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"In the month of June, 1784," says the Demoiselle herself, in her (judicial) Autobiography, "I occupied a small apartment in the Rue du Jour, Quartier St. Eustache. I was not far from the Garden of the Palais-Royal; I had made it my usual promenade." For, indeed, the real God's-truth is, I was a Parisian unfortunate-female, with moderate custom; and one must go where his market lies. "I frequently passed three or four hours of the afternoon there, with some women of my acquaintance, and a little child of four years old, whom I was fond of, whom his parents willingly trusted with me. I even went thither alone, except for him, when other company failed.
"One afternoon, in the month of July following, I was at the Palais-Royal: my whole company, at the moment, was the child I speak of. A tall young man, walking alone, passes several times before me. He was a man I had never seen. He looks at me; he looks fixedly at me. I observe even that ways, as he comes near, he slackens his pace, as if to survey me more at leisure. A chair stood vacant; two or three feet from mine. He seats himself there.
"Till this instant, the sight of the young man, his walks, his approaches, his repeated gazings, had made no impression on me. But now when he was sitting so close by, I could not avoid noticing him. His eyes ceased not to wander over all my person. His air becomes earnest, grave. An unquiet curiosity appears to agitate him. He seems to measure my figure, to seize by turns all parts of my physiognomy."-He finds me (but whispers not a syllable of it) tolerably like, both in person and profile; for even the Abbé Georgel says, I was a belle courtisane.
THE NECKLACE IS SOLD.
Autumn, with its gray moaning winds, and coating of red strown leaves, invites Courtiers to enjoy the charms of Nature; and all business of moment stands still. Countess de Lamotte, while everything is so stagnant, and even Boehmer (though with sure hope) has locked up his Necklace for the season, can drive, with her Count and his Euryalus, Villette, down to native Bar-sur-Aube; and there (in virtue of a Queen's bounty) show the envious a Scion-of-royalty re-grafted; and make them yellower looking on it. A well-varnished chariot, with the Arms of Valois duly al-painted in bend-sinister; a house gallantly furnished, bodies gallantly attired,—secure them the favourablest reception from all manner of men. The very Due de Penthièvre (Egalité's father-in-law) welcomes our Lamotte, with that urbanity characteristic of his high station, and the old school. Worth, indeed, makes the man, or woman; but leather (of gig-straps) and prunella (of gig-lining) first makes it go.
The Demoiselle Gay d'Oliva may once more sit, or stand, in the Palais-Royal, with such
custom as will come. In due time, she shall again, but with breath of Terror, be blown upon; and blown out of France to Brussels.
This is she whom Bette, and Bette's Advocate, intended the world to take for Gay d'Oliva. "The other is of middle size: dark eyes, chestnut hair, white complexion: fectly well, and with no less facility than vivacity;"
the sound of her voice is agreeable; she speaks per
this one is meant for Lamotte. Oliva's real name was
"It is time to name this young man: he was the Sieur de Lamotte, styling himself Comte de Lamotte." Who doubts it? He praises "my feeble charms;" expresses a wish to "pay his addresses to me." I, being a lone spinster, know not what to say; think it best in the meanwhile to retire. Vain precaution! "I see him all on a sudden appear in my apartment!"
On his "ninth visit" (for he was always civility itself) he talks of introducing a great Court-lady, by whose means I may even do her Majesty some little secret-service,-theness: this she has in plain words (and even reward of which will be unspeakable. In the not without asperity, due to a bore of such dusk of the evening, silks mysteriously rustle; magnitude) given him to know. From her, enter the creative Dramaturgist, Dame, styled nevertheless, by cunning inference, and the Countess, de Lamotte; and so-the too intru- merest accident in the world, the sly Jouailsive, scientific reader, has now, for his punish-lier-Bijoutier has gleaned thus much, that ment, got on the wrong side of that loveliest Monseigneur de Rohan is the man.-Enough! Transparency; finds nothing but grease-pots, Enough! Madame shall be no more troubled. and vapour of expiring wicks! Rest there, in hope, thou Necklace of the Devil; but, O Monseigneur, be thy return speedy!
Alas, the man lives not that would be speedier than Monseigneur, if he durst. But as yet no gilt Autograph invites him, permits him; the few gilt Autographs are all negatory, procrastinating. Cabals of Court; for ever cabals! Nay, if it be not for some Necklace, or other such crotchet or necessity, who knows but he may never be recalled, (so fickle is womankind;) but forgotten, and left to rot
Essigny; the Oliva (OLISVA, anagram of VALOIS) was given her by Lamotte along with the title of Baroness,
MIS. Notes, Affuire du Collier.)
