CELEBRATED CRIMES, COMPLETE

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, PERE

IN EIGHT VOLUMES

THE MARQUISE DE BRINVILLIERS

Towards the end of the year 1665, on a fine autumn evening, there was aconsiderable crowd assembled on the Pont-Neuf where it makes a turndown to the rue Dauphine. The object of this crowd and the centre ofattraction was a closely shut, carriage. A police official was trying toforce open the door, and two out of the four sergeants who were with himwere holding the horses back and the other two stopping the driver, whopaid no attention to their commands, but only endeavoured to urge hishorses to a gallop. The struggle had been going on same time, whensuddenly one of the doors violently pushed open, and a young officer inthe uniform of a cavalry captain jumped down, shutting the door as hedid so though not too quickly for the nearest spectators to perceive awoman sitting at the back of the carriage. She was wrapped in cloak andveil, and judging by the precautions she, had taken to hide her facefrom every eye, she must have had her reasons for avoiding recognition. 

"Sir, " said the young man, addressing the officer with a haughty air, "I presume, till I find myself mistaken, that your business is with mealone; so I will ask you to inform me what powers you may have for thusstopping my coach; also, since I have alighted, I desire you to giveyour men orders to let the vehicle go on. "

"First of all, " replied the man, by no means intimidated by these lordlyairs, but signing to his men that they must not release the coach or thehorses, "be so good as to answer my questions. "

"I am attending, " said the young man, controlling his agitation by avisible effort. 

"Are you the Chevalier Gaudin de Sainte-Croix?"

"I am he. "

"Captain of the Tracy, regiment?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Then I arrest you in the king's name. "

"What powers have you?"

"This warrant. "

Sainte-Croix cast a rapid glance at the paper, and instantly recognisedthe signature of the minister of police: he then apparently confined hisattention to the woman who was still in the carriage; then he returnedto his first question. 

"This is all very well, sir, " he said to the officer, "but this warrantcontains no other name than mine, and so you have no right to exposethus to the public gaze the lady with whom I was travelling when youarrested me. I must beg of you to order your assistants to allow thiscarriage to drive on; then take me where you please, for I am ready togo with you. "

To the officer this request seemed a just one: he signed to his men tolet the driver and the horses go on; and, they, who had waited onlyfor this, lost no time in breaking through the crowd, which melted awaybefore them; thus the woman escaped for whose safety the prisoner seemedso much concerned. 

Sainte-Croix kept his promise and offered no resistance; for somemoments he followed the officer, surrounded by a crowd which seemed tohave transferred all its curiosity to his account; then, at the cornerof the Quai de d'Horloge, a man called up a carriage that had not beenobserved before, and Sainte-Croix took his place with the same haughtyand disdainful air that he had shown throughout the scene we have justdescribed. The officer sat beside him, two of his men got up behind, andthe other two, obeying no doubt their master's orders, retired with aparting direction to the driver, "The Bastille!"

Our readers will now permit us to make them more fully acquainted withthe man who is to take the first place in the story. The origin ofGaudin de Sainte-Croix was not known: according to one tale, he was thenatural son of a great lord; another account declared that he was theoffspring of poor people, but that, disgusted with his obscure birth, hepreferred a splendid disgrace, and therefore chose to pass for what hewas not. The only certainty is that he was born at Montauban, and inactual rank and position he was captain of the Tracy regiment. At thetime when this narrative opens, towards the end of 1665, Sainte-Croixwas about twenty-eight or thirty, a fine young man of cheerful andlively appearance, a merry comrade at a banquet, and an excellentcaptain: he took his pleasure with other men, and was so impressionablea character that he enjoyed a virtuous project as well as any plan fora debauch; in love he was most susceptible, and jealous to the pointof madness even about a courtesan, had she once taken his fancy; hisprodigality was princely, although he had no income; further, he wasmost sensitive to slights, as all men are who, because they are placedin an equivocal position, fancy that everyone who makes any reference totheir origin is offering an intentional insult. 

We must now see by what a chain of circumstances he had arrived at hispresent position. About the year 1660, Sainte-Croix, while in the army, had made the acquaintance of the Marquis de Brinvilliers, maitre-de-campof the Normandy regiment. 

Their age was much the same, and so was their manner of life: theirvirtues and their vices were similar, and thus it happened that a mereacquaintance grew into a friendship, and on his return from the fieldthe marquis introduced Sainte-Croix to his wife, and he becamean intimate of the house. The usual results followed. Madame deBrinvilliers was then scarcely eight-and-twenty: she had married themarquis in 1651-that is, nine years before. He enjoyed an income of30, 000 livres, to which she added her dowry of 200, 000 livres, exclusiveof her expectations in the future. Her name was Marie-Madeleine; she hada sister and two brothers: her father, M. De Dreux d'Aubray; was civillieutenant at the Chatelet de Paris. At the age of twenty-eight themarquise was at the height of her beauty: her figure was small butperfectly proportioned; her rounded face was charmingly pretty; herfeatures, so regular that no emotion seemed to alter their beauty, suggested the lines of a statue miraculously endowed with life: it waseasy enough to mistake for the repose of a happy conscience the cold, cruel calm which served as a mask to cover remorse. 

Sainte-Croix and the marquise loved at first sight, and she was soonhis mistress. The marquis, perhaps endowed with the conjugal philosophywhich alone pleased the taste of the period, perhaps too much occupiedwith his own pleasure to see what was going on before his eyes, offered no jealous obstacle to the intimacy, and continued his foolishextravagances long after they had impaired his fortunes: his affairsbecame so entangled that the marquise, who cared for him no longer, anddesired a fuller liberty for the indulgence of her new passion, demandedand obtained a separation. She then left her husband's house, andhenceforth abandoning all discretion, appeared everywhere in public withSainte-Croix. This behaviour, authorised as it was by the example of thehighest nobility, made no impression upon the Marquis of Brinvilliers, who merrily pursued the road to ruin, without worrying about his wife'sbehaviour. Not so M. De Dreux d'Aubray: he had the scrupulosity ofa legal dignitary. He was scandalised at his daughter's conduct, andfeared a stain upon his own fair name: he procured a warrant for thearrest of Sainte-Croix wheresoever the bearer might chance to encounterhim. We have seen how it was put in execution when Sainte-Croix wasdriving in the carriage of the marquise, whom our readers will doubtlesshave recognised as the woman who concealed herself so carefully. 

From one's knowledge of the character of Sainte-Croix, it is easy toimagine that he had to use great self-control to govern the anger hefelt at being arrested in the middle of the street; thus, althoughduring the whole drive he uttered not a single word, it was plain to seethat a terrible storm was gathering, soon to break. But he preserved thesame impossibility both at the opening and shutting of the fatal gates, which, like the gates of hell, had so often bidden those who enteredabandon all hope on their threshold, and again when he replied to theformal questions put to him by the governor. His voice was calm, andwhen they gave him they prison register he signed it with a steady hand. At once a gaoler, taking his orders from the governor, bade him follow:after traversing various corridors, cold and damp, where the daylightmight sometimes enter but fresh air never, he opened a door, andSainte-Croix had no sooner entered than he heard it locked behind him. 

At the grating of the lock he turned. The gaoler had left him with nolight but the rays of the moon, which, shining through a barred windowsome eight or ten feet from the ground, shed a gleam upon a miserabletruckle-bed and left the rest of the room in deep obscurity. Theprisoner stood still for a moment and listened; then, when he had heardthe steps die away in the distance and knew himself to be alone at last, he fell upon the bed with a cry more like the roaring of a wild beastthan any human sound: he cursed his fellow-man who had snatched him fromhis joyous life to plunge him into a dungeon; he cursed his God who hadlet this happen; he cried aloud to whatever powers might be that couldgrant him revenge and liberty. 

Just at that moment, as though summoned by these words from the bowelsof the earth, a man slowly stepped into the circle of blue light thatfell from the window-a man thin and pale, a man with long hair, in ablack doublet, who approached the foot of the bed where Sainte-Croixlay. Brave as he was, this apparition so fully answered to his prayers(and at the period the power of incantation and magic was still believedin) that he felt no doubt that the arch-enemy of the human race, whois continually at hand, had heard him and had now come in answer to hisprayers. He sat up on the bed, feeling mechanically at the place wherethe handle of his sword would have been but two hours since, feeling hishair stand on end, and a cold sweat began to stream down his face asthe strange fantastic being step by step approached him. At length theapparition paused, the prisoner and he stood face to face for a moment, their eyes riveted; then the mysterious stranger spoke in gloomy tones. 

