Of all the gems which have served to adorn a crown or deck a beauty the Regent has perhaps had the most remarkable career. Bought, sold, stolen and lost, it has passed through many hands, always however leaving some mark of its passage, so that the historian can follow its devious course with some certainty. From its extraordinary size it has been impossible to confound it with any other diamond in the world; hence the absence of those conflicting statements with regard to it which puzzle one at every turn in the cases of certain other historical jewels.
The first authentic appearance of this diamond in history was in December, 1701. In that month it was offered for sale by a diamond merchant named Jamchund to the Governor of Fort St. George near Madras, Mr. Thomas Pitt, the grandfather of the great Earl of Chatham.
Although, as we shall see later on, the diamond came fairly into the hands of Mr. Pitt, it had already a taint of blood upon it. I allude to the nebulous and gloomy story that has drifted down to us along with this sparkling gem. How far the story is true it is now impossible to ascertain. The Regent itself alone could throw any light upon the subject, and that, notwithstanding its myriad rays, it refuses to do.
Tradition says the stone was found by a slave at Partreal, a hundred and fifty miles south of Golconda. The native princes who worked these diamond mines were very particular to see that all the large gems should be reserved to deck their own swarthy persons; hence there were most stringent regulations for the detection of theft. No person who was not above suspicion—and who indeed was ever above the suspicion of an absolute Asiatic prince?—might leave the mines without being thoroughly examined, inside and out, by means of purgatives, emetics and the like. Notwithstanding all these precautions however, the Regent was concealed in a wound made in the calf of the leg of a slave. The inspectors, I suppose, did not probe the wound deeply enough, for the slave got away safely with his prize and reached Madras. Alas! poor wretch, it was an evil day for him when he found the great rough diamond. On seeking out a purchaser he met with an English skipper who offered him a considerable sum for it; but on going to the ship, perhaps to get his money, he was slain and thrown overboard. The skipper then sold the stone to Jamchund for one thousand pounds ($5000), took to drink and speedily succumbing to the combined effects of an evil conscience and delirium tremens hanged himself. Thus twice baptized in blood the great diamond was fairly launched upon its life of adventure.
And now we come to the authentic part of its history.
Mr. Pitt has left a solemn document under his own hand and seal recounting his mercantile encounter with the Eastern Jamchund. It would appear from this notable writing that Mr. Pitt himself had been accused of stealing the diamond, for he begins with lamentations over the "most unparalleled villainy of William Fraser Thomas Frederick and Smapa, a black merchant," who it would seem had sent a paper to Governor Addison (Mr. Pitt's successor in Madras) intimating that Mr. Pitt had come unfairly by his treasure. The writer then calls down God to witness to his truthfulness and invokes His curse upon himself and his children should he here tell a lie.
After this solemn preamble, Mr. Pitt goes on minutely to describe his transaction with the diamond merchant; how in the end of 1701 Jamchund, in company with one Vincaty Chittee, called upon him in order to effect the sale of a very large diamond. Mr. Pitt, who seems to have been himself a very considerable trader in precious stones, was appalled at the sum, two hundred thousand pagodas ($400,000), asked for this diamond. He accordingly offered thirty thousand pagodas; but Jamchund went away unable to sacrifice his pebble for such a sum. They haggled over the matter for two months, meeting several times in the interval. The Indian merchant made use of the classical expressions of his trade, as, for example, that it was only to Mr. Pitt that he would sell it for so insignificant a sum as a hundred thousand pagodas. But all this was of no avail and they consequently parted again without having effected a bargain.
Finally Jamchund having resolved to go back into his own country once more presented himself, always attended by the faithful Vincaty Chittee, before the Governor, and offered his stone now for fifty thousand pagodas. Pitt then offered forty-five thousand, thinking that "if good it must prove a pennyworth." Then Jamchund fell a thousand and Pitt rose a thousand. Now the bargain seemed pretty near conclusion; but it often happens that hucksters who have risen or fallen by pounds come to grief at the last moment over the pence that still separate them, so these two seemed unable to move further towards a settlement. Mr. Pitt went into his closet to a Mr. Benyon and had a chat over it with that gentleman who appears to have advised him to the purchase, remarking that a stone which was worth forty-seven thousand pagodas was surely worth forty-eight. Convinced by this reasoning the Governor went again to Jamchund and at last closed the bargain at forty-eight thousand pagodas ($96,000). It was a lucky moment for him, since it was upon this minute but adamantine corner-stone that the Governor of Fort St. George began to build up the fortunes of the great house of Pitt.