The great creative Dramaturgist has thus let down her drop-scene; and only, with a Letter or two to Saverne, or even a visit thither, (for it is but a day's drive from Bar,) keeps up a due modicum of intermediate instrumental music. She needs some pause, in good sooth, to collect herself a little; for the last act and grand Catastrophe is at hand. Two fixedideas, (Cardinal's and Jeweller's,) a negative and a positive, have felt each other; stimulated now by new hope, are rapidly revolving round each other, and approximating; like two flames, are stretching out long fire-tongues to join and be one.
readiest; as, indeed, he has been these four Boehmer, on his side, is ready with the long years. The Countess, it is true, will have neither part nor lot in that foolish Cadeau of his, or in the whole foolish Necklace busi
here, like his Rose, into pot-pourri? Our tu- | positively will not write a gilt Autograph, telary Countess, too, is shyer in this matter authorizing his Eminence to make the bargain; than we ever saw her. Nevertheless, by in- but writes rather, in a petting manner, that the tense skilful cross-questioning, he has extorted thing is of no consequence, and can be given somewhat; sees partly how it stands. The up! Thus must the poor Countess dash to Queen's Majesty will have her Necklace, (for and fro, like a weaver's shuttle, between Paris when, in such case, had not woman her and Versailles; wear her horses and nerves way?); and can even pay for it-by instal- to pieces; nay, sometimes in the hottest haste, ments; but then the stingy husband! Once wait many hours within call of the Palace, for all, she will not be seen in the business. considering what can be done, (with none but Now, therefore, were it, or were it not, per- Villette to bear her company,)—till the Queen's missible to mortal to transact it secretly in her whim pass. stead? That is the question. If to mortal, then to Monseigneur. Our Countess has even ventured to hint afar off at Monseigneur (kind Countess) in the proper quarter; but his discretion is doubted,-in regard to money matters.-Discretion? And I on the Promenade de la Rose?-Explode not, O Eminence! Trust will spring of trial: thy hour is coming.
At length, after furious-driving and conferences enough, on the 29th of January, a middle course is hit on. Cautious Boehmer shall write out (on finest paper) his terms; which are really rather fair: Sixteen hundred thousand livres; to be paid in five equal instalments; the first this day six months; the other four from three months to three months; this is what Court-Jewellers, Boehmer and Bassange, on the one part, and Prince Cardinal Commendator Louis de Rohan, on the other part, will stand to; witness their hands. Which written sheet of finest paper our poor Countess must again take charge of, again dash off with to Versailles; and therefrom, after trouble unspeakable, (shared in only by the faithful Villette, of Rascaldom,) return with it, bearing this most precious marginal note,-" Bon— Marie Antoinette de France," in the Autograph hand! Happy Cardinal! this thou shalt keep in the innermost of all thy repositories. Boehmer, meanwhile, secret as Death, shall tell no man that he has sold his Necklace; or if much pressed for an actual sight of the same, confess that it is sold to the Favourite Sultana of the Grand Turk for the time being.*
The Lamottes, meanwhile, have left their farewell card with all the respectable classes of Bar-sur-Aube; our Dramaturgist stands again behind the scenes at Paris. How is it, O Monseigneur, that she is still so shy with thee, in this matter of the Necklace; that she leaves the love-lorn Latmian shepherd to droop, here in lone Saverne, like weeping-ash, in naked winter, on his Promenade of the Rose, with vague commonplace responses that "his hour is coming?"-By Heaven and Earth! at last, in late January, it is come. Behold it, this new gilt Autograph: "To Paris, on a small business of delicacy, which our Countess will explain,"-which I already know! To Paris! Horses; Postillions; Beefeaters! And so his resuscitated Eminence, all wrapt in furs, in the pleasantest frost, (Abbé Georgel says, un beau froid de Janvier,) over clear-jingling highways, rolls rapidly, borne on the bosom of Dreams.
O Dame de Lamotte, has the enchanted Diamond fruit ripened, then? Hast thou given it the little shake, big with unutterable fate?I can the Dame justly retort: Who saw me in it? The reader, therefore, has still Three scenic Exhibitions to look at, by our great Dramaturgist; then the Fourth and last,-by another Author.
