Marie Antoinette and Her Son Part 13

remarked the president, quietly. "Madame de Boulainvillier held her peace, and relinquished punishment to the righteous Judge who lives above the stars."

"And who surely has not descended from the stars to a.s.sume the president's chair of this court," cried Lamotte, with a mocking laugh.

President L'Aigre, without heeding the interruption, continued:

"The daughter of the laborer Valois married the sub-lieutenant Lamotte, who lived in a little garrison city of the province, and sought to increase his meagre salary by many ingenious devices. He not merely gave instruction in fencing and riding, but he was also a very skilful card-player--so skilful, that fortune almost always accompanied him."

"My lord," cried the countess, springing up," you seem to want to hint that Count Lamotte played a false game. You surely would not venture to say this if the count were free, for he would challenge you for this insult, and it is well known that his stroke is fatal to those who stand in the way of his dagger."

"I hint at nothing, and I merely call things by their right names,"

replied the president, smiling. "In consequence of strong suspicions of false play, Count Lamotte was driven out of his regiment; and as the young pair had in the meantime consumed the stolen wedding- money, they must discover some new way of making a living. The young husband repaired to the south of France to continue his card- playing; the young wife, having for her fortune her youth and the splendor of her name, repaired to Paris, both resolved de corriger la fortune wherever and however they could. "This, madame,"

continued the president, after a pause, "this is the true answer to my question, how you are called, and who you are."

"The answer is, however, not yet quite satisfactory," replied Lamotte, in an impudent tone. "You have forgotten to add that I am the friend of the cardinal, Prince Louis de Rohan, the confidante and friend of Queen Marie Antoinette, and that both now want to do me the honor to make me their bete de souffrance, and to let me suffer for what they have done and are guilty of. My whole crime lies in this, that I helped the Queen of France gain the jewels for which her idle and trivial soul longed; that I helped the amorous and light-minded cardinal approach the object of his love, and procured for him an interview with the queen. That is all that can be charged upon me; I procured for the queen the fine necklace of Messrs. Bohmer and Ba.s.senge; I gave the cardinal, as the price of a part of the necklace, a tender tete-a-tete with the queen. The cardinal will not deny that in the garden of Versailles he had a rendezvous with the queen, that he kissed her hand and received a rose from her; and the queen will be compelled to confess in the end that the necklace is in her possession. What blame can be laid on me for this?"

"The blame of deception, of defalcation, of forgery, of calumny, of theft," replied the president, with solemn earnestness. "You deceived Cardinal de Rohan in saying that you knew the queen, that you were intimate with her, that she honored you with her confidence. You forged, or got some one to forge, the handwriting of the queen, and prepared letters which you gave to the cardinal, pretending that they came from the queen. You misused the devotion of the cardinal to the royal family, and caused his eminence to believe that the queen desired his services in the purchase of the necklace; and after the cardinal, full of pleasure, had been able to do a service to the queen, had treated with Bohmer and Ba.s.senge, had paid a part of the purchase money, and gave you the necklace in charge to be put into the queen's hands, you were guilty of theft, for the queen knows nothing of the necklace; the queen never gave you the honor of an audience, the queen never spoke with you, and no one of the queen's companions ever saw the Countess Lamotte."

"That means they disown me; they all disown me!" cried the countess, with flaming rage, stamping upon the floor with her little satin- covered foot. "But the truth will one day come to the light. The cardinal will not deny that the queen gave him a rendezvous at Versailles; that she thanked him personally for the necklace which she had procured through his instrumentality."

"Yes, the truth will come to the light," answered the president. "I summon the crown attorney, M. de Borillon, to present the charge against the Countess Lamotte-Valois."