The diamond, valued far below its price in order not to attract attention, was sent home to England and lodged with bankers until Mr. Pitt's return from India, when he had it cut and polished. This process, the most critical one in the life of a diamond, was performed in an eminently satisfactory manner. The rough stone, which had weighed four hundred and ten carats, came forth from the hands of the cutter a pure and flawless brilliant of unparalleled lustre weighing one hundred and thirty-six and three fourths carats. It took two years to cut it, and the cost of the operation was ten thousand dollars; but its lucky owner had no reason to complain, since he sold the dust and fragments for no less than forty thousand dollars and still had the largest diamond in the world to dispose of.
This, however, proved to be no easy matter, for though many coveted it few persons were ready to give Mr. Pitt's price for it. One private individual did indeed offer four hundred thousand dollars, but he was not listened to. The fame of this wonderful stone soon spread over Europe. In 1710 an inquisitive German traveler, one Uffenbach, made "a wonderful journey" into England and tried to get a sight of it. But by this time Mr. Pitt and his diamond were so renowned a couple that the former must have been a most miserable person. The German tells us how it was impossible to see the stone, for Mr. Pitt never slept twice in the same house and was constantly changing his name when he came to town. Indeed his life was one of haunting terror lest he should be murdered for his jewel as the hapless slave had been in the very outset of its career.
At last, in 1717, he was relieved from his troubles. He sold the stone to the King of France, having in vain offered it to the other monarchs of Europe. The Duke of Saint Simon minutely chronicles the whole transaction. The model of the diamond, which was then known as the "Pitt," was brought to him by the famous Scotch financier, Law. At this time the Duke of Orleans ruled in France as regent for the boy who was afterwards to be Louis XV. The state of the French finances was well-nigh desperate. The people were starving, the national credit was nil, and the exchequer was almost if not quite empty. Nothing dismayed, however, by the dark outlook, that accomplished courtier, the Duke of Saint Simon, set himself to work upon the feelings of the Regent until he should be persuaded to buy this unique gem. When the Regent feebly urged the want of money the Duke was ready with a plan for borrowing and pledging other jewels of the crown until the debt should be paid.
The Regent feared to be blamed for expending so extravagant a sum as two millions of money on a mere bauble; but the Duke instantly pointed out to him that what was right in an individual was inexpedient in a king, and what would be lavish extravagance in the one would in the other be but due regard for the dignity of the crown and the glory of the nation. In short says the courtier in his entertaining Memoirs, "I never let Monsieur d'Orleans alone until I had obtained that he would purchase this stone." To such successful issue was his importunity brought. The financier Law did not let the great diamond pass through his hands without leaving some very substantial token of its passage. He seems to have received forty thousand dollars for his share in the negotiation.
It is instructive to learn that the Regent's fear of being blamed for the purchase was entirely groundless. On the contrary he received the applause of the nation for his spirited acquisition of a gem the price of which had terrified all the other monarchs of Europe; whereupon the Duke of Saint Simon remarks with complacency that much of the credit was due to him for having introduced the diamond to court. The sum actually paid to Mr. Pitt appears to have been one hundred and thirty-five thousand pounds sterling, equivalent to eight hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, and the diamond received its name of Regent in compliment to the Duke of Orleans.