"Young man, " said he, "you have prayed to the devil for vengeance on themen who have taken you, for help against the God who has abandoned you. I have the means, and I am here to proffer it. Have you the courage toaccept?"

"First of all, " asked Sainte-Croix; "who are you?"

"Why seek you to know who I am, " replied the unknown, "at the verymoment when I come at your call, and bring what you desire?"

"All the same, " said Sainte-Croix, still attributing what he heard to asupernatural being, "when one makes a compact of this kind, one prefersto know with whom one is treating. "

"Well, since you must know, " said the stranger, "I am the ItalianExili. "

Sainte-Croix shuddered anew, passing from a supernatural vision to ahorrible reality. The name he had just heard had a terrible notoriety atthe time, not only in France but in Italy as well. Exili had been drivenout of Rome, charged with many poisonings, which, however, could not besatisfactorily brought home to him. He had gone to Paris, and there, as in his native country, he had drawn the eyes of the authorities uponhimself; but neither in Paris nor in Rome was he, the pupil of Rene andof Trophana, convicted of guilt. All the same, though proof was wanting, his enormities were so well accredited that there was no scruple as tohaving him arrested. A warrant was out against him: Exili was taken up, and was lodged in the Bastille. He had been there about six months whenSainte-Croix was brought to the same place. The prisoners were numerousjust then, so the governor had his new guest put up in the same room asthe old one, mating Exili and Sainte-Croix, not knowing that they werea pair of demons. Our readers now understand the rest. Sainte-Croix wasput into an unlighted room by the gaoler, and in the dark had failedto see his companion: he had abandoned himself to his rage, hisimprecations had revealed his state of mind to Exili, who at once seizedthe occasion for gaining a devoted and powerful disciple, who once outof prison might open the doors for him, perhaps, or at least avenge hisfate should he be incarcerated for life. 

The repugnance felt by Sainte-Croix for his fellow-prisoner did not lastlong, and the clever master found his pupil apt. Sainte-Croix, a strangemixture of qualities good and evil, had reached the supreme crisisof his life, when the powers of darkness or of light were to prevail. Maybe, if he had met some angelic soul at this point, he would have beenled to God; he encountered a demon, who conducted him to Satan. 

Exili was no vulgar poisoner: he was a great artist in poisons, comparable with the Medici or the Borgias. For him murder was a fineart, and he had reduced it to fixed and rigid rules: he had arrived at apoint when he was guided not by his personal interest but by a taste forexperiment. God has reserved the act of creation for Himself, buthas suffered destruction to be within the scope of man: man thereforesupposes that in destroying life he is God's equal. Such was the natureof Exili's pride: he was the dark, pale alchemist of death: othersmight seek the mighty secret of life, but he had found the secret ofdestruction. 

For a time Sainte-Croix hesitated: at last he yielded to the taunts ofhis companion, who accused Frenchmen of showing too much honour intheir crimes, of allowing themselves to be involved in the ruin of theirenemies, whereas they might easily survive them and triumph overtheir destruction. In opposition to this French gallantry, which ofteninvolves the murderer in a death more cruel than that he has given, hepointed to the Florentine traitor with his amiable smile and his deadlypoison. He indicated certain powders and potions, some of them ofdull action, wearing out the victim so slowly that he dies after longsuffering; others violent and so quick, that they kill like a flashof lightning, leaving not even time for a single cry. Little by littleSainte-Croix became interested in the ghastly science that puts thelives of all men in the hand of one. He joined in Exili's experiments;then he grew clever enough to make them for himself; and when, at theyear's end, he left the Bastille, the pupil was almost as accomplishedas his master. 

Sainte-Croix returned into that society which had banished him, fortified by a fatal secret by whose aid he could repay all the evil hehad received. Soon afterwards Exili was set free--how it happened is notknown--and sought out Sainte-Croix, who let him a room in the name ofhis steward, Martin de Breuille, a room situated in the blind, alley offthe Place Maubert, owned by a woman called Brunet. 

It is not known whether Sainte-Croix had an opportunity of seeing theMarquise de Brinvilliers during his sojourn in the Bastille, but it iscertain that as soon as he was a free man the lovers were more attachedthan ever. They had learned by experience, however, of what they hadto fear; so they resolved that they would at once make trial ofSainte-Croix's newly acquired knowledge, and M. D'Aubray was selectedby his daughter for the first victim. At one blow she would free herselffrom the inconvenience of his rigid censorship, and by inheriting hisgoods would repair her own fortune, which had been almost dissipated byher husband. But in trying such a bold stroke one must be very sure ofresults, so the marquise decided to experiment beforehand on anotherperson. Accordingly, when one day after luncheon her maid, FrancoiseRoussel, came into her room, she gave her a slice of mutton and somepreserved gooseberries for her own meal. The girl unsuspiciously atewhat her mistress gave her, but almost at once felt ill, saying she hadsevere pain in the stomach, and a sensation as though her heart werebeing pricked with pins. But she did not die, and the marquiseperceived that the poison needed to be made stronger, and returned it toSainte-Croix, who brought her some more in a few days' time. 

The moment had come for action. M. D'Aubray, tired with business, was tospend a holiday at his castle called Offemont. The marquise offered togo with him. M. D'Aubray, who supposed her relations with Sainte-Croixto be quite broken off, joyfully accepted. Offemont was exactly theplace for a crime of this nature. In the middle of the forest of Aigue, three or four miles from Compiegne, it would be impossible to getefficient help before the rapid action of the poison had made ituseless. 

M. D'Aubray started with his daughter and one servant only. Never hadthe marquise been so devoted to her father, so especially attentive, asshe was during this journey. And M. D'Aubray, like Christ--who though Hehad no children had a father's heart--loved his repentant daughter morethan if she had never strayed. And then the marquise profited by theterrible calm look which we have already noticed in her face: alwayswith her father, sleeping in a room adjoining his, eating with him, caring for his comfort in every way, thoughtful and affectionate, allowing no other person to do anything for him, she had to present asmiling face, in which the most suspicious eye could detect nothing butfilial tenderness, though the vilest projects were in her heart. Withthis mask she one evening offered him some soup that was poisoned. Hetook it; with her eyes she saw him put it to his lips, watched him drinkit down, and with a brazen countenance she gave no outward sign of thatterrible anxiety that must have been pressing on her heart. When hehad drunk it all, and she had taken with steady hands the cup and itssaucer, she went back to her own room, waited and listened. . . . 

The effect was rapid. The marquise heard her father moan; then she heardgroans. At last, unable to endure his sufferings, he called out to hisdaughter. The marquise went to him. But now her face showed signs ofthe liveliest anxiety, and it was for M. D'Aubray to try to reassure herabout himself! He thought it was only a trifling indisposition, and wasnot willing that a doctor should be disturbed. But then he was seized bya frightful vomiting, followed by such unendurable pain that he yieldedto his daughter's entreaty that she should send for help. A doctorarrived at about eight o'clock in the morning, but by that time all thatcould have helped a scientific inquiry had been disposed of: the doctorsaw nothing, in M. D'Aubray's story but what might be accounted for byindigestion; so he dosed him, and went back to Compiegne. 

All that day the marquise never left the sick man. At night she had abed made up in his room, declaring that no one else must sit up withhim; thus she, was able to watch the progress of the malady and seewith her own eyes the conflict between death and life in the body of herfather. The next day the doctor came again: M. D'Aubray was worse; thenausea had ceased, but the pains in the stomach were now more acute;a strange fire seemed to burn his vitals; and a treatment was orderedwhich necessitated his return to Paris. He was soon so weak thathe thought it might be best to go only so far as Compiegne, but themarquise was so insistent as to the necessity for further and betteradvice than anything he could get away from home, that M. D'Aubraydecided to go. He made the journey in his own carriage, leaning upon hisdaughter's shoulder; the behaviour of the marquise was always the same:at last M. D'Aubray reached Paris. All had taken place as the marquisedesired; for the scene was now changed: the doctor who had witnessed thesymptoms would not be present at the death; no one could discoverthe cause by studying the progress of the disorder; the thread ofinvestigation was snapped in two, and the two ends were now too distantto be joined again. In spite, of every possible attention, M. D'Aubraygrew continually worse; the marquise was faithful to her mission, andnever left him for an hour. At list, after four days of agony, he diedin his daughter's arms, blessing the woman who was his murderess. Hergrief then broke forth uncontrolled. Her sobs and tears were so vehementthat her brothers' grief seemed cold beside hers. Nobody suspecteda crime, so no autopsy was held; the tomb was closed, and not theslightest suspicion had approached her. 