On this the attorney-general, Borillon, rose, and amid the breathless silence of the a.s.sembly began to speak. He painted the countess as a crafty, skilful adventuress, who had come to Paris with the determined purpose of making her fortune in whatever way it could be done. He then spoke of the dest.i.tution in which she had lived at first, of the begging letters which she addressed to all people of distinction, and especially to Cardinal de Rohan, in consequence of his well-known liberality. He painted in lively and touching colors the scene where the cardinal, struck by the name of the suppliant, went in person to the attic to convince himself whether it were really true that a descendant of the Kings of France had been driven to such poverty and humiliation, and to give her a.s.sistance for the sake of the royal house, to which he was devoted heart and soul. He painted further how the cardinal, attracted by the lively spirits, amiability, and intellectual character of Lamotte-Valois, had given her his confidence, and believed what she told him about her favor with the queen, and her intimate relations with her. "The cardinal," continued the attorney-general, "did not doubt for a moment the trustworthiness of the countess; he had not the least suspicion that he was appointed to become the victim of an intriguer, who would take advantage of his n.o.ble spirit, his magnanimity, to deceive him and to enrich herself. The countess knew the boundless devotion of the cardinal to the queen; she had heard his complaints of the proud coldness, the public slights which she offered to him. On the other hand, she had heard of the costly diamond necklace which Bohmer and Ba.s.senge had repeatedly offered to the queen, and that she had refused to take it on account of the enormous price which they demanded for it. On this the countess formed her plan and it succeeded perfectly. She caused the cardinal to hope that he would soon have an audience of the queen, if he would give solid a.s.surances of his devotion, and when he professed himself ready, she proposed to him, as acting under the queen's instructions, the purchase of the necklace. The cardinal declared himself ready to accede, and the affair took the course already indicated with such touching frankness and lofty truthfulness by his eminence. He brought the purchase to a conclusion; he paid the first instalment of six hundred thousand francs, and gave the necklace to the friend of the queen, the Countess Lamotte-Valois, after he had availed himself of her a.s.sistance in receiving from the lips and hand of the queen in the garden of Versailles the a.s.surance of the royal favor. The countess at once brought the cardinal a paper from the queen, stating that she had received the necklace, and conveying to him the warm thanks of his queen. The cardinal felt himself richly rewarded by this for all his pains and outlays, and in the joy of his heart wanted to repay her who, in so prudent and wise a manner, had effected his reconciliation with the queen. He settled upon her a yearly pension of four thousand francs, payable her whole life, and the countess accepted it with tears of emotion, and swore eternal grat.i.tude to the cardinal. But while uttering this very oath she was conspiring against her benefactor, and laughing in her sleeve at the credulous prince who had fallen into the very net which she had prepared for him. Her most active ally was her husband, whom she had long before summoned to Paris, and who was the abetter of her intrigue. The countess had now become a rich lady, and was able to indulge all her cravings for splendor and luxury.

She who, down to that time, had stood as a supplicant before the doors of the rich, could herself have a princely dwelling, and could devote great sums to its adornment. The most celebrated makers were called on, to furnish the furniture and the decorations, and, as if by a touch of magic, she was surrounded by fabulous luxury; the fairest equipages stood ready for her, the finest horses in her stable, and a troop of lackeys waited upon the beck of the fair lady who displayed her princely splendor before them. A choice silver service glittered upon her table, and she possessed valuables worth more than a hundred thousand francs. More than this, she enjoyed the best of all, a tender and devoted husband, who overloaded her with presents; from London, whither he was called by pressing family affairs, he sent his wife a medallion of diamonds, which was subsequently estimated at two hundred and thirty louis-d'ors, and a pearl bracelet worth two hundred louis-d'ors. Returning from his journey, he surprised his wife with a new and splendid present. He had purchased a palace in Bar-sur-Aube, and thither the whole costly furniture of his hired house was carried. Would you know where all these rare gifts wore drawn? The Countess Lamotte had broken the necklace, and taken the stones from their setting. For the gold alone which was used in the setting she received forty thousand francs; for one of the diamonds, which she sold in Paris, she received fifty thousand francs; for another, thirty-six thousand.

