Conclusion of this affair--A letter from the incognita--Her
examination--Arrest of Cabert the Swiss--He dies in the
Bastille of poison--Madame Lorimer is arrested and poisoned--
The innocence of the Jesuits acknowledged--Madame de
Mirepoix and the 100,000 francs--Forgetfulness on the part
of the lieutenant of police--A visit from comte Jean--Madame
de Mirepoix
M. de Sartines did not sleep on his post, but his researches were
fruitless; and, on the following day, three successive messengers came
to announce to us that they had as yet made no discovery. The day passed
without bringing any fresh intelligence, and our anxiety increased
daily. At length arrived the period fixed for the visit of the
_incognita_. I awaited the coming of this female with an impatience
impossible to describe. About mid-day a note was brought me; I instantly
recognized the writing as that of my mysterious friend, and hastily
breaking the seal, read as follows:
“MADAM,--I must entreat your pardon for breaking the appointment for
to-day, imperative duties still detain me in Paris.
“Since our last interview I have been unceasingly occupied in
endeavouring to discover the names of the eight persons of whom I spoke
to you, and, I am sorry to say, I have but partially succeeded. The
person who has hitherto furnished me with my information obstinately
refuses to state who are the parliamentarians concerned in the
conspiracy. I am, however, enabled to forward you the names of the four
Jesuits, with some few particulars relating to these worthy fathers.
“The Jesuits in question are Messrs. Corbin, Berthier, Cerulti, and
Dumas; the first of whom was employed in the education of the dauphin,
the second and the third are sufficiently known; as for the fourth, he
is a bold and enterprising Parisian, capable of conceiving and executing
the most daring schemes. Whilst the order remained in possession of
power he had no opportunity of displaying his extraordinary talents,
and consequently he obtained but a trifling reputation; but since its
banishment he has become its firmest support and principal hope. All the
treasures of the brotherhood are at his disposal, and I learn, that the
day before yesterday he received a considerable sum from Lyons.
“This intrepid and daring spirit is the very soul of the conspiracy;
he it is who conceived the plan and set the whole machine in action. It
would be effectually extinguished could we but once secure him, but this
is by no means an easy task; he has no fixed abode; never sleeps two
nights following in the same home; one day he may be found in one part
of Paris and the next at the very opposite corner; he changes his manner
of dress as frequently as he does his abode.
“I shall have the honour of seeing you to-morrow or the day after at
furthest. Meanwhile lay aside all uneasiness for his majesty’s safety:
I pledge you my word he is for the present in perfect security. The
execution of the plot is still deferred for the want of a Damiens
sufficiently sanguinary to undertake the task.
“Deign, madam, to accept the assurance of my sincere devotion, and
believe that I will neglect no opportunity of affording you proofs of
it.
“Yours, madam, etc., etc.”
I immediately communicated this letter to the duc d’Aiguillon, who
convoked a fresh meeting of the persons who had been present on the
preceding day. It was at first deliberated whether or not to arrest the
whole body of Jesuits then in Paris, but this, although the advice of
M. d’Aiguillon, was by no means approved of by the chancellor. M.
de Sartines and M. de la Vrillière were for carrying the idea into
execution, but the objections of M. de Maupeou were too powerful to be
overruled, and the scheme was for the present abandoned. The chancellor
maintained that the other conspirators, warned of their own, danger by
the seizure of their friends, would either escape the vengeance of
the laws by flight or by close confinement in their houses; he greatly
dreaded as it was, that his foes, the parliamentarians, would avoid the
punishment he longed to inflict on them. Indeed, in his estimation,
it seemed as though every measure would be anticipated so long as the
female, who seemed so intimately acquainted with their design, was at
liberty; and this last opinion was unanimously concurred in.