Thus, then, do the smoking Lamotte horses at length get rubbed down, and feel the taste of oats, after midnight; the Lamotte Countess can also gradually sink into needful slumber, perhaps not unbroken by dreams. On the morrow the bargain shall be concluded; next day the Necklace be delivered, on Monseigneur's receipt.
Will the reader, therefore, be pleased to glance at the following two Life-Pictures, Real-Phantasmagories, or whatever we may call them: they are the two first of those Three scenic real-poetic Exhibitions, brought about by our Dramaturgist: short Exhibitions, but
To us, reflecting how oftenest the true moving force in human things works hidden underground, it seems small marvel that this month of January, (1785,) wherein our Coun-essential ones. tess so little courts the eye of the vulgar historian, should, nevertheless, have been the busiest of all for her; especially the latter half thereof.
THE NECKLACE VANISHES.
Wisely eschewing matters of business, (which she could never in her life understand,) our Countess will personally take no It is the first day of February; that grand day charge of that bargain-making; leaves it all of Delivery. The Sieur Boehmer is in the to her Majesty and the gilt Autographs. Assi-Court of the Palais de Strasbourg; his look duous Boehmer, nevertheless, is in frequent mysterious-official, but (though much emaciclose conference with Monseigneur: the Parisated) radiant with enthusiasm. The Seine Palais-de-Strasbourg, shut to the rest of men, has missed him: though lean, he will fatten sees the Jouaillier-Bijoutier, with eager official again, and live through new enterprises. aspect, come and go. The grand difficulty is Singular, were we not used to it: the name,
must we say it?-her Majesty's wilful whimsicality, unacquaintance with Business. She
Boehmer, as it passes upwards and inwards, lowers all halberts of Heyducs in perpendicular rows: the historical eye beholds him, bowing low, with plenteous smiles, in the plush Saloon of Audience. Will it please Monseigneur, then, to do the ne-plus-ultra of Necklaces the honour of looking at it? A piece of Art, which the Universe cannot parallel, shall be parted with (Necessity compels Court-Jewellers) at that ruinously low sum. They, the Court-Jewellers, shall have much ado to weather it; but their work, at least, will find a fit Wearer, and go down to juster posterity. Monseigneur will merely have the condescension to sign this Receipt of Delivery all the rest, her Highness the Sultana of the Sublime Porte has settled it. Here the Court-Jeweller, with his joyous, though now much emaciated face, ventures on a faint knowing smile; to which, in the lofty dissolute-serene of Monseigneur's, some twinkle of permission could not but respond. This is the First of those Three real-poetic Exhibitions, brought about by our Dramaturgist,with perfect success.
It was said, long afterwards, that Monseigneur should have known, that Boehmer should have known, her Highness the Sultana's marginal-note (that of "Right-Marie Antoinette of France") to be a forgery and mockery: the of France was fatal to it. Easy talking, easy criticizing! But how are two enchanted men to know; two men with a fixed-idea each, a negative and a positive, rushing together to neutralize each other in rapture?-Enough, Monseigneur has the ne-plus-ultra of Necklaces, conquered by man's valour and woman's wit; and rolls off with it, in mysterious speed, to Versailles, triumphant as a Jason with his Golden Fleece.
same,) he has, with his grave, respectful, yet official air, received the Casket, and its priceless contents; with fit injunction, with fit engagements; and retires bowing low.
Thus, softly, silently, like a very Dream, flits away our solid necklace,-through the Horn Gate of Dreams!
But, hist! A knock, mild, but decisive, as from one knocking with authority! Monseigneur and we retire to our alcove; there, from behind our glass screen, observe what passes. Who comes? The door flung open: de par la Reine! Behold him, Monseigneur : he enters with grave, respectful, yet official air; worthy Monsieur Queen's-valet Lesclaux, the same who escorted our tutelary Countess, that moonlight night, from the back apartments of Versailles. Said we not, thou wouldst see him once more?-Methinks, again, spite of his Queen's-uniform, he has much the features of Villette of Rascaldom!-Rascaldom or Valetdom, for to the blind all colours are the
* Georgel, &c.
SCENE THIRD: BY DAME DE LAMOTTE.
