Mr. Cartier paused for a moment. My brother-in-law had been right; he was not just a salesman but a showman, and this was a great performance.
“The diamond was most likely from the Kollur mine in Golconda, India. Tavernier stares at the crudely cut, somewhat triangular shape and is mesmerized by its beautiful violet color. He knows why the cut is so rough. The Indians put great faith in gemstones having protective powers against evil influences. And so when they cut a stone, they try to keep as much surface and depth as they can. They believe stones are like a Pandora’s box. They absorb negative energy and keep it contained. So of course, the largest stones are the most revered and valuable.
“Tavernier can’t take his eyes off the gem. He knows that no matter how long it takes, no matter what he has to do, he must have this diamond to bring back to Paris with him. This is something King Louis XIV, the extravagant Sun King of France, will reward him for.”
I glanced at Letty, who was as enthralled as I was by the tale the jeweler was spinning in his delightful accent.
“The story of how Tavernier steals the diamond is quite violent. First, he pays off a guard, who lets him into the temple deep in the night when the monks take their rest. Oddly, he has no trouble plucking out the stone. The diamond just sits in a crevice in the statue. The monks were certain no one would ever tempt fate and try to steal a gem with such power, lest they be struck down and destroyed. The stories about the diamond’s power had protected it for centuries. Until that very night.
“Tavernier runs out through the temple doors and into the black-as-pitch night, a pack of wild dogs chasing him back to his lodging, biting at his legs, rearing up and nipping at his hands. He barely survives the attack.
“The bad luck has begun.
“Tavernier returns to France with his treasure—a great violet-blue diamond weighing, we guess based on drawings, more than one hundred carats. The maharajas of India prefer their diamonds very large rather than brilliant, but King Louis is more interested in symmetry and brilliance than size. So Louis orders the diamond to be recut by his jeweler, Jean Pittan, who cuts the facets into several star shapes, sets the gem in gold, and mounts it on a stick made of precious metal.
“When he holds it against a gold sheet, a golden sun appears at the diamond’s center, symbolizing the king’s power and glory.
“Louis XV inherits the diamond from his father, and in 1749 has the diamond reset in an insignia piece for the Royal Order of the Golden Fleece, which he wears often and, it is said, with great pride. As an honor, for an appearance at court, the king allows a man close to him, Nicolas Fouquet, to wear it. Not long after, the king finds him stealing from the treasury and charges him with life imprisonment. Fouquet spends the next fourteen years of his life entombed in the fortress of Pignerol. The bad luck has followed the stone to France.
“Louis XV’s grandson, King Louis XVI, is the next owner of the French Blue; his infamous wife Marie Antoinette’s love of diamonds not only adds to her extravagant reputation but leads to her and her husband’s unfortunate demise.
“In 1792, during the French Revolution, all the crown jewels, including the French Blue, are stolen from the royal treasury. We do not know precisely what happened to the diamond after that, but we believe it was smuggled out of France. There are stories that the English King George IV might have owned the stone for a time, since he was known to have an appetite for large gemstones. But we do know for sure that the diamond next surfaces in 1839, when it appears in the collection catalog of Henry Philip Hope, a prominent London banker and diamond collector. It is from him the diamond receives its current name. Although Monsieur Hope includes no record of this diamond’s pedigree in his catalog, there is one stone of such distinct size and color it could only have been cut from the French Blue.”
Mr. Cartier paused. My sister and I waited for him to continue. He had us in his thrall.
“I cannot, of course, vouch that Tavernier stole the gem from a Hindu idol or that he was cursed and chased by dogs or, as the story goes, torn apart by savage beasts on his next trip to India. But from all the research I have been able to conduct, the diamond has brought bad luck to those who have owned it and in many cases some who did no more than touch it.
“Let’s look at what happened. First to Louis XIV, who died a horrible death from gangrene. And we all know about the knife blade that sliced through Louis XVI’s and Marie Antoinette’s throats. In the early 1800s, a Dutch jeweler named Wilhelm Fals recut the diamond, which was then stolen by his son. Fals committed suicide or died of grief over the theft in 1830. His son eventually killed himself. King George, also an owner, died penniless. Lord Hope’s grandnephew and heir to the diamond had plenty of troubles. He was in a terrible accident, had his leg amputated. His wife eloped with Captain Strong. Hope also went bankrupt and had to sell the stone in 1902. One story claims an eastern European prince bought it for a Folies Bergère dancer and later shot her. A Greek tycoon bought it, and shortly afterward, he and his family were all killed in an automobile accident. The Turkish sultan Abdul-Hamid II had owned the diamond for only months when an army revolt cost him the Ottoman Empire.”
With this, Cartier opened the leather-bound scrapbook I had noticed on the table. Each page contained a newspaper or magazine headline about the famous gem’s history. Some were illustrated, others not. We perused the book while we waited for Mr. Asher to bring in the necklace.
From the London Times, Friday, June 25, 1909, dateline Paris. Like most other famous stones, its story is largely blended with tragedy. Its possession is the story of a long series of tragedies—murder, suicide, madness and various other misfortunes.
And from the Washington Post, January 19, 1908: Remarkable Jewel a Hoodoo—Hope Diamond Has Brought Trouble to All Who Have Owned It. Deep behind the double locked doors hides the Hope Diamond. Snug and secure behind time locked bolt, it rests in its cotton wool nest under many wrappings, in the great vault of the House of Frankel. Yet not all the locks and bolts and doors ever made by man can ward off its baleful power or screen from its venom those against whom its malign force may be directed.
Every gem has its own power for good or evil and this power never dies though it may wax or wane under the circumstances, may lie dormant for centuries only to reappear with redoubled energy when terrestrial and celestial conditions combine to bring into play the mysterious force beneath its glittering surface.
I guessed Mr. Cartier had every bit of this presentation staged, because just as we reached the end of that paragraph, he spoke: “I myself believe that superstitions of this ilk are baseless. Yet one must admit, they are amusing, and to use an old saying, it is better to be safe than sorry.”
And with that, there was a soft knock on the door.
Mr. Cartier murmured, “Entrez,” and Mr. Asher stepped in, right on cue. Cartier’s storytelling had been quite well done. I’d very much felt I was at the theater, and now the moment of the grand denouement had arrived.
Mr. Asher had donned a pair of white gloves and in his hands held a leather box that he placed on the table before us. I caught his eye, and he gave me the trace of a smile in return.
With a flourish befitting the theatrics, Mr. Cartier opened the box. “And here… is… the Hope Diamond.”
Letty and I gazed down at the gem.