All the delays greatly irritated me, and rendered my impatience to
witness the termination of the affair greater than it had ever been. The
stranger had promised to make her appearance on the following day; it
passed away, however, without my hearing anything of her. On the day
following she came; I immediately sent to apprize M. d’Aiguillon, who,
with M. de la Vrillière and the chancellor, entered my apartments ere
the lady had had time to commence the subject upon which she was there
to speak. This unexpected appearance did not seem to disconcert her in
the least, nor did her _sang-froid_ and ordinary assurance in any degree
fail her. She reproached me for having intrusted the secret to so many
persons, but her reproof was uttered without bitterness, and merely as
if she feared lest my indiscretion might compromise our safety. She was
overwhelmed with questions, and the chancellor interrogated her with the
keenest curiosity; but to all the inquiries put to her she replied with
a readiness and candour which surprised the whole party. She was desired
to give the names of those engaged in the conspiracy, as well as of
him who first informed her of it. She answered that her own name was
Lorimer, that she was a widow living upon her own property. As for the
man, her informant, he was a Swiss, named Cabert, of about thirty years
of age, and had long been her intimate friend: however, the embarrassed
tone with which she pronounced these last words left room for the
suspicion, that he had been something dearer to her than a friend. She
was then urged to give up the names of the four parliamentarians, but
she protested that she had not yet been able to prevail on Cabert
to confide them to her, that she was compelled to use the utmost
circumspection in her attempts at discovering the facts already
disclosed, but flattered herself she should yet succeed in gaining a
full and unreserved disclosure. M. de Maupeou encouraged her, by every
possible argument, to neglect no means of arriving at so important a
discovery.
The examination over, and the 100,000 francs she had demanded given to
her, she retired, but followed at a distance by a number of spies, who
were commissioned to watch her slightest movement.
Cabert, the Swiss, was arrested in a furnished lodging he occupied in
rue Saint Roch, and sent without delay to Versailles, where, as before,
M. d’Aiguillon with his two colleagues waited in my study to receive
and question the prisoner. Cabert was a young and handsome man, whose
countenance bore evident marks of a dissolute and profligate life. He
confessed, without any difficulty, that his only means of gaining a
livelihood were derived from the generosity of a female friend, but when
he was pressed upon the subject of the conspiracy, he no longer replied
with the same candour, but merely answered in short and impatient
negatives the many questions put to him, accompanied with fervent
protestations of innocence; adding, that implacable enemies had
fabricated the whole story, only that they might have an opportunity of
wreaking their vengeance, by implicating him in it.
“Accuse not your enemies,” cried I, for the first time mingling in the
conversation, “but rather blame your benefactress; it is madame Lorimer
who has denounced you, and far from intending to harm you by so doing,
she purposes dividing with you the 100,000 livres which are to reward
her disclosures.”
I easily found, by the frowning looks directed towards me by the three
gentlemen present, that I had been guilty of great imprudence in
saying so much; but Cabert, wringing his hands, uttered, with the most
despairing accent,
“I am lost! and most horribly has the unfortunate woman avenged
herself.”
“What would you insinuate?”
“That I am the victim of an enraged woman,” replied he.
He afterwards explained, that he had been the lover of madame Lorimer,
but had become wearied of her, and left her in consequence; that she
had violently resented this conduct; and, after having in vain sought
to move him by prayers and supplications, had tried the most horrible
threats and menaces. “I ought not indeed,” continued he, “to have
despised these threats, for well I knew the fiendlike malice of the
wretched creature, and dearly do I pay for my imprudence, by falling
into the pit she has dug for me.”
In vain we endeavoured to induce him to hold a different language. He
persisted with determined obstinacy in his first statement; continually
protesting his own innocence, and loading the author of his woes with
bitter imprecations. It was deemed impossible to allow this man to go at
large; accordingly M. de la Vrillière issued a _lettre de cachet_, which
sent him that night to seek a lodging in the Bastille. It was afterwards
deemed advisable to put him to the torture, but the agonies of the
rack wrung from him no deviation from, or contradiction of, what he had
previously alleged.
The affair had now become mysterious and inexplicable. However, a speedy
termination was most imperatively called for; if it were permitted to
become generally known, it could not fail of reaching the ears of the
king, whose health was daily declining; and M. de Quesnay had assured
us, that in his present languid state, the shock produced by news so
alarming, might cause his instantaneous death.