But the marquise had only gained half her purpose. She had now morefreedom for her love affairs, but her father's dispositions were not sofavourable as she expected: the greater part of his property, togetherwith his business, passed to the elder brother and to the secondbrother, who was Parliamentary councillor; the position of, the marquisewas very little improved in point of fortune. 

Sainte-Croix was leading a fine and joyous life. Although nobodysupposed him to be wealthy, he had a steward called Martin, threelackeys called George, Lapierre, and Lachaussee, and besides his coachand other carriages he kept ordinary bearers for excursions at night. As he was young and good-looking, nobody troubled about where allthese luxuries came from. It was quite the custom in those days that awell-set-up young gentleman should want for nothing, and Sainte-Croixwas commonly said to have found the philosopher's stone. In his life inthe world he had formed friendships with various persons, some noble, some rich: among the latter was a man named Reich de Penautier, receiver-general of the clergy and treasurer of the States of Languedoc, a millionaire, and one of those men who are always successful, andwho seem able by the help of their money to arrange matters that wouldappear to be in the province of God alone. This Penautier was connectedin business with a man called d'Alibert, his first clerk, who died allof a sudden of apoplexy. The attack was known to Penautier sooner thanto his own family: then the papers about the conditions of partnershipdisappeared, no one knew how, and d'Alibert's wife and child wereruined. D'Alibert's brother-in-law, who was Sieur de la Magdelaine, feltcertain vague suspicions concerning this death, and wished to get to thebottom of it; he accordingly began investigations, which were suddenlybrought to an end by his death. 

In one way alone Fortune seemed to have abandoned her favourite: MaitrePenautier had a great desire to succeed the Sieur of Mennevillette, who was receiver of the clergy, and this office was worth nearly 60, 000livres. Penautier knew that Mennevillette was retiring in favour of hischief clerk, Messire Pierre Hannyvel, Sieur de Saint-Laurent, and he hadtaken all the necessary, steps for buying the place over his head: theSieur de Saint-Laurent, with the full support of the clergy, obtainedthe reversion for nothing--a thing that never happened before. Penautierthen offered him 40, 000 crowns to go halves, but Saint-Laurent refused. Their relations, however, were not broken off, and they continued tomeet. Penautier was considered such a lucky fellow that it was generallyexpected he would somehow or other get some day the post he coveted sohighly. People who had no faith in the mysteries of alchemy declaredthat Sainte-Croix and Penautier did business together. 

Now, when the period for mourning was over, the relations of themarquise and Sainte-Croix were as open and public as before: the twobrothers d'Aubray expostulated with her by the medium of an older sisterwho was in a Carmelite nunnery, and the marquise perceived that herfather had on his death bequeathed the care and supervision of her toher brothers. Thus her first crime had been all but in vain: she hadwanted to get rid of her father's rebukes and to gain his fortune; as afact the fortune was diminished by reason of her elder brothers, andshe had scarcely enough to pay her debts; while the rebukes were renewedfrom the mouths of her brothers, one of whom, being civil lieutenant, had the power to separate her again from her lover. This must beprevented. Lachaussee left the service of Sainte-Croix, and by acontrivance of the marquise was installed three months later as servantof the elder brother, who lived with the civil lieutenant. The poisonto be used on this occasion was not so swift as the one taken by M. D'Aubray so violent a death happening so soon in the same family mightarouse suspicion. Experiments were tried once more, not on animals--fortheir different organisation might put the poisoner's science in thewrong--but as before upon human subjects; as before, a 'corpus vili' wastaken. The marquise had the reputation of a pious and charitable lady;seldom did she fail to relieve the poor who appealed: more than this, she took part in the work of those devoted women who are pledged to theservice of the sick, and she walked the hospitals and presented wineand other medicaments. No one was surprised when she appeared in herordinary way at l'Hotel-Dieu. This time she brought biscuits and cakesfor the convalescent patients, her gifts being, as usual, gratefullyreceived. A month later she paid another visit, and inquired aftercertain patients in whom she was particularly interested: since the lasttime she came they had suffered a relapse--the malady had changed innature, and had shown graver symptoms. It was a kind of deadly fatigue, killing them by a slows strange decay. She asked questions of thedoctors but could learn nothing: this malady was unknown to them, anddefied all the resources of their art. A fortnight later she returned. Some of the sick people were dead, others still alive, but desperatelyill; living skeletons, all that seemed left of them was sight, speech, and breath. At the end of two months they were all dead, and thephysicians had been as much at a loss over the post-mortems as over thetreatment of the dying. 

Experiments of this kind were reassuring; so Lachaussee had orders tocarry out his instructions. One day the civil lieutenant rang his bell, and Lachaussee, who served the councillor, as we said before, came upfor orders. He found the lieutenant at work with his secretary, Coustewhat he wanted was a glass of wine and water. In a moment Lachausseebrought it in. The lieutenant put the glass to his lips, but at thefirst sip pushed it away, crying, "What have you brought, you wretch? Ibelieve you want to poison me. " Then handing the glass to his secretary, he added, "Look at it, Couste: what is this stuff?" The secretary puta few drops into a coffee-spoon, lifting it to his nose and then tohis mouth: the drink had the smell and taste of vitriol. MeanwhileLachaussee went up to the secretary and told him he knew what it mustbe: one of the councillor's valets had taken a dose of medicine thatmorning, and without noticing he must have brought the very glass hiscompanion had used. Saying this, he took the glass from the secretary'shand, put it to his lips, pretending to taste it himself, and then saidhe had no doubt it was so, for he recognised the smell. He then threwthe wine into the fireplace. 

As the lieutenant had not drunk enough to be upset by it, he soon forgotthis incident and the suspicions that had been aroused at the moment inhis mind. Sainte-Croix and the marquise perceived that they had made afalse step, and at the risk of involving several people in their planfor vengeance, they decided on the employment of other means. Threemonths passed without any favourable occasion presenting itself; atlast, on one of the early days of April 1670, the lieutenant took hisbrother to his country place, Villequoy, in Beauce, to spend the Eastervacation. Lachaussee was with his master, and received his instructionsat the moment of departure. 

The day after they arrived in the country there was a pigeon-pie fordinner: seven persons who had eaten it felt indisposed after the meal, and the three who had not taken it were perfectly well. Those on whomthe poisonous substance had chiefly acted were the lieutenant, thecouncillor, and the commandant of the watch. He may have eaten more, orpossibly the poison he had tasted on the former occasion helped, but atany rate the lieutenant was the first to be attacked with vomiting twohours later, the councillor showed the same symptoms; the commandant andthe others were a prey for several hours to frightful internal pains;but from the beginning their condition was not nearly so grave as thatof the two brothers. This time again, as usual, the help of doctors wasuseless. On the 12th of April, five days after they had been poisoned, the lieutenant and his brother returned to Paris so changed that anyonewould have thought they had both suffered a long and cruel illness. Madame de Brinvilliers was in the country at the time, and did not comeback during the whole time that her brothers were ill. From the veryfirst consultation in the lieutenant's case the doctors entertainedno hope. The symptoms were the same as those to which his father hadsuccumbed, and they supposed it was an unknown disease in the family. They gave up all hope of recovery. Indeed, his state grew worse andworse; he felt an unconquerable aversion for every kind of food, and thevomiting was incessant. The last three days of his life he complainedthat a fire was burning in his breast, and the flames that burnedwithin seemed to blaze forth at his eyes, the only part of his body thatappeared to live, so like a corpse was all the rest of him. On the 17thof June 1670 he died: the poison had taken seventy-two days to completeits work. Suspicion began to dawn: the lieutenant's body was opened, and a formal report was drawn up. The operation was performed in thepresence of the surgeons Dupre and Durant, and Gavart, the apothecary, by M. Bachot, the brothers' private physician. They found the stomachand duodenum to be black and falling to pieces, the liver burnt andgangrened. They said that this state of things must have been producedby poison, but as the presence of certain bodily humours sometimesproduces similar appearances, they durst not declare that thelieutenant's death could not have come about by natural causes, and hewas buried without further inquiry. 

