Hopeless: A History of the Hope Diamond
Written by Harold Swisher
Published by the Abbey Press, 1910
The Hope Diamond, 45.52 karats, blue in color, was unearthed at the Kollur Mine in India in the mid-seventeenth century. It was 112 karats when it was discovered.
•The workers at the mine endured terrible working conditions—they were paid in food, they lived on the premises, and the mines flooded often, killing employees.
• Many people believe that’s why this diamond is cursed: its unfortunate beginnings.
• A long line of people have owned this diamond and all have met with terrible fates:
Jean-Baptiste Tavernier stole the diamond in 1653 and was violently torn apart by a pack of wolves.
King Louis XIV of France cut the diamond to enhance its beauty and color. He died a terrible, messy death by gangrene. Many of his children died young as well.
Marie Antoinette owned the diamond and lost her head to the guillotine’s blade.
Marie-Louise, the princess of Lamballe, owned the gem briefly. Her head was impaled on a spike.
Jeweler Wilhelm Fals later came in possession of the diamond. He was murdered by his own son.
Owners for decades found themselves deeply in debt and often insane: Jacques Colet? Committed suicide.
Prince Ivan Kanitovski? Murdered by Russian revolutionaries.
Lorens Ladue? Murdered in a fit of passion.
Simon Maoncharides? Drove his car off a cliff, killing himself, his wife, and all his children.
• The history of the gem is long, bloody, and riddled with greed and violence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
That evening, after Kiyoko and Nirav leave the Bureau (Nirav still disappears for hours at a time, rather like the feral cat I adore), Pax catches my hand. “Are you headed to the boardinghouse?”
It’s an odd question. Is he insinuating that I should go elsewhere? That I should go somewhere withhim?
“No, there’s something I need to do.” It’s early, and if I hurry, I can make it to my former boardinghouse before the sun sets. I’m on a mission to find said cat, in fact. But for some reason, my face decides to smile at Pax, and his face decides to smile back.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Well, I—”
“Great. Let’s go.”
New York City at night is magical. Dangerous, maybe, but when the smells of the day dissipate, and the concrete cools, and the shadows lengthen, and the traffic sounds dwindle, there is a soft peacefulness and mystery that falls over the city like a cloak. I love wandering the city at night.
We pass a sausage cart and Pax inhales deeply, like he’s about to say something. I imagine he’s going to make some crude comment about sausages. But instead he says, “I wish I were psychic.”
I wish he’d made a crude comment about sausages. “No, you don’t.”
“I do. I can’t tell you how much peace I got when—” His voice catches, and he surprises me twice in less than fifteen seconds. “The peace I got when William Stead passed along messages from my sister Julia. I turned my whole life around because of those messages.” He bumps me with his shoulder. “Would you believe I wasn’t making the most honest living before that?”
“I would indeed believe that, yes.”
Pax chuckles, and Spirit lays popping corn in my mind’s eye. I really enjoy popping corn. “How did it start for you?” he pushes. “Like, when did you know you were different?”