Now, too, in these same days (as he can afterwards prove by affidavit of Landlords) arrives Count Cagliostro himself, from Lyons! No longer by predictions in cipher; but by his living voice, (often in wrapt communion with the unseen world," with Caraffe and four candles;") by his greasy prophetic bulldog face, (said to be the "most perfect quack-face of the eighteenth century,") can we assure ourselves that all is well; that all will turn "to the glory of Monseigneur, to the good of France, and of mankind," and Egyptian masonry. "Tokay flows like water;" our charming Countess, with her piquancy of face, is sprightlier than ever; enlivens with the brightest sallies, with the adroitest flatteries to all, those suppers of the gods. O Nights, O Suppers-too good to last! Nay, now also occurs another and Third scenic Exhibition, fitted by its radiance to dispel from Monsiegneur's soul the last trace of care.
Why the Queen does not, even yet, openly receive me at Court? Patience, Monseigneur! Thou little knowest those too intricate cabals; and how she still but works at them silently, with royal suppressed fury, like a royal lioness only delivering herself from the hunter's toils. Meanwhile, is not thy work done? The Necklace, she rejoices over it; beholds (many times in secret) her Juno-neck mirrored back the lovelier for it,-as our tutelar Countess can testify. Come to-morrow to the Eil de Bœuf; there see with eyes, in high noon, as already in deep midnight thou hast seen, whether in her royal heart there were delay.
The Second grand scenic Exhibition by our Dramaturgic Countess occurs in her own apartment at Versailles, so early as the following night. It is a commodious apartment, with alcove; and the alcove has a glass door. Monseigneur enters, with a follower bearing a mysterious Casket; carefully depositing it, and then respectfully withdrawing. It is the Necklace itself in all its glory! Our tutelary Let us stand, then, with Monseigneur, in Countess, and Monseigneur, and we, can at that Eil de Bœuf, in the Versailles Palace Galleisure admire the queenly Talisman; con-ery; for all well-dressed persons are admitted: gratulate ourselves that the painful conquest there the Loveliest, in pomp of royalty, will of it is achieved. walk to mass. The world is all in pelisses and winter furs; cheerful, clear,-with noses tending to blue. A lively many-voiced Hum plays fitful, hither and thither; of sledge parties and Court parties: frosty state of the weather; stability of M. de Calonne ; Majesty's looks yesterday;-such Hum as always, in these sacred Court-spaces since Louis le Grand made and consecrated them, has, with more or less impetuosity, agitated our common Atmosphere.
Ah, through that long high Gallery what figures have passed-and vanished! Louvois,
with the Great King, flashing fire-glances on the fugitive; in his red right hand a pair of tongs, which pious Maintenon hardly holds
• Georgel, &c.
back: Louvois, where art thou? Ye Maré- Monseigneur; another thing to Cagliostro, chaux de France? Ye unmentionable-women and Vilette of Rascaldom; a third thing to the of past generations? Here also was it that World, (in printed Mémoires ;) a fourth thing to rolled and rushed the "sound, absolutely like Philippe Egalité: all things to all men! thunder," of Courtier hosts; in that dark Let her, however, we say, but manage now to hour when the signal light in Louis the Fifact her own parts, with proper Histrionic illuteenth's chamber-window was blown out; and sion; and, by Critical glosses, give her past his ghastly infectious Corpse lay alone, for- Dramaturgy the fit aspect, to Monsiegneur and saken on its tumbled death-lair, "in the hands others: this henceforth, and not new Dramaof some poor women :" and the Courtier-hosts turgy, includes her whole task. Dramatic rushed from the Deep-fallen to hail the New-Scenes, in plenty, will follow of themselves; risen! These too rushed, and passed; and especially that Fourth and final Scene, spoken their "sound, absolutely like thunder," became of above as by another Author,—by Destiny silence. Figures? Men? They are fast fleet- itself.