It was as his private physician that Dr. Bachot had asked for theautopsy of his patient's brother. For the younger brother seemed to havebeen attacked by the same complaint, and the doctor hoped to find fromthe death of the one some means for preserving the life of the other. The councillor was in a violent fever, agitated unceasingly both in bodyand mind: he could not bear any position of any kind for more than afew minutes at a time. Bed was a place of torture; but if he got up, hecried for it again, at least for a change of suffering. At the end ofthree months he died. His stomach, duodenum, and liver were all in thesame corrupt state as his brother's, and more than that, the surface ofhis body was burnt away. This, said the doctors; was no dubious signof poisoning; although, they added, it sometimes happened that a'cacochyme' produced the same effect. Lachaussee was so far from beingsuspected, that the councillor, in recognition of the care he hadbestowed on him in his last illness, left him in his will a legacy ofa hundred crowns; moreover, he received a thousand francs fromSainte-Croix and the marquise. 

So great a disaster in one family, however, was not only sad butalarming. Death knows no hatred: death is deaf and blind, nothing more, and astonishment was felt at this ruthless destruction of all whobore one name. Still nobody suspected the true culprits, search wasfruitless, inquiries led nowhere: the marquise put on mourning for herbrothers, Sainte-Croix continued in his path of folly, and all thingswent on as before. Meanwhile Sainte-Croix had made the acquaintance ofthe Sieur de Saint Laurent, the same man from whom Penautier had askedfor a post without success, and had made friends with him. Penautier hadmeanwhile become the heir of his father-in-law, the Sieur Lesecq, whosedeath had most unexpectedly occurred; he had thereby gained a secondpost in Languedoc and an immense property: still, he coveted the placeof receiver of the clergy. Chance now once more helped him: a few daysafter taking over from Sainte-Croix a man-servant named George, M. DeSaint-Laurent fell sick, and his illness showed symptoms similar tothose observed in the case of the d'Aubrays, father and sons; but itwas more rapid, lasting only twenty-four hours. Like them, M. DeSaint-Laurent died a prey to frightful tortures. The same day an officerfrom the sovereign's court came to see him, heard every detail connectedwith his friend's death, and when told of the symptoms said before theservants to Sainfray the notary that it would be necessary to examinethe body. An hour later George disappeared, saying nothing to anybody, and not even asking for his wages. Suspicions were excited; but againthey remained vague. The autopsy showed a state of things not preciselyto be called peculiar to poisoning cases the intestines, which the fatalpoison had not had time to burn as in the case of the d'Aubrays, weremarked with reddish spots like flea-bites. In June Penautier obtainedthe post that had been held by the Sieur de Saint-Laurent. 

But the widow had certain suspicions which were changed into somethinglike certainty by George's flight. A particular circumstance aided andalmost confirmed her doubts. An abbe who was a friend of her husband, and knew all about the disappearance of George, met him some daysafterwards in the rue des Masons, near the Sorbonne. They were bothon the same side, and a hay-cart coming along the street was causing ablock. George raised his head and saw the abbe, knew him as a friend ofhis late master, stooped under the cart and crawled to the other side, thus at the risk of being crushed escaping from the eyes of a man whoseappearance recalled his crime and inspired him with fear of punishment. Madame de Saint-Laurent preferred a charge against George, but though hewas sought for everywhere, he could never be found. Still the reportof these strange deaths, so sudden and so incomprehensible, was bruitedabout Paris, and people began to feel frightened. Sainte-Croix, alwaysin the gay world, encountered the talk in drawing-rooms, and beganto feel a little uneasy. True, no suspicion pointed as yet in hisdirection; but it was as well to take precautions, and Sainte-Croixbegan to consider how he could be freed from anxiety. There was apost in the king's service soon to be vacant, which would cost 100, 000crowns; and although Sainte-Croix had no apparent means, it wasrumoured that he was about to purchase it. He first addressed himselfto Belleguise to treat about this affair with Penautier. There was somedifficulty, however, to be encountered in this quarter. The sum was alarge one, and Penautier no longer required help; he had already comeinto all the inheritance he looked for, and so he tried to throw coldwater on the project. 

Sainte-Croix thus wrote to Belleguise:

"DEAR FRIEND, --Is it possible that you need any more talking to aboutthe matter you know of, so important as it is, and, maybe, able to giveus peace and quiet for the rest of our days! I really think the devilmust be in it, or else you simply will not be sensible: do show yourcommon sense, my good man, and look at it from all points of view; takeit at its very worst, and you still ought to feel bound to serve me, seeing how I have made everything all right for you: all our interestsare together in this matter. Do help me, I beg of you; you may feelsure I shall be deeply grateful, and you will never before have acted soagreeably both for me and for yourself. You know quite enough about it, for I have not spoken so openly even to my own brother as I have to you. If you can come this afternoon, I shall be either at the house or quitenear at hand, you know where I mean, or I will expect you tomorrowmorning, or I will come and find you, according to what youreply. --Always yours with all my heart. "

The house meant by Sainte-Croix was in the rue des Bernardins, and theplace near at hand where he was to wait for Belleguise was the roomhe leased from the widow Brunet, in the blind alley out of the PlaceMaubert. It was in this room and at the apothecary Glazer's thatSainte-Croix made his experiments; but in accordance with poeticaljustice, the manipulation of the poisons proved fatal to the workersthemselves. The apothecary fell ill and died; Martin was attacked byfearful sickness, which brought, him to death's door. Sainte-Croix wasunwell, and could not even go out, though he did not know what was thematter. He had a furnace brought round to his house from Glazer's, and ill as he was, went on with the experiments. Sainte-Croix was thenseeking to make a poison so subtle that the very effluvia might befatal. He had heard of the poisoned napkin given to the young dauphin, elder brother of Charles VII, to wipe his hands on during a game oftennis, and knew that the contact had caused his death; and the stilldiscussed tradition had informed him of the gloves of Jeanne d'Albret;the secret was lost, but Sainte-Croix hoped to recover it. And thenthere happened one of those strange accidents which seem to be not thehand of chance but a punishment from Heaven. At the very momentwhen Sainte-Croix was bending over his furnace, watching the fatalpreparation as it became hotter and hotter, the glass mask which he woreover his face as a protection from any poisonous exhalations that mightrise up from the mixture, suddenly dropped off, and Sainte-Croix droppedto the ground as though felled by a lightning stroke. At supper-time, his wife finding that he did not come out from his closet where he wasshut in, knocked at the door, and received no answer; knowing that herhusband was wont to busy himself with dark and mysterious matters, shefeared some disaster had occurred. She called her servants, who broke inthe door. Then she found Sainte-Croix stretched out beside the furnace, the broken glass lying by his side. It was impossible to deceive thepublic as to the circumstances of this strange and sudden death: theservants had seen the corpse, and they talked. The commissary Picard wasordered to affix the seals, and all the widow could do was to remove thefurnace and the fragments of the glass mask. 

The noise of the event soon spread all over Paris. Sainte-Croix wasextremely well known, and the news that he was about to purchase a postin the court had made him known even more widely. Lachaussee was one ofthe first to learn of his master's death; and hearing that a seal hadbeen set upon his room, he hastened to put in an objection in theseterms:

"Objection of Lachaussee, who asserts that for seven years he was in theservice of the deceased; that he had given into his charge, two yearsearlier, 100 pistoles and 200 white crowns, which should be found in acloth bag under the closet window, and in the same a paper stating thatthe said sum belonged to him, together with the transfer of 300 livresowed to him by the late M. D'Aubray, councillor; the said transfermade by him at Laserre, together with three receipts from his master ofapprenticeship, 100 livres each: these moneys and papers he claims. "

To Lachaussee the reply was given that he must wait till the day whenthe seals were broken, and then if all was as he said, his propertywould be returned. 