The Regent now enters upon a long period of tranquillity, nothing conspicuous happening to it for many years. It pursued its way quietly as a royal gem during the reign of Louis XV., adding its lustre to the brilliant but dissolute court of that monarch. After a lapse of nearly sixty years the Regent again came forward upon a stately occasion in order to fitly decorate a king of France. It was on the eleventh of June, 1775, that the unfortunate youth Louis XVI. was crowned king in the ancient cathedral town of Rheims. A new crown of especial splendor was made for the new king and in it were incorporated nearly all the royal jewels. The top of the diadem was ornamented by fleurs-de-lys made of precious stones. In the centre of the principal one blazed the Regent, flanked right and left by the "Sanci" and the "Gros Mazarin," while round about sparkled a thousand diamonds of lesser magnitude. Louis's gorgeous head-gear was no less than nine inches high, and it is said that the King, made dizzy by the immense weight of it, put up his hand several times to ease his poor head. At last he said peevishly "It hurts me"; simple, thoughtless words to which after-events have given a sad and most fateful significance.
One of the actors in this magnificent pageant was the King's youngest brother, the Count d'Artois, a handsome youth of such exquisite courtliness of manner that he obtained and kept through life the title of the Vrai Chevalier. We shall meet him again in still closer proximity to the Regent, fifty long years hence.
During the troubled reign of Louis XVI. the crown jewels including the Regent were lodged in the Garde Meuble where upon stated days they were exposed to public view. On the famous tenth of August, 1792, when Louis was deprived of his crown he was also relieved from the burden of looking after the Regent. It had at once become the National Diamond and as such belonged to everybody, hence everybody had a right to see it. In compliance with this popular notion the Regent was deposed from its regal niche in the crown of France and was securely fastened in a steel clasp. A stout chain was attached to the clasp and padlocked inside an iron window. Thus secured from the too affectionate grip of its million owners the Regent used to be passed out through the window and submitted to the admiration of all who asked to see it. As a further security policemen and detectives were liberally scattered about the place in the interest of national probity.
After the bloody days of the second and third of September when the ferocious mob of Paris broke into the prisons and massacred the unfortunate inmates, the Government imagined that the people should no longer be trusted with the custody of the Regent. Accordingly they locked up all the crown jewels as securely as they could in the cupboards of the Garde Meuble and affixed the seals of the Commune most visibly thereto. Notwithstanding their precautions, however, the result does not seem to have justified their conclusions. On the seventeenth of the same month it fell to M. Roland, then Minister of the Interior, to make a grievous statement to the Assembly. He informed the deputies that in the course of the preceding night some desperate ruffians had broken into the Garde Meuble Nationale between two and three o'clock in the morning and had stolen thence jewels to an enormous value. Two of these ruffians had been arrested, but unfortunately not those who had the large diamond and other national property secreted upon their persons. A patrol of ten men who were posted at the Convent des Feuillants had pursued the miscreants, but being less effectively armed than the robbers they were unable to capture them.
The two thieves then in custody upon being questioned gave, of course, answers which aroused the suspicions of these easily inflamed patriots. It seemed certain—so at least argued Roland—that the robbery had been planned by persons belonging to the late dominant aristocratic party in order to supply themselves with money to be used in paying the foreign troops who were to subdue France and again reduce her to slavery. He then proceeded to deliver an impassioned address upon this fertile theme. Patriot deputies freely accused each other of being the authors of this crime. Danton was pointed at by one party, while he retorted by naming Roland, minister as he was, as one who knew too much about it.
It seems probable however that none except the thieves themselves were concerned in this astonishing robbery and that they were actuated by greed alone. The patriots only made use of it for party purposes to obtain their own objects, just as they tried to utilize in the same way any uncommon natural phenomenon, such as comets, earthquakes or hail stones.
A few days later an anonymous letter was received by the officials at the Commune stating that if they searched in a spot most carefully described in the Allée des Veuves of the Champs Elysées, they would find something to their advantage. They accordingly hunted at the place indicated and found the Regent and a valuable agate vase. All the rest of the booty, however, the thieves made off with after having thus eased their consciences of the weight of the great diamond.