Whilst we remained in uncertainty as to our mode of proceeding in the
business, Cabert, the Swiss, three days after his admission into the
Bastille, expired in the most violent convulsions. His body was opened,
but no trace of poison could be discovered: our suspicions were however
awakened, and what followed confirmed them.
Madame Lorimer was arrested. She protested that she had been actuated
by no feelings of enmity against her unfortunate lover, whom she had
certainly reproached for having expended the money she furnished him
with in the society of other females, and to the anger which arose
between herself and Cabert on the occasion could she alone ascribe his
infamous calumnies respecting her; that, for her own part, she had
never ceased to love him, and, as far as she knew, that feeling was
reciprocal; and, in betraying the conspiracy, her principal desire, next
to the anxious hope of preserving the king, was to make the fortune of
Cabert. She was confined in the Bastille, but she did not long
remain within its walls; for at the end of a fortnight she died of an
inflammatory disease. Her death was marked by no convulsions, but the
traces of poison were evident.
These two violent deaths occurring so immediately one after another (as
not the slightest doubt existed that Cabert had likewise died of poison)
threw the ministers into a sad state of perplexity. But to whom could
they impute the double crime unless to some accomplice, who dreaded what
the unhappy prisoners might be tempted to reveal. Yet the conduct of
the Jesuitical priests stated by madame Lorimer to be the principal
ring-leaders in the plot, although exposed to the most rigorous
scrutiny, offered not the slightest grounds for suspicion. Neither did
their letters (which were all intercepted at the various post-houses)
give any indication of a treasonable correspondence.
M. de Sartines caused the private papers of the suspected parties to be
opened during their owners’ absence, without discovering anything which
could compromise their character. I am speaking, however, of the fathers
Corbin, Berthier, and Cerulti, for all our efforts could not trace
father Dumas throughout all Paris. Nor was the innocence of the
parliamentarians less evident; they vented their hatred against
the ministry, and particularly against M. de Maupeou, in pamphlets,
couplets, and epigrams, both in French and Latin, but they had no idea
of conspiracies or plots.
And thus terminated an affair, which had caused so much alarm, and
which continued for a considerable period to engage the attention
of ministers. How was the mystery to be cleared up? The poisoned
orange-flower water, and the sudden deaths of the two prisoners, were
facts difficult to reconcile with the no less undeniable innocence
of the three accused Jesuits. The whole business was to me an
incomprehensible mass of confusion, in which incidents the most horrible
were mingled. At last we agreed that the best and only thing to be done
was to consign the affair to oblivion; but there were circumstances
which did not so easily depart from the recollection of my excellent
friend, the maréchale de Mirepoix. “My dear soul,” said she to me one
day, “have you ever inquired what became of the 100,000 livres given
to madame Lorimer? she had no time to employ them in any way before her
imprisonment in the Bastille. You ought to inquire into what hands they
have fallen.”
I fully comprehended the drift of this question, which I put to M. de
Sartines the first time I saw him.
“Bless me,” exclaimed he, “you remind me that these 100,000 livres have
been lying in a drawer in my office. But I have such a terrible memory.”
“Happily,” replied I, “I have a friend whose memory is as good as yours
seems defective upon such occasions. It will not be wise to permit such
a sum to remain uselessly in your office: at the same time I need not
point out that you, by your conduct in the late affair, have by no means
earned a right to them.”
He attempted to justify himself; but, interrupting him, I exclaimed,
“My good friend, you have set up a reputation of your own creating and
inventing; and well it is you took the office upon yourself for no one
else would have done it for you; but you perceive how frail have been
its foundations; for the moment you are compelled to stand upon your own
resources you faint, and are easily overcome.”
He endeavoured to make a joke of the affair, but indeed it seemed to
accord as ill with his natural inclination as did the restitution of the
100,000 livres. However, he brought them to me the following day, and
as I was expecting the arrival of madame de Mirepoix, I placed them in a
porcelain vase which stood upon my chimney-piece. Unfortunately for
the maréchale, comte Jean presented himself before she did. He came to
inform me, that my husband (of whose quitting Toulouse I had forgotten
to tell you) had again arrived in Paris. I did not disguise the vexation
which this piece of intelligence excited in me.