But Lachaussee was not the only person who was agitated about the deathof Sainte-Croix. The marquise, who was familiar with all the secrets ofthis fatal closet, had hurried to the commissary as soon as she heardof the event, and although it was ten o'clock at night had demanded tospeak with him. But he had replied by his head clerk, Pierre Frater, that he was in bed; the marquise insisted, begging them to rouse him up, for she wanted a box that she could not allow to have opened. The clerkthen went up to the Sieur Picard's bedroom, but came back saying thatwhat the marquise demanded was for the time being an impossibility, forthe commissary was asleep. She saw that it was idle to insist, and wentaway, saying that she should send a man the next morning to fetch thebox. In the morning the man came, offering fifty Louis to the commissaryon behalf of the marquise, if he would give her the box. But he repliedthat the box was in the sealed room, that it would have to be opened, and that if the objects claimed by the marquise were really hers, theywould be safely handed over to her. This reply struck the marquise likea thunderbolt. There was no time to be lost: hastily she removed fromthe rue Neuve-Saint-Paul, where her town house was, to Picpus, hercountry place. Thence she posted the same evening to Liege, arriving thenext morning, and retired to a convent. 

The seals had been set on the 31st of July 1672, and they were takenoff on the 8th of August following. Just as they set to work a lawyercharged with full powers of acting for the marquise, appeared and putin the following statement: "Alexandre Delamarre, lawyer acting for theMarquise de Brinvilliers, has come forward, and declares that if in thebox claimed by his client there is found a promise signed by her forthe sum of 30, 000 livres, it is a paper taken from her by fraud, againstwhich, in case of her signature being verified, she intends to lodge anappeal for nullification. " This formality over, they proceeded to openSainte-Croix's closet: the key was handed to the commissary Picard bya Carmelite called Friar Victorin. The commissary opened the door, andentered with the parties interested, the officers, and the widow, andthey began by setting aside the loose papers, with a view to taking themin order, one at a time. While they were thus busy, a small roll felldown, on which these two words were written: "My Confession. " Allpresent, having no reason to suppose Sainte-Croix a bad man, decidedthat this paper ought not to be read. The deputy for the attorneygeneral on being consulted was of this opinion, and the confession ofSainte-Croix was burnt. This act of conscience performed, they proceededto make an inventory. One of the first objects that attracted theattention of the officers was the box claimed by Madame de Brinvilliers. Her insistence had provoked curiosity, so they began with it. Everybodywent near to see what was in it, and it was opened. 

We shall let the report speak: in such cases nothing is so effective orso terrible as the official statement. 

"In the closet of Sainte-Croix was found a small box one foot square, onthe top of which lay a half-sheet of paper entitled 'My Will, ' writtenon one side and containing these words: 'I humbly entreat any into whosehands this chest may fall to do me the kindness of putting it intothe hands of Madame the Marquise de Brinvilliers, resident in the rueNeuve-Saint-Paul, seeing that all the contents concern and belong to heralone, and are of no use to any person in the world apart from herself:in case of her being already dead before me, the box and all itscontents should be burnt without opening or disturbing anything. Andlest anyone should plead ignorance of the contents, I swear by the God Iworship and by all that is most sacred that no untruth is here asserted. If anyone should contravene my wishes that are just and reasonable inthis matter, I charge their conscience therewith in discharging my ownin this world and the next, protesting that such is my last wish. 

"'Given at Paris, the 25th of May after noon, 1672. Signed bySainte-Croix. '

"And below were written these words: 'There is one packet only addressedto M. Penautier which should be delivered. '"

It may be easily understood that a disclosure of this kind onlyincreased the interest of the scene; there was a murmur of curiosity, and when silence again reigned, the official continued in these words:

"A packet has been found sealed in eight different places with eightdifferent seals. On this is written: 'Papers to be burnt in case of mydeath, of no consequence to anyone. I humbly beg those into whosehands they may fall to burn them. I give this as a charge upon theirconscience; all without opening the packet. ' In this packet we find twoparcels of sublimate. 

"Item, another packet sealed with six different seals, on which is asimilar inscription, in which is found more sublimate, half a pound inweight. 

"Item, another packet sealed with six different seals, on which is asimilar inscription, in which are found three parcels, one containinghalf an ounce of sublimate, the second 2 1/4 ozs. Of Roman vitriol, andthe third some calcined prepared vitriol. In the box was found a largesquare phial, one pint in capacity, full of a clear liquid, which waslooked at by M. Moreau, the doctor; he, however, could not tell itsnature until it was tested. 

"Item, another phial, with half a pint of clear liquid with a whitesediment, about which Moreau said the same thing as before. 

"Item, a small earthenware pot containing two or three lumps of preparedopium. 

"Item, a folded paper containing two drachms of corrosive sublimatepowdered. 

"Next, a little box containing a sort of stone known as infernal stone. 

"Next, a paper containing one ounce of opium. 

"Next, a piece of pure antimony weighing three ounces. 

"Next, a packet of powder on which was written: 'To check the flow ofblood. ' Moreau said that it was quince flower and quince buds dried. 

"Item, a pack sealed with six seals, on which was written, 'Papers to beburnt in case of death. ' In this twenty-four letters were found, said tohave been written by the Marquise de Brinvilliers. 

"Item, another packet sealed with six seals, on which a similarinscription was written. In this were twenty-seven pieces of paper oneach of which was written: 'Sundry curious secrets. '

"Item, another packet with six more seals, on which a similarinscription was written. In this were found seventy-five livres, addressed to different persons. Besides all these, in the box there weretwo bonds, one from the marquise for 30, 000, and one from Penautier for10, 000 francs, their dates corresponding to the time of the deaths of M. D'Aubray and the Sieur de St. Laurent. "

The difference in the amount shows that Sainte-Croix had a tariff, andthat parricide was more expensive than simple assassination. Thus inhis death did Sainte-Croix bequeath the poisons to his mistress and hisfriend; not content with his own crimes in the past, he wished to betheir accomplice in the future. 

The first business of the officials was to submit the differentsubstances to analysis, and to experiment with them on animals. Thereport follows of Guy Simon, an apothecary, who was charged to undertakethe analysis and the experiments:

"This artificial poison reveals its nature on examination. It is sodisguised that one fails to recognise it, so subtle that it deceivesthe scientific, so elusive that it escapes the doctor's eye: experimentsseem to be at fault with this poison, rules useless, aphorismsridiculous. The surest experiments are made by the use of the elementsor upon animals. In water, ordinary poison falls by its own weight. The water is superior, the poison obeys, falls downwards, and takes thelower place. 

"The trial by fire is no less certain: the fire evaporates and dispersesall that is innocent and pure, leaving only acrid and sour matter whichresists its influence. The effect produced by poisons on animals isstill more plain to see: its malignity extends to every part that itreaches, and all that it touches is vitiated; it burns and scorches allthe inner parts with a strange, irresistible fire. 

"The poison employed by Sainte-Croix has been tried in all the ways, and can defy every experiment. This poison floats in water, it is thesuperior, and the water obeys it; it escapes in the trial by fire, leaving behind only innocent deposits; in animals it is so skilfullyconcealed that no one could detect it; all parts of the animal remainhealthy and active; even while it is spreading the cause of death, thisartificial poison leaves behind the marks and appearance of life. Everysort of experiment has been tried. The first was to pour out severaldrops of the liquid found into oil of tartar and sea water, and nothingwas precipitated into the vessels used; the second was to pour the sameliquid into a sanded vessel, and at the bottom there was found nothingacrid or acid to the tongue, scarcely any stains; the third experimentwas tried upon an Indian fowl, a pigeon, a dog, and some other animals, which died soon after. When they were opened, however, nothing was foundbut a little coagulated blood in the ventricle of the heart. Anotherexperiment was giving a white powder to a cat, in a morsel of mutton. The cat vomited for half an hour, and was found dead the next day, butwhen opened no part of it was found to be affected by the poison. Asecond trial of the same poison was made upon a pigeon, which soon died. When opened, nothing peculiar was found except a little reddish water inthe stomach. "

These experiments proved that Sainte-Croix was a learned chemist, andsuggested the idea that he did not employ his art for nothing; everybodyrecalled the sudden, unexpected deaths that had occurred, and the bondsfrom the marquise and from Penautier looked like blood-money. As one ofthese two was absent, and the other so powerful and rich that they darednot arrest him without proofs, attention was now paid to the objectionput in by Lachaussee. 

It was said in the objection that Lachaussee had spent seven years inthe service of Sainte-Croix, so he could not have considered the timehe had passed with the d'Aubrays as an interruption to this service. Thebag containing the thousand pistoles and the three bonds for a hundredlivres had been found in the place indicated; thus Lachaussee had athorough knowledge of this closet: if he knew the closet, he would knowabout the box; if he knew about the box, he could not be an innocentman. This was enough to induce Madame Mangot de Villarceaux, thelieutenant's widow, to lodge an accusation against him, and inconsequence a writ was issued against Lachaussee, and he was arrested. 