The diamonds of uncommon size and immense worth she did not dare to dispose of in Paris, and her husband was compelled to journey to London to sell a portion of them there. On his return thence he was able to buy for his wife the house in Bar-sur-Aube, for the sum received in London was four hundred thousand francs in gold, in addition to the pearls and the diamond medallion which he brought his wife from London. And of all this luxury, this extravagance, Cardinal de Rohan had naturally no suspicion. When he visited her, where did the countess receive him? In a poorly-furnished attic- chamber of the house hired by her. In simple, modest attire, She met him there and told him with trembling voice that the rich countess who lived in the two lower stories of the house had allowed her to have this suite next to the roof gratis. But when danger approached, and Lamotte began to fear that Bohmer and Ba.s.senge, in claiming their pay from the queen, would bring the history of the necklace to the light, the countess came to the cardinal to pay her parting respects, as she was going into the country to a friend to live in the greatest privacy. She left Paris merely to repair to Bar-sur- Aube and live in her magnificent palace. She tarried there so long as to allow the police detectives to discover in the rich and elegant lady the intriguer Lamotte-Valois, and to effect the imprisonment of her husband and his friend, the so-called Count Cagliostro. Her other abetters had put themselves out of sight, and were not to be discovered. However, their arrest was not specially necessary, for the facts were already sufficiently strong and clear.

Some of the diamonds which Lamotte had sold in London were brought back to Paris, and had been recognized by Bohmer and Ba.s.senge as belonging to the necklace which they had sold to the queen. The goldsmith had been discovered to whom the countess had sold the golden setting of the necklace, and Bohmer and Ba.s.senge had recognized in the fragments which remained their own work. It is unquestionable that the Countess Lamotte-Valois, through her intrigues and cunning, had been able to gain possession of the necklace, and that she had appropriated it to her own use. The countess is therefore guilty of theft and deception. She is, moreover, guilty of forgery, for she has imitated the handwriting of the queen, and subscribed it with the royal name. But the hand is neither that of the queen, nor does the queen ever subscribe herself 'Marie Antoinette of France.' This makes Lamotte open to the charge of both forgery and contempt of majesty, for she has even dared to drag the sacred person of the Queen of France into her mesh of lies, and to make her majesty the heroine of a dishonorable love- adventure."

"My lord," cried Countess Lamotte, with a loud laugh, "you are not driven to the necessity of involving the queen in dishonorable love- adventures. The queen is in reality the heroine of so many adventures of this character, that you can have your choice of them.

A queen who visits the opera-house b.a.l.l.s incognito, drives thither masked and in a fiacre, and who appears incognito on the terraces of Versailles with strange soldiers, exchanging jocose words with them- -a queen of the type of this Austrian may not wonder to find her name identified with the heroine of a love-adventure. But we are speaking now not of a romance, but of a reality, and I am not to be accused of forgery and contempt of majesty without having the proofs brought forward. This cannot, however, be done, for I have the proofs of my innocence. The cardinal had an interview with the queen, and she gave him a receipt for the diamonds. If she wrote her signature differently from her usual manner, it is not my fault. It only shows that the queen was cunning enough to secure an alibi, so to speak, for her signature, and to leave a rear door open for herself, through which she could slip with her exalted name, in case the affair was discovered, and leave me to be her bete de souffrance. But I am by no means disposed to accept this part, for I declare here solemnly, before G.o.d and man, that I am innocent of the crime laid to my charge. I was only a too true and devoted friend, that is all! I sacrificed my own safety and peace to the welfare of my exalted friends, and I now complain of them that they have treated me unthankfully in this matter. But they must bear the blame, they alone. Let the queen show that she did not give the cardinal a rendezvous in the park of Versailles; let her further show that she did not sign the promissory note, and the letters to his eminence, and then I shall be exposed to the charge of being a deceiver and a traitor. But so long as this is not done--and it cannot be done, for G.o.d is just, and will not permit the innocent to suffer for the guilty--so long will all France, yes, all Europe, be convinced that the queen is the guilty one; that she received the jewels, and paid the cardinal for them as a coquette and light- minded woman does, with tender words, with smiles and loving looks, and, last of all, with a rendezvous!"

