really a girl resembling her, and taught by

La Motte to play this part.



Filled with the idea that the queen loved him, the duped cardinal was

ready for any folly. De La Motte played her next card by persuading him

that the queen had a secret desire to possess this wonderful necklace,

but had not the necessary money at that time. She would, however, sign

an agreement to purchase it if the cardinal would become her security.

De Rohan eagerly assented. This secret understanding seemed but another

proof of the queen's predilection for him. An agreement was produced,

signed with the queen's name, to which the cardinal added his own, and

on February 1, 1785, the jeweller surrendered the necklace to De Rohan,

receiving this agreement as his security. The cardinal carried the

costly prize to Versailles, where he was told the queen would send for

it. It was given by him to La Motte, who was commissioned to deliver it

to her royal patroness. In a few days afterwards this lady's husband

disappeared from Paris, and the diamond necklace with him.



The whole affair had been a trick. All the messages from the queen had

been false ones, the written documents being prepared by a seeming

valet, who was skilful in the imitation of handwriting. Throughout the

whole business the cardinal had been readily deceived, infatuation

closing his eyes to truth.



Such was the first act in the drama. The second opened when the jeweller

began to press for payment. M. de La Motte sold some of the diamonds in

England, and transmitted the money to his wife, who is said to have

quieted the jeweller for a time by paying him some instalments on the

price. But he quickly grew impatient and suspicious that all was not

right, and went to court, where he earnestly inquired if the necklace

had been delivered to the queen. For a time she could not understand

what he meant. The diamond necklace? What diamond necklace? What did

this mean? The Cardinal de Rohan her security for payment!--it was all

false, all base, some dark intrigue behind it all.



Burning with indignation, she sent for Abbe de Vermond and Baron de

Breteuil, the minister of the king's household, and told them of the

affair. It was a shameful business, they said. They hated the cardinal,

and did not spare him. The queen, growing momentarily more angry, at

length decided to reveal the whole transaction to the king, and roused

in his mind an indignation equal to her own. The result we have already

seen. De Rohan and La Motte were consigned to the Bastille. M. de La

Motte was in England, and thus out of reach of justice. Another

celebrated individual who was concerned in the affair, and had aided in

duping the cardinal, the famous, or infamous, Count Cagliostro, was

also consigned to the Bastille for his share in the dark and deep

intrigue.



The trial came on, as the closing act in this mysterious drama, in which

all Paris had now become intensely interested. The cardinal had

renounced all the privileges of his rank and condition, and accepted the

jurisdiction of Parliament,--perhaps counting on the open enmity between

that body and the court.



The trial revealed a disgraceful business, in which a high dignitary of

the church had permitted himself to be completely gulled by a shameless

woman and the equally shameless Cagliostro, and into which not only the

name but even the virtue of the queen had been dragged. Public opinion

became intense. The hostility to the queen which had long smouldered now

openly declared itself. "It was for her and by her orders that the

necklace was bought," said the respectable Parisians. Those who were not

respectable said much worse things. The queen was being made a victim of

these shameless and criminal adventurers.



The trial went on, political feeling being openly displayed in it. The

great houses of Conde and Rohan took sides with the cardinal. Their

representatives might be seen, dressed in mourning, interviewing the

magistrates on their way to the tribunal, pleading with them on behalf

of their relative. The magistrates needed little persuasion. The

Parliament of Paris had long been at sword's point with the crown; now

was its time for revenge; political prejudice blinded the members to

the pure questions of law and justice; the cardinal was acquitted.



Cagliostro was similarly acquitted. He had conducted his own case, and

with a skill that deceived the magistrates and the public alike. Madame

de La Motte alone was convicted. She was sentenced to be whipped,

branded on each shoulder with the letter V (for voleuse, "thief"), and

to be imprisoned for life. Her husband, who was in England, was

sentenced in his absence to the galleys for life. A minor participant in

this business, the girl who had personated the queen, escaped

unpunished.



So ended this disgraceful affair. The queen was greatly cast down by the

result. "Condole with me," she said, in a broken voice, to Madame

Campan; "the intriguer who wanted to ruin me, or procure money by using

my name and forging my signature, has just been fully acquitted." But it

was due, she declared, to bribery on the part of some and to political

passion on that of others, with an audacity towards authority which such

people loved to display. The king entered as she was speaking.



"You find the queen in great affliction," he said to Madame Campan; "she

has much reason to be. But what then? They would not see in this

business anything save a prince of the Church and the Prince of Rohan,

whereas it is only the case of a man in want of money, and a mere trick

for raising cash, wherein the cardinal has been swindled in his turn.

Nothing is easier to understand, and it needs no Alexander to cut this

Gordian knot."



Cardinal Rohan was exiled to his abbey of Chaise-Dieu, guilty in the

king's opinion, a dupe in the judgment of history, evidently a credulous

profligate who had mistaken his vocation. The queen was the true victim

of the whole affair. It doubled the hostility of the people to her, and

had its share in that final sentence which brought her head to the

block.



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