When this happened, poison was found upon him. The trial came on beforethe Chatelet. Lachaussee denied his guilt obstinately. The judgesthinking they had no sufficient proof, ordered the preparatory questionto be applied. Mme. Mangot appealed from a judgment which would probablysave the culprit if he had the strength to resist the torture and own tonothing;

 [Note: There were two kinds of question, one before and one after the sentence was passed. In the first, an accused person would endure frightful torture in the hope of saving his life, and so would often confess nothing. In the second, there was no hope, and therefore it was not worth while to suffer additional pains. ]

so, in virtue of this appeal, a judgment, on March 4th, 1673, declaredthat Jean Amelin Lachaussee was convicted of having poisoned thelieutenant and the councillor; for which he was to be broken alive onthe wheel, having been first subjected to the question both ordinary andextraordinary, with a view to the discovery of his accomplices. At thesame time Madame de Brinvilliers was condemned in default of appearanceto have her head cut off. 

Lachaussee suffered the torture of the boot. This was having each legfastened between two planks and drawn together in an iron ring, afterwhich wedges were driven in between the middle planks; the ordinaryquestion was with four wedges, the extraordinary with eight. At thethird wedge Lachaussee said he was ready to speak; so the question wasstopped, and he was carried into the choir of the chapel stretched on amattress, where, in a weak voice--for he could hardly speak--he beggedfor half an hour to recover himself. We give a verbatim extract from thereport of the question and the execution of the death-sentence:

"Lachaussee, released from the question and laid on the mattress, theofficial reporter retired. Half an hour later Lachaussee begged that hemight return, and said that he was guilty; that Sainte-Croix told himthat Madame de Brinvilliers had given him the poison to administer toher brothers; that he had done it in water and soup, had put the reddishwater in the lieutenant's glass in Paris, and the clear water in the pieat Villequoy; that Sainte-Croix had promised to keep him always, andto make him a gift of 100 pistolets; that he gave him an account of theeffect of the poisons, and that Sainte-Croix had given him some ofthe waters several times. Sainte-Croix told him that the marquise knewnothing of his other poisonings, but Lachaussee thought she did know, because she had often spoken to him about his poisons; that she wantedto compel him to go away, offering him money if he would go; that shehad asked him for the box and its contents; that if Sainte-Croixhad been able to put anyone into the service of Madame d'Aubray, thelieutenant's widow, he would possibly have had her poisoned also; for hehad a fancy for her daughter. "

This declaration, which left no room for doubt, led to the judgment thatcame next, thus described in the Parliamentary register: "Report ofthe question and execution on the 24th of March 1673, containing thedeclarations and confessions of Jean Amelin Lachaussee; the courthas ordered that the persons mentioned, Belleguise, Martin, Poitevin, Olivier, Veron pere, the wife of Quesdon the wigmaker, be summoned toappear before the court to be interrogated and heard concerning mattersarising from the present inquiry, and orders that the decree of arrestagainst Lapierre and summons against Penautier decreed by the criminallieutenant shall be carried out. In Parliament, 27th March 1673. "In virtue of this judgment, Penautier, Martin, and Belleguise wereinterrogated on the 21st, 22nd, and 24th of April. On the 26th of July, Penautier was discharged; fuller information was desired concerningBelleguise, and the arrest of Martin was ordered. On the 24th of March, Lachaussee had been broken on the wheel. As to Exili, the beginner ofit all, he had disappeared like Mephistopheles after Faust's end, and nothing was heard of him. Towards the end of the year Martinwas released for want of sufficient evidence. But the Marquise deBrinvilliers remained at Liege, and although she was shut up in aconvent she had by no means abandoned one, at any rate, of the mostworldly pleasures. She had soon found consolation for the death ofSainte-Croix, whom, all the same, she had loved so much as to be willingto kill herself for his sake. But she had adopted a new lover, Theriaby name. About this man it has been impossible to get any information, except that his name was several times mentioned during the trial. Thus, all the accusations had, one by one, fallen upon her, and it wasresolved to seek her out in the retreat where she was supposed to besafe. The mission was difficult and very delicate. Desgrais, one of thecleverest of the officials, offered to undertake it. He was a handsomeman, thirty-six years old or thereabouts: nothing in his looks betrayedhis connection with the police; he wore any kind of dress with equalease and grace, and was familiar with every grade in the social scale, disguising himself as a wretched tramp or a noble lord. He was just theright man, so his offer was accepted. 

He started accordingly for Liege, escorted by several archers, and, fortified by a letter from the king addressed to the Sixty of thattown, wherein Louis xiv demanded the guilty woman to be given up forpunishment. After examining the letter, which Desgrais had taken painsto procure, the council authorised the extradition of the marquise. 

This was much, but it was not all. The marquise, as we know, had takenrefuge in a convent, where Desgrais dared not arrest her by force, fortwo reasons: first, because she might get information beforehand, andhide herself in one of the cloister retreats whose secret is known onlyto the superior; secondly, because Liege was so religious a town thatthe event would produce a great sensation: the act might be looked uponas a sacrilege, and might bring about a popular rising, during which themarquise might possibly contrive to escape. So Desgrais paid a visit tohis wardrobe, and feeling that an abbe's dress would best free him fromsuspicion, he appeared at the doors of the convent in the guise of afellow-countryman just returned from Rome, unwilling to pass throughLiege without presenting his compliments to the lovely and unfortunatemarquise. Desgrais had just the manner of the younger son of a greathouse: he was as flattering as a courtier, as enterprising as amusketeer. In this first visit he made himself attractive by his wit andhis audacity, so much so that more easily than he had dared to hope, hegot leave to pay a second call. The second visit was not long delayed:Desgrais presented himself the very next day. Such eagerness wasflattering to the marquise, so Desgrais was received even better thanthe night before. She, a woman of rank and fashion, for more than a yearhad been robbed of all intercourse with people of a certain set, sowith Desgrais the marquise resumed her Parisian manner. Unhappily thecharming abbe was to leave Liege in a few days; and on that account hebecame all the more pressing, and a third visit, to take place nextday, was formally arranged. Desgrais was punctual: the marquise wasimpatiently waiting him; but by a conjunction of circumstances thatDesgrais had no doubt arranged beforehand, the amorous meeting wasdisturbed two or three times just as they were getting more intimateand least wanting to be observed. Desgrais complained of these tiresomechecks; besides, the marquise and he too would be compromised: heowed concealment to his cloth: He begged her to grant him a rendezvousoutside the town, in some deserted walk, where there would be no fearof their being recognised or followed: the marquise hesitated no longerthan would serve to put a price on the favour she was granting, and therendezvous was fixed for the same evening. 

The evening came: both waited with the same impatience, but with verydifferent hopes. The marquise found Desgrais at the appointed spot: hegave her his arm then holding her hand in his own, he gave a sign, thearchers appeared, the lover threw off his mask, Desgrais was confessed, and the marquise was his prisoner. Desgrais left her in the hands of hismen, and hastily made his way to the convent. Then, and not before, he produced his order from the Sixty, by means of which he opened themarquise's room. Under her bed he found a box, which he seized andsealed; then he went back to her, and gave the order to start. 

When the marquise saw the box in the hands of Desgrais, she at firstappeared stunned; quickly recovering, she claimed a paper inside itwhich contained her confession. Desgrais refused, and as he turnedround for the carriage to come forward, she tried to choke herself byswallowing a pin. One of the archers, called Claude, Rolla, perceivingher intention, contrived to get the pin out of her mouth. After this, Desgrais commanded that she should be doubly watched. 