"You are right," said the attorney-general, as the countess ceased, and looked around her with a victorious smile--"you are quite right, G.o.d IS just, and He will not permit the innocent to suffer for the guilty. He will not let your infernal intrigue stand as truth; He will tear away the mask of innocence from your deceiver's face, and lot you stand forth in all your impudence and deception."

"My lord," cried the countess, smiling, "those are very high- sounding words, but they are no proofs."

"We will now give the proofs," answered the attorney-general, turning to one of the guards. "Let the lady enter who is waiting in the room outside."

The officer gave a sign to one of the men who stood near the door leading to the witness-room; he entered the adjoining apartment, but soon after returned alone and whispered something in the officer's ear.

"The lady asks the court's indulgence for a few moments," said the officer, aloud. "As she must be separated some hours from her child, she asks permission to suckle it a few moments."

The president cast an inquiring look at the judges, who all nodded affirmatively.

The law was silent before the voice of Nature; all waited noiselessly till the witness had quieted her child.

And now the door of the witness-room opened, and upon the threshold was seen a woman's figure, at whose unexpected appearance a cry of amazement rose from the lips of all the spectators on the tribune, and all eyes were aflame with curiosity.

It was the queen--no one but the queen who was entering the hall! It was her slim, fine figure, it was her fresh, voting, rosy countenance, with the fair, charming oval of her delicately-tinted cheeks; it was her finely-cut mouth, with the full, lower lips; there were her large, grayish-blue eyes; her high forehead; her beautiful, chestnut-brown hair, arranged in exactly the manner that Leonard, the queen's hair-dresser, was accustomed to dress hers. The rest of her toilet, also, was precisely like that of the queen when she appeared in the gardens of Versailles and dispensed with court etiquette. A bright dress of light linen flowed down in long, broad folds over her beautiful figure; her chest and the full shoulders were covered by a short white robe a l'enfant, and on the loftily dressed hair lay a white cap, trimmed with lace.

Yes, it was the queen, as she had often been seen wandering up and down in the broad walks of Versailles; and even the ladies on the tribune, who often enough had seen the monarch close at hand and had spoken with her, looked in astonishment at the entering figure, and whispered, "It is she! The queen herself is coming to give her evidence. What folly, what thoughtlessness!"

While all eyes were directed upon this unexpected figure, no one had thought of the Countess Lamotte-Valois, no one had noticed how she shrank back, and then started from her seat, as if she wanted to fly from the horror which so suddenly confronted her.

No, the officer who stood near her chair had noticed this movement, and with a quick and strong grasp seized her arm.

"What do you want, madame? Why do you rise from your chair after being told to sit still, if you do not want to be chained?"

At the touch of the officer, Lamotte had, as it appeared, regained her whole composure, and had conquered her alarm.

"I rose," she said calmly, "to pay my respects to the Queen of France, like a good subject; but as I see that no one else stands up, and that they allow the queen to enter without rising from their seats, I will take mine again." And the countess slowly sank into her chair.

"Come nearer," cried President de L'Aigre to the royal personage; and she stepped forward, allowing her eyes to wander unconstrainedly through the hall, and then, as she approached the table, behind which the president and the judges sat, greeting them with a friendly nod and smile which caused her lips to part. Again there pa.s.sed through the hall a wave of amazement, for now, when the lady opened her mouth, the first dissimilarity to the queen appeared.

Behind her cherry-red lips there were two rows of poor, broken teeth, with gaps between them, whereas Marie Antoinette had, on account of her faultless teeth, been the object of admiration and envy to all the ladies of her court.

"Who are you, madame, and what are you called?" asked the president.