We lose sight of the Regent in the black gloom that hangs over the Reign of Terror. There is however a persistent tradition, impossible now either to prove or disprove, that on the occasion of the marriage of Napoleon Bonaparte with Josephine Beauharnais in 1796 the former wore a most superb diamond in his sword hilt. Could this perchance have been the Regent? It is certainly difficult to imagine how Napoleon could have become possessed of the Regent at this date. Yet it is also difficult to imagine how the young man who was then an unknown and a poor general without an army although full of high expectations, could have become the owner of any diamond of such splendor as to attract the attention of at least two contemporary historians. It is just possible it may have been the peerless Regent already shedding its rays upon the blade of that sword destined to flash through Europe and to leave behind it so bloody a trail.
However this may be, it is certainly a fact that in 1800 Napoleon, then First Consul, pawned the Regent to the Berlin banker Trescow. With the money thus obtained he set out on that famous campaign beyond the Alps which ended at Marengo and which began his career of unexampled success. Thus once more the Regent may be said to have founded the fortune of a great house, but more aspiring in its second attempt it succeeded less effectually than in the case of Pitt. However in 1804 the house of Bonaparte had not fallen upon its ruin and it is some idea of this fact that gives color to the extraordinary revelations of the man called "Baba."
In 1805 several men were tried for having forged notes on the Bank of France, and one of them who went by the nickname of "Baba" made a full confession of how the forgeries were accomplished, and then, to the vast astonishment of the court, he delivered this theatrical speech: "This is not the first time that my avowals have been useful to society, and if I am condemned I will implore the mercy of the Emperor. Without me Napoleon would not have been on the throne; to me is due the success at Marengo. I was one of the robbers of the Garde Meuble. I assisted my confederates to conceal the Regent diamond and other objects in the Champs Elysées as keeping them would have betrayed us. On a promise that was given to me of pardon I revealed the secret; the Regent was recovered and you are aware, gentlemen, that the magnificent diamond was pledged by the First Consul to the Batavian[A] government to procure the money which he so greatly needed."
There must have been some truth in Baba's statement, or at least the Tribunal considered there was, for he was not sent with his companions to the galleys, but was confined in the Bicêtre prison where he was known as "the man who stole the Regent."
Napoleon did not set the Regent in his imperial crown. Having redeemed it from the hands of Trescow for three millions of livres he mounted it in the hilt of his state-sword. There was something very fitting in this bestowal of the diamond. That the great soldier who had carved out his way to the throne with his sword should use the famous stone to ornament that blade was eminently appropriate. The Emperor seems to have considered that the Regent, whose name he most properly did not alter, belonged to him in an especially personal manner. In his confidences with Las Casas when at St. Helena he particularly complains of the manner in which the Allies defrauded him of this diamond, saying that he had redeemed it out of the hands of the Jews for three millions of livres and therefore that it belonged to him in his private capacity.
On the first of April, 1810, the Regent was called upon to add its glory to the gorgeous scene in the long gallery of the Louvre on the occasion of the official marriage of Napoleon with Marie Louise. The Emperor who was very fond of splendid pageants was attired in the most magnificent apparel contained in the imperial wardrobes. But he seldom had the stoical patience demanded of those who pose as kings. He never could acquire the deliberate stateliness of Louis XIV. who was born and brought up within the narrow limits of regal etiquette. Indeed the Emperor was frequently known to divest himself of his costly robes in a very expeditious manner going so far as actually to kick—unholy sacrilege!—the imperial mantle out of his way. On the day of his marriage with the Archduchess the Regent was used to decorate the cap of the bridegroom. Madame Durand, one of the ladies-in-waiting to the new Empress, has left an account of the ceremony in which occurs the following passage:—
"He (Napoleon) found his black velvet cap, adorned with eight rows of diamonds and three white plumes fastened by a knot with the Regent blazing in the centre of it, particularly troublesome. This splendid headgear was put on and taken off several times, and we tried many different ways of placing it before we succeeded."
Like poor Louis XVI. at his coronation Napoleon found that his sparkling top-hamper hurt him.
There was little opportunity for the Regent to appear fittingly after this event, although no doubt it was present at that kingly gathering in Dresden in the spring of 1812, when Napoleon in the plenitude of his power was starting upon the Russian campaign. But in the crash of a falling throne the imperial diamond is lost to view.