They stopped for supper. An archer called Antoine Barbier was presentat the meal, and watched so that no knife or fork should be put on thetable, or any instrument with which she could wound or kill herself. Themarquise, as she put her glass to her mouth as though to drink, broke alittle bit off with her teeth; but the archer saw it in time, and forcedher to put it out on her plate. Then she promised him, if he would saveher, that she would make his fortune. He asked what he would have todo for that. She proposed that he should cut Desgrais' throat; but herefused, saying that he was at her service in any other way. So sheasked him for pen and paper, and wrote this letter:

"DEAR THERIA, --I am in the hands of Desgrais, who is taking me by roadfrom Liege to Paris. Come quickly and save me. "

Antoine Barbier took the letter, promising to deliver it at the rightaddress; but he gave it to Desgrais instead. The next day, finding thatthis letter had not been pressing enough, she wrote him another, sayingthat the escort was only eight men, who could be easily overcome by fouror five determined assailants, and she counted on him to strike thisbald stroke. But, uneasy when she got no answer and no result from herletters, she despatched a third missive to Theria. In this she imploredhim by his own salvation, if he were not strong enough to attack herescort and save her, at least to kill two of the four horses by whichshe was conveyed, and to profit by the moment of confusion to seize thechest and throw it into the fire; otherwise, she declared, she was lost. Though Theria received none of these letters, which were one byone handed over by Barbier to Desgrais, he all the same did go toMaestricht, where the marquise was to pass, of his own accord. Therehe tried to bribe the archers, offering much as 10, 000 livres, butthey were incorruptible. At Rocroy the cortege met M. Palluau, thecouncillor, whom the Parliament had sent after the prisoner, that hemight put questions to her at a time when she least expected them, andso would not have prepared her answers. Desgrais told him all that hadpassed, and specially called his attention to the famous box, the objectof so much anxiety and so many eager instructions. M. De Palluau openedit, and found among other things a paper headed "My Confession. " Thisconfession was a proof that the guilty feel great need of discoveringtheir crimes either to mankind or to a merciful God. Sainte-Croix, weknow, had made a confession that was burnt, and here was the marquiseequally imprudent. The confession contained seven articles, and beganthus, "I confess to God, and to you, my father, " and was a completeavowal, of all the crimes she had committed. 

In the first article she accused herself of incendiarism;

In the second, of having ceased to be a virgin at seven years of age;

In the third of having poisoned her father;

In the fourth, of having poisoned her two brothers;

In the fifth, that she had tried to poison her sister, a Carmelite nun. 

The two other articles were concerned with the description of strangeand unnatural sins. In this woman there was something of Locusta andsomething of Messalina as well: antiquity could go no further. 

M. De Palluau, fortified by his knowledge of this important document, began his examination forthwith. We give it verbatim, rejoicing that wemay substitute an official report for our own narrative. 

Asked why she fled to Liege, she replied that she left France on accountof some business with her sister-in-law. 

Asked if she had any knowledge of the papers found in the box, shereplied that in the box there were several family papers, and amongthem a general confession which she desired to make; when she wroteit, however, her mind was disordered; she knew not what she had said ordone, being distraught at the time, in a foreign country, deserted byher relatives, forced to borrow every penny. 

Asked as to the first article, what house it was she had burnt, shereplied that she had not burnt anything, but when she wrote that she wasout of her senses. 

Asked about the six other articles she replied that she had norecollection of them. 

Asked if she had not poisoned her father and brothers, she replied thatshe knew nothing at all about it. 

Asked if it were not Lachaussee who poisoned her brothers, she repliedthat she knew nothing about it. 

Asked if she did not know that her sister could not live long, havingbeen poisoned, she said that she expected her sister to die, because shesuffered in the same way as her brothers; that she had lost all memoryof the time when she wrote this confession; admitted that she leftFrance by the advice of her relations. 

Asked why her relations had advised her thus, she replied that it wasin connection with her brothers' affairs; admitted seeing Sainte-Croixsince his release from the Bastille. 

Asked if Sainte-Croix had not persuaded her to get rid of her father, she replied that she could not remember; neither did she remember ifSainte-Croix had given her powders or other drugs, nor if Sainte-Croixhad told her he knew how to make her rich. 

Eight letters having been produced, asked to whom she had written them, she replied that she did not remember. 

Asked why she had promised to pay 30, 000 livres to Sainte-Croix, shereplied that she intended to entrust this sum to his care, so that shemight make use of it when she wanted it, believing him to be her friend;she had not wished this to be known, by reason of her creditors; thatshe had an acknowledgment from Sainte-Croix, but had lost it in hertravels; that her husband knew nothing about it. 

Asked if the promise was made before or after the death of her brothers, she replied that she could not remember, and it made no difference. 

Asked if she knew an apothecary called Glazer, she replied that she hadconsulted him three times about inflammation. 

Asked why she wrote to Theria to get hold of the box, she replied thatshe did not understand. 

Asked why, in writing to Theria, she had said she was lost unless he gothold of the box, she replied that she could not remember. 

Asked if she had seen during the journey with her father the firstsymptoms of his malady, she replied that she had not noticed that herfather was ill on the journey, either going or coming back in 1666. 

Asked if she had not done business with Penautier, she replied thatPenautier owed her 30, 000 livres. 

Asked how this was, she replied that she and her husband had lentPenautier 10, 000 crowns, that he had paid it back, and since then theyhad had no dealings with him. 

The marquise took refuge, we see, in a complete system of denial:arrived in Paris, and confined in the Conciergerie, she did thesame; but soon other terrible charges were added, which still furtheroverwhelmed her. 

The sergeant Cluet deposed: that, observing a lackey to M. D'Aubray, thecouncillor, to be the man Lachaussee, whom he had seen in the serviceof Sainte-Croix, he said to the marquise that if her brother knew thatLachaussee had been with Sainte-Croix he would not like it, but thatMadame de Brinvilliers exclaimed, "Dear me, don't tell my brothers; theywould give him a thrashing, no doubt, and he may just as well get hiswages as any body else. " He said nothing to the d'Aubrays, though he sawLachaussee paying daily visits to Sainte-Croix and to the marquise, whowas worrying Sainte-Croix to let her have her box, and wanted her billfor two or three thousand pistoles. Other wise she would have had himassassinated. She often said that she was very anxious that no oneshould see the contents of the box; that it was a very important matter, but only concerned herself. After the box was opened, the witness added, he had told the marquise, that the commissary Picard said to Lachausseethat there were strange things in it; but the lady blushed, and changedthe subject. He asked her if she were not an accomplice. She said, "What! I?" but then muttered to herself: "Lachaussee ought to besent off to Picardy. " The witness repeated that she had been afterSainte-Croix along time about the box, and if she had got it she wouldhave had his throat cut. The witness further said that when he toldBriancourt that Lachaussee was taken and would doubtless confess all, Briancourt, speaking of the marquise, remarked, "She is a lost woman. "That d'Aubray's daughter had called Briancourt a rogue, but Briancourthad replied that she little knew what obligations she was under to him;that they had wanted to poison both her and the lieutenant's widow, andhe alone had hindered it. He had heard from Briancourt that the marquisehad often said that there are means to get rid of people one dislikes, and they can easily be put an end to in a bowl of soup. 

The girl Edme Huet, a woman of Brescia, deposed that Sainte-Croix wentto see the marquise every day, and that in a box belonging to that ladyshe had seen two little packets containing sublimate in powder and inpaste: she recognised these, because she was an apothecary's daughter. She added that one day Madame de Brinvilliers, after a dinner party, in a merry mood, said, showing her a little box, "Here is vengeance onone's enemies: this box is small, but holds plenty of successions!"That she gave back the box into her hands, but soon changing fromher sprightly mood, she cried, "Good heavens, what have I said? Tellnobody. " That Lambert, clerk at the palace, told her he had brought thepackets to Madame from Sainte-Croix; that Lachaussee often went tosee her; and that she herself, not being paid ten pistoles which themarquise owed her, went to complain to Sainte-Croix, threatening to tellthe lieutenant what she had seen; and accordingly the ten pistoles werepaid; further, that the marquise and Sainte-Croix always kept poisonabout them, to make use of, in case of being arrested. 

Laurent Perrette, living with Glazer, said that he had often seen a ladycall on his mistress with Sainte-Croix; that the footman told him shewas the Marquise de Brinvilliers; that he would wager his head on itthat they came to Glazer's to make poison; that when they came they usedto leave their carriage at the Foire Saint-Germain. 

Marie de Villeray, maid to the marquise, deposed that after the deathof M. D'Aubray the councillor, Lachaussee came to see the lady and spokewith her in private; that Briancourt said she had caused the death ofa worthy men; that Briancourt every day took some electuary for fear ofbeing poisoned, and it was no doubt due to this precaution that he wasstill alive; but he feared he would be stabbed, because she had toldhim the secret about the poisoning; that d'Aubray's daughter had to bewarned; and that there was a similar design against the tutor of M. DeBrinvillier's children. Marie de Villeray added that two days afterthe death of the councillor, when Lachaussee was in Madame's bedroom, Couste, the late lieutenant's secretary, was announced, and Lachausseehad to be hidden in the alcove by the bed. Lachaussee brought themarquise a letter from Sainte-Croix. 