"Who am I, sir?" replied the lady, with a slight flush, "Good Lord!

that is hard to answer. I was a light-minded and idle girl, that did not like to work, but did like to live well, and had no objection to dress, and led a tolerably easy life, till one day my heart was surprised by love. After being enamoured of my Sergeant George, I resolved to lead an honorable and virtuous life; and since my little son was born I have tried to be merely a good mother and a good wife. Do you now want to know what I am called? Down to the present time I am called Mademoiselle Oliva. You had me arrested in Brussels and brought here exactly nine days before the appointed time of my marriage with my dear George. He had promised me that our child should be able to regard us as regularly married people, and he wanted to keep his promise, but you prevented him, and it is your fault that my dear little boy was born in prison, and that his father was not there to greet him. But you will confess that I am guilty of no crime, and then you will fulfil my wish, and give me a written certificate of my innocence--that is," she corrected herself, blus.h.i.+ng, "of my innocence in this matter, that I may be able to justify myself to my son, when I have to tell him that he was born in prison. It is such a dreadful thing for a mother to have anything that she is ashamed to confess to her child!"

A murmur of applause ran through the hall, and the ladies upon the tribune looked with sympathy upon this fair woman, whose faithful love made her beautiful, and whose mother-feeling gave her dignity.

"So your name is Mademoiselle Oliva?" asked the president.

"Yes, sir, that unfortunately is the name I am called by," answered she, sighing, "but as soon as I leave the prison I shall be married, and then I shall be called Madame George. For my child's sake, you would do me a great kindness now if you would call me madame."

At these naive words a smile lighted up the stern faces of the judges, and sped like a ray of sunlight over all the countenances of the spectators. Even the rigid features of the attorney-general were touched for an instant with the glow; only those of the Countess Lamotte darkened.

"Your majesty plays to-day the NAIVE part of a paysanne perversee,"

cried she, with a hard, shrill voice. "It is well known that your majesty loves to play comedies, and that you are sometimes content with even the minor parts. Now, do not look at me, Mrs. Queen, with such a withering look. Do not forget that you are playing the part of Mademoiselle Oliva, and that you have come secretly from Versailles to save your honor and your diamonds."

"Officer," cried the president, "if the accused allows herself to speak a single word without being asked, lock her up and gag her."

The officer bowed in token of his unconditional obedience, and drew out the wooden gag, which he showed the countess, going straight to her chair.

"I will comply with your wish," said the president, turning to the living portrait of the queen. "I will call you madame, if you will promise me in return to answer all my questions faithfully."

"I promise you that, by my child," answered Mademoiselle Oliva, bowing slightly.

"Tell me, then, do you know the person who sits in that chair?"

Mademoiselle Oliva cast a quick look at Lamotte, who glared at her from her seat.

"Oh, yes, I know her," she said. "That is, I do not know her name, I only know that she lives in a splendid palace, that she is very rich, and has everything nice."

"How do you know this lady? Tell us that."

"I will tell you, gentlemen, and I swear to you that so sure as I want to be an honorable wife, I will tell you the whole truth. I was walking one day in the Palais Royal, when a tall, slim, gentlemanly man, who had pa.s.sed me several times, came up to me, said some soft things, and asked permission to visit me. I answered him, smiling, that he could visit me at once if he would take me into one of the eating-houses and dine with me. He accepted my proposition, and we dined together, and were merry and jolly enough for a new acquaintance. When we parted we promised to meet there again on the morrow, and so we did. After the second dinner, the amiable gentleman conducted me home, and there told me that he was very distinguished and influential, that he had friends at court, and was very well acquainted with the king and queen. He told me that he would procure for me powerful patrons, and told me that a very distinguished lady, who had interested herself in my behalf through his description, would visit me and make my acquaintance. On the next day he really came in company with a lady, who greeted me very friendly, and was astonished at her first glimpse of me."

"Who was that lady?" asked the president.

Mademoiselle pointed with her thumb over her shoulder. "The lady yonder," said she.