ing Shadows: fast chasing each other: it is For in the Lamotte Theatre (so different not a Palace, but a Caravansera.-Monseig- from our common Pasteboard one) the Play neur, (with thy too much Tokay overnight!) goes on, even when the Machinist has left it. cease puzzling: here thou art, this blessed Strange enough: those Air-images, which from February day-the Peerless, will she turn her Magic-lantern she hung out on the empty lightly that high head of hers, and glance bosom of Night, have clutched hold of this aside into the Eil de Bœuf, in passing? Please solid-seeming World, (which some call the Heaven, she will. To our tutelary Countess, Material World, as if that made it more a Real at least, she promised it; though, alas, so one,) and will tumble hither and thither the fickle is womankind!solidest mass there. Yes, reader, so goes it Hark! Clang of opening doors! She issues, here below. What thou callest a Brain-web, like the Moon in silver brightness, down the or mere illusive Nothing, is it not a web of the Eastern steeps. La Reine vient! What a figure! Brain; of the Spirit which inhabits the Brain; I (with the aid of glasses) discern her. O and which, in this World, rather, as I think, Fairest, Peerless! Let the hum of minor dis- to be named the spiritual one,) very naturally coursing hush itself wholly; and only one moves and tumbles hither and thither all things successive rolling peal of Vive la Reine (like it meets with, in Heaven or in Earth ?-So, too, the moveable radiance of a train of fire-works) the Necklace, though we saw it vanish through irradiate her path.-Ye Immortals! She does, the Horn Gate of Dreams, and in my opinion she beckons, turns her head this way!" Does man shall never more behold it,-yet its activshe not?" says Countess de Lamotte.-Ver- ity ceases not, nor will. For no Act of a man, sailles, the Eil de Bœuf, and all men and things, no Thing, (how much less the man himself!) are drowned in a sea of Light; Monseigneur is extinguished when it disappears: through and that high beckoning Head are alone, with considerable times (there are instances of each other, in the Universe. Three Thousand Years) it visibly works; invisibly, unrecognised, it works through endless times. Such a Hyper-magical is this our
O Eminence, what a beatific vision! Enjoy it, blest as the gods; ruminate and re-enjoy poor old Real world; which some take upon it, with full soul: it is the last provided for them to pronounce effete, prosaic! Friend, it thee. Too soon (in the course of these six is thyself that art all withered up into effete months) shall thy beatific vision, like Mirza's Prose, dead as ashes: know this, (I advise vision, gradually melt away; and only oxen thee;) and seek passionately, with a passion and sheep be grazing in its place;-and thou, little short of desperation, to have it remedied. as a doomed Nebuchadnezzar, be grazing with Meanwhile, what will the feeling heart think them. to learn that Monseigneur de Rohan (as we prophesied) again experiences the fickleness of a Court; that, notwithstanding beatific visions, at noon and midnight, the Queen's Majesty (with the light ingratitude of her sex) flies off at a tangent; and, far from ousting his detested and detesting rival, Minister Breteuil, and openly delighting to honour Monseigneur, will hardly vouchsafe him a few gilt Autographs, and those few of the most capricious, suspicious, soul-confusing tenor? What terrifico-absurd explosions, which scarcely Cagliostro, with Caraffe and four candles, can still; how many deep-weighed Humble Petitions, Explanations, Expostulations, penned with fervid
"Does she not?" said the Countess de Lamotte. That it is a habit of hers; that hardly a day passes without her doing it: this the Countess de Lamotte did not say.
THE NECKLACE CANNOT BE PAID.
Here, then, the specially Dramaturgic labours of Countess de Lamotte may be said to termiThe rest of her life is Histrionic merely, or Histrionic and Critical; as, indeed, what
had all the former part of it been but a Hypo- est eloquence, with craftiest diplomacy,-all decrisia, a more or less correct Playing of Parts ? livered by our tutelar Countess: in vain!-O "Mrs. Facing-both-ways, (as old Bunyan Cardinal, with what a huge iron mace, like said,) what a talent hadst thou! No Proteus Guy of Warwick's, thou smitest Phantasms in ever took so many shapes, no Chameleon so two (which close again, take shape again;) often changed color. One thing thou wert to and only thrashest the air! + See Georgel.
One comfort, however, is that the Queen's Majesty has committed herself. The Rose of
Trianon, and what may pertain thereto, lies it | ran down like water. Small sparrows, as I not here? That "Righ-Marie Antoinette of learn, have been trained to fire cannon; but France," too; and the 30th of July, first-instal- would make poor Artillery Officers in a Waterment-day, coming? She shall be brought to loo. Thou dost not call that Cork a strong terms, good Eminence! Order horses and beef- swimmer? which, nevertheless, shoots, witheaters for Saverne; there, ceasing all written out hurt, the Falls of Niagara; defies the or oral communication, starve her into capitu- thunderbolt itself to sink it, for more than a lating. It is the bright May month: his Emi- moment. Without intellect, imagination, power nence again somnambulates the Promenade de of attention, or any spiritual faculty, how brave la Rose; but now with grim dry eyes; and, were one, with fit motive for it, such as from time to time, terrifically stamping. hunger! How much might one dare, by the simplest of methods, by not thinking of it, not knowing it!-Besides, is not Cagliostro, foolish blustering Quack, still here? No scapegoat had ever broader back. The Cardinal, too, has he not money? Queen's Majesty, even in effigy, shall not be insulted; the Soubises, De Marsans, and high and puissant Cousins, must huddle the matter up: Calumniated Innocence, in the most universal of Earthquakes, will find some crevice to whisk through, as she has so often done.