“And wherefore has comte Guillaume returned to Paris?” inquired I,
angrily.
“Because he is afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” replied I.
“Of being murdered,” answered comte Jean: “it is a most horrible and
authentic story. Imagine to yourself the dangers of his situation: some
brigands, who have a design on his life, have written him an anonymous
billet, in which they protest they will certainly murder him, unless he
deposits 50,000 livres in a certain place. You may suppose his terror;
money he had none, neither was his credit sufficiently good to enable
him to borrow any. As a last and only chance, he threw himself into a
carriage, and hastened, tremblingly, to implore your assistance.”
“And I am quite certain you will not withhold yours from him,” answered
I
“You are perfectly right,” cried he, “but unfortunately just now I have
not a single crown I can call my own; so that it rests with you alone,
my dearest sister, to save the life of this hapless comte du Barry.”
“I am extremely distressed, my dear brother-in-law,” replied I, “that I
am just as poor, and as unable to afford the necessary aid as yourself;
my purse is quite empty.”
“Faith, my dear sister-in-law, I am not surprised at that if you convert
a china vase into a receptacle for your bank notes.”
Saying this, he drew a bundle of notes from the hiding-place in which I
had deposited them. “Do you know,” continued comte Jean, “I really think
we shall find money enough here.” He began to count them: and when he
had finished he said, “My dear sister, neither your husband nor myself
wish to importune you, or put you to any inconvenience, therefore
you shall merely oblige him with the loan of these 50,000 livres to
extricate him from his present peril; they shall be faithfully and
quickly restored to you, and a note of hand given you for that purpose
if you desire it.” So saying, he divided the money into two parts,
replaced one in the vase, and pocketed the other.
I was very indignant at the cool impudence with which this was done, and
my patience had well nigh forsaken me: however, I restrained myself;
and I was happy enough that I could so far conquer myself. My reproaches
would not have induced comte Jean to give me back my money, and would
only have roused his violence; which, when once excited, found vent in
language so vehement and energetic, that I did not desire to hear any
more of it than I could help. At these moments he selected not the
politest expressions, but those which were the strongest: and besides,
such was the ungovernable nature of comte Jean’s temper, that
once roused, he would have treated the king himself with as little
consideration as he did me. Still, he never deliberately insulted me,
nor did he compose those insulting verses respecting me, which were
printed as his, in “_Les Anecdotes sur Madame du Barry_.” This would
have been an indignity I would quickly have caused him to repent having
offered.
“Well,” inquired I, “are you very glad to see your brother in Paris?”
“No, ‘pon my soul!” returned he; “but since he is here, we must do the
best we can with him; he was very anxious to see his sister-in-law
and niece. He says the former is ugly as sin, and the latter almost as
handsome as you.”
“Very gallant,” replied I; “but tell me, comte Jean, does this elegant
compliment proceed from my husband or yourself?”
We were just then interrupted by the arrival of the maréchale, and comte
Jean retired.
“Well, my dear,” she began, “have you seen M. de Sartines, and did you
speak to him respecting those 100,000 livres?”
“Oh, yes,” replied I, “he gave them back to me; but I have
already had half of them stolen from me.”
“By comte Jean, I’ll engage,” cried she. “Upon my word, that man is a
perfect spendthrift, a prodigal; who, if you do not take great care,
will certainly ruin you. And what will you do with the remaining 50,000
livres, my dear friend; where will you place them?”
“In your hands, my dear maréchale; ‘tis his majesty’s command.”
“To that command,” answered she, “I must perforce submit”; and, taking
the bundle of notes, she continued, “Assure his majesty that it will
ever be my greatest pride and pleasure to obey his slightest wish. My
respect for his orders can only be equalled by my tender friendship for
her who is the bearer of the royal mandate.” Then, deliberately putting
the money in her pocket, she exclaimed, “You must own that comte Jean is
a great rogue.”