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.