But who is this that I see mounted on costliest horse and horse-gear; betting at Newmarket Races; though he can speak no English word, and only some Chevalier O'Niel, some Capuchin Macdermot (from Bar-sur Aube) interprets his French into the dialect of the Sister Island? Few days ago I observed him walking in Fleet-street, thoughtfully through Temple-Bar;-in deep treaty with Jeweller Jeffreys, with Jeweller Grey,† for the sale of Diamonds: such a lot as one may boast of. A tall handsome man; with ex-military whiskers; with a look of troubled gayety, and rascalism: you think it is the Sieur (self-styled Count) de Lamotte; nay, the man himself confesses it! The Diamonds were a present to his Countess,-from the still bountiful Queen.
Villette, too, has he completed his sales at Amsterdam? Him I shall by and by behold; not betting at Newmarket, but drinking wine and ardent spirits in the Taverns of Geneva. Ill-gotten wealth endures not; Rascaldom has no strongbox. Countess de Lamotte, for what a set of cormorant scoundrels hast thou laboured; art thou still labouring!
Still labouring, we may say: for as the fatal 30th of July approaches, what is to be looked for but universal Earthquake; Mud-explosion that will blot out the face of Nature? Methinks, stood I in thy pattens, Dame de Lamotte, I would cut and run.-" Run!" exclaims she, with a toss of indignant astonishment: "calumniated Innocence run?" For it is singular how in some minds (that are mere bottomless "chaotic whirlpools of gilt shreds") there is no deliberate Lying whatever; and nothing is either believed or disbelieved, but only (with some transient suitable Histrionic emotion) spoken and heard.
Had Dame de Lamotte a certain greatness of character, then; at least, a strength of transcendant audacity, amounting to the bastardheroic? Great, indubitably great, is her Dramaturgic and Histrionic talent: but as for the rest, one must answer, with reluctance, No. Mrs. Facing-both-ways is a "Spark of vehement Life," but the furthest in the world from a brave woman: she did not, in any case, show the bravery of a woman; did, in many cases, show the mere screaming trepidation of one. Her grand quality is rather to be reckoned negative: the "untamableness" as of a fly; the "wax-cloth dress" from which so much
Grey lived in No. 13, New Bond Street; Jeffreys in Piccadilly (Rohan's Mémoire Pour; see also Count de Lamotte's Narrative, in Mémoires Justificatifs) Rohan says, "Jeffreys bought more than 10,000l. worth."
But all this while how fares it with his Eminence, left somnambulating the Promenade de la Rose; and at times truculently stamping? Alas, ill; and ever worse. The starving method, singular as it may seem, brings no capitulation; brings only, after a month's waiting, our tutelary Countess, with a gilt Autograph, indeed, and "all wrapt in silk threads, sealed where they cross, but which we read with curses.
We must back again to Paris; there pen new Expostulations; which our unwearied Countess will take charge of, but, alas, can get no answer to. However, is not the 30th of July coming?-Behold (on the 19th of that month,) the shortest, most careless of Autographs with some fifteen hundred pounds of real money in it, to pay the-interest of the first instalment; the principal (of some thirty thousand) not being at the moment perfectly convenient! Hungry Boehmer makes large eyes at this proposal; will accept the money, but only as part of payment; the man is posi tive: a Court of Justice, if no other means, shall get him the remainder. What now is to be done?
Farmer-general Mons. Saint-James, Cagliostro's disciple, and wet with Tokay, will cheerfully advance the sum needed-for her Majesty's sake; thinks, however (with all his Tokay,) it were good to speak with her Majesty first.-I observe, meanwhile, the distracted hungry Boehmer driven hither and thither, not by his fixed-idea; alas, no, but by the far more frightful ghost thereof,-since no payment is forthcoming. He stands, one day, speaking with a Queen's waiting-woman (Madam Campan herself.) in "a thunder-shower, which neither of them notice," so thunderstruck are they. What weather-symptoms for his Eminence!
The 30th of July has come, but no money; the 30th is gone, but no money. O Eminence, what a grim farewell of July is this of 1785! The last July went out with airs from Heaven,