When Marie Louise escaped from Paris in 1814, flying before the advancing allies she took with her all the crown jewels, and specie to the amount of four millions. These valuables the fugitive Empress kept with her until she reached Orleans, where she was overtaken by M. Dudon a messenger from the newly-returned Bourbon king. This gentleman demanded and obtained the restoration of the money and the jewels. Thus the Regent was forced to abandon the fallen dynasty and to return to Paris to embellish the cap of the new king.
In the scrambling restoration of Louis XVIII. it was impossible to have a coronation. Indeed the court of this returned Bourbon was of the quietest, being under the dominion of Madame d'Angoulême, an austere bigot, of a temper very different from that of her gay and pleasure-loving mother, Marie Antoinette. It was not until May, 1818, that there was anything like a fitting occasion for the Regent to appear. It was in that month the most delightful of all the months of the year in France, that the youthful bride of the Duke of Berri arrived from Naples. Louis XVIII. resolved to have the young princess met in the forest of Fontainebleau, and thither accordingly the whole court migrated on the previous day. It was the king's wish that the meeting should take place in a tent pitched in the stately forest. Perhaps he dreaded the imperial memories that still haunted the chateau, Napoleon's favorite residence where he had given his splendid hunting fêtes. The king arrayed himself sumptuously in a velvet coat of royal blue embroidered with seed pearls, and the Regent was placed in the front of his kingly cap while his sword was decorated by the less brilliant Sanci diamond. Thus regally adorned the king, too fat and gouty to stand in a royal attitude, was majestically seated in his arm-chair where he was discovered by the youthful Caroline when she tripped lightly into the tent.
Charles X. was destined to enjoy the Regent but for a few brief years. Having succeeded to the throne on the death of his brother in September, 1824, he made his state entry into his capital in the first days of October. This Charles, now an old man, is the youthful Count d'Artois who figured at the coronation of Louis XVI. half a century before. Hardly was the late king laid to his rest in the sombre vaults of St. Denis when his successor laid his hands upon the Regent. The grand diamond sparkled upon the hat of the elderly monarch when bowing and smiling he made his entry into Paris as King of France. He was very fond of display, the Vrai Chevalier of the olden time, and spent months devising the most perfect and complete of coronations. Everything was to be conducted according to the strict old court etiquette; even the dresses of the ladies were designed from fashion plates of the time of Marie de Médicis. This was the last king of France crowned at Rheims, none but the elder Bourbons having dared to face the legitimate traditions of the sleepy old town. A crown splendidly garnished with diamonds was made especially for Charles who was duly anointed. But it all availed not to keep him on his infirm throne. He abdicated in 1830 when at St. Cloud and proceeded with royal slowness to quit the kingdom.
He retained however his hold over the crown jewels while relinquishing the crown itself, for he carried the Regent and all the rest of the diamonds off to Rambouillet. As soon as the municipal government in Paris became aware of this fact they sent two agents to receive the precious objects from the hands of the ex-king. But his dethroned majesty would not give them up, whereupon a column of six thousand troops marched upon Rambouillet, and Charles was convinced by the irresistible logic of their flashing bayonets. He surrendered the Regent and other gems which were instantly appropriated by his "good cousin of Orleans," Louis Philippe.
He again in turn was obliged to fly and leave his diamonds behind; so that the Regent was found by Louis Napoleon amongst the other treasures of the country when he laid hold of the vacant crown of France. The late Emperor had it set in the imperial diadem.[B] It is a thick, square-proportioned diamond about the size of a Claude plum with a very large top surface, technically the table, and it gives forth even in daylight the most vivid rays. One authority on precious stones observes that the Regent is not cut to rule, being too thick for its size, but he quaintly remarks that such a diamond is above law. The Regent may do as it likes, but smaller stones should beware how they imitate peculiarities which in them would be called defects.
On the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War in 1870 the Regent and its glittering companions in glory were safely lodged in a sea-girt fortress. But Napoleon never returned to redeem them.
From the day when this peerless diamond first came to France it has always been a sovereign gem in the strictest sense of the term. It has never been used to adorn any one but the reigning monarch, and has never condescended to deck the brow of a woman.