Francois Desgrais, officer, deposed that when he was given the king'sorders he arrested the marquise at Liege; that he found under her bed abox which he sealed; that the lady had demanded a paper which was in it, containing her confession, but he refused it; that on the road to Paristhe marquise had told him that she believed it was Glazer who made thepoisons for Sainte-Croix; that Sainte-Croix, who had made a rendezvouswith her one day at the cross Saint-Honore, there showed her four littlebottles, saying, "See what Glazer has sent me. " She asked him for one, but Sainte-Croix said he would rather die than give it up. He added thatthe archer Antoine Barbier had given him three letters written by themarquise to Theria; that in the first she had told him to come at onceand snatch her from the hands of the soldiers; that in the second shesaid that the escort was only composed of eight persons, who could heworsted by five men; that in the third she said that if he could notsave her from the men who were taking her away, he should at leastapproach the commissary, and killing his valet's horse and two otherhorses in his carriage, then take the box, and burn it; otherwise shewas lost. 

Laviolette, an archer, deposed that on the evening of the arrest, the marquise had a long pin and tried to put it in her mouth; that hestopped her, and told her that she was very wicked; that he perceivedthat people said the truth and that she had poisoned all her family; towhich she replied, that if she had, it was only through following badadvice, and that one could not always be good. 

Antoine Barbier, an archer, said that the marquise at table took up aglass as though to drink, and tried to swallow a piece of it; that heprevented this, and she promised to make his fortune if only he wouldsave her; that she wrote several letters to Theria; that during thewhole journey she tried all she could to swallow pins, bits of glass, and earth; that she had proposed that he should cut Desgrais' throat, and kill the commissary's valet; that she had bidden him get the boxand burn it, and bring a lighted torch to burn everything; that shehad written to Penautier from the Conciergerie; that she gave him, theletter, and he pretended to deliver it. 

Finally, Francoise Roussel deposed that she had been in the serviceof the marquise, and the lady had one day given her some preservedgooseberries; that she had eaten some on the point of her knife, and atonce felt ill. She also gave her a slice of mutton, rather wet, whichshe ate, afterwards suffering great pain in the stomach, feeling asthough she had been pricked in the heart, and for three years had feltthe same, believing herself poisoned. 

It was difficult to continue a system of absolute denial in face ofproofs like these. The marquise persisted, all the same, that she wasin no way guilty; and Maitre Nivelle, one of the best lawyers of theperiod, consented to defend her cause. 

He combated one charge after another, in a remarkably clever way, owningto the adulterous connection of the marquise with Sainte-Croix, butdenying her participation in the murders of the d'Aubrays, fatherand sons: these he ascribed entirely to the vengeance desired bySainte-Croix. As to the confession, the strongest and, he maintained, the only evidence against Madame de Brinvilliers, he attacked itsvalidity by bringing forward certain similar cases, where the evidencesupplied by the accused against themselves had not been admitted byreason of the legal action: 'Non auditur perire volens'. He cited threeinstances, and as they are themselves interesting, we copy them verbatimfrom his notes. 

 FIRST CASE

Dominicus Soto, a very famous canonist and theologian, confessor toCharles V, present at the first meetings of the Council of Trent underPaul III, propounds a question about a man who had lost a paper on whichhe had written down his sins. It happened that this paper fell intothe hands of an ecclesiastical judge, who wished to put in informationagainst the writer on the strength of this document. Now this judge wasjustly punished by his superior, because confession is so sacred thateven that which is destined to constitute the confession should bewrapped in eternal silence. In accordance with this precedent, thefollowing judgment, reported in the 'Traite des Confesseurs', was givenby Roderic Acugno. A Catalonian, native of Barcelona, who was condemnedto death for homicide and owned his guilt, refused to confess when thehour of punishment arrived. However strongly pressed, he resisted, andso violently, giving no reason, that all were persuaded that hismind was unhinged by the fear of death. Saint-Thomas of Villeneuve, Archbishop of Valencia, heard of his obstinacy. Valencia was the placewhere his sentence was given. The worthy prelate was so charitable as totry to persuade the criminal to make his confession, so as not to losehis soul as well as his body. Great was his surprise, when he askedthe reason of the refusal, to hear the doomed man declare that he hatedconfessors, because he had been condemned through the treachery ofhis own priest, who was the only person who knew about the murder. Inconfession he had admitted his crime and said where the body was buried, and all about it; his confessor had revealed it all, and he could notdeny it, and so he had been condemned. He had only just learned, whathe did not know at the time he confessed, that his confessor was thebrother of the man he had killed, and that the desire for vengeance hadprompted the bad priest to betray his confession. Saint-Thomas, hearingthis, thought that this incident was of more importance than the trial, which concerned the life of only one person, whereas the honour ofreligion was at stake, with consequences infinitely more important. Hefelt he must verify this statement, and summoned the confessor. Whenhe had admitted the breach of faith, the judges were obliged to revoketheir sentence and pardon the criminal, much to the gratification ofthe public mind. The confessor was adjudged a very severe penance, whichSaint-Thomas modified because of his prompt avowal of his fault, andstill more because he had given an opportunity for the publicexhibition of that reverence which judges themselves are bound to pay toconfessions. 

 SECOND CASE

In 1579 an innkeeper at Toulouse killed with his own hand, unknown tothe inmates of his house, a stranger who had come to lodge with him, and buried him secretly in the cellar. The wretch then suffered fromremorse, and confessed the crime with all its circumstances, tellinghis confessor where the body was buried. The relations of the dead man, after making all possible search to get news of him, at last proclaimedthrough the town a large reward to be given to anyone who would discoverwhat had happened to him. The confessor, tempted by this bait, secretlygave word that they had only to search in the innkeeper's cellar andthey would find the corpse. And they found it in the place indicated. The innkeeper was thrown into prison, was tortured, and confessed hiscrime. But afterwards he always maintained that his confessor was theonly person who could have betrayed him. Then the Parliament, indignantwith such means of finding out the truth, declared him innocent, failingother proof than what came through his confessor. The confessor washimself condemned to be hanged, and his body was burnt. So fully did thetribunal in its wisdom recognise the importance of securing the sanctityof a sacrament that is indispensable to salvation. 

 THIRD CASE

An Armenian woman had inspired a violent passion in a young Turkishgentleman, but her prudence was long an obstacle to her lover's desires. At last he went beyond all bounds, and threatened to kill both her andher husband if she refused to gratify him. Frightened by this threat, which she knew too well he would carry out, she feigned consent, andgave the Turk a rendezvous at her house at an hour when she said herhusband would be absent; but by arrangement the husband arrived, andalthough the Turk was armed with a sabre and a pair of pistols, it sobefell that they were fortunate enough to kill their enemy, whom theyburied under their dwelling unknown to all the world. But some daysafter the event they went to confess to a priest of their nation, andrevealed every detail of the tragic story. This unworthy minister ofthe Lord supposed that in a Mahommedan country, where the laws ofthe priesthood and the functions of a confessor are either unknownor disapproved, no examination would be made into the source of hisinformation, and that his evidence would have the same weight as anyother accuser's. So he resolved to make a profit and gratify his ownavarice. Several times he visited the husband and wife, always borrowingconsiderable sums, and threatening to reveal their crime if they refusedhim. The first few times the poor creatures gave in to his exactions;but the moment came at last when, robbed of all their fortune, theywere obliged to refuse the sum he demanded. Faithful to his threat, thepriest, with a view to more reward, at once denounced them to the deadman's father. He, who had adored his son, went to the vizier, told himhe had identified the murderers through their confessor, and asked forjustice. But this denunciation had by no means the desired effect. Thevizier, on the contrary, felt deep pity for the wretched Armenians, andindignation against the priest who had betrayed them. He put the accuserinto a room which adjoined the court, and sent for the Armenian bishopto ask what confession really was, and what punishment was deserved by apriest who betrayed it, and what was the fate of those whose crimeswere made known in this fashion. The bishop replied that the secrets ofconfession are inviolable, that Christians burn the priest who revealsthem, and absolve those whom he accuses, because the avowal made by theguilty to the priest is proscribed by the Christian religion, on painof eternal damnation. The vizier, satisfied with the answer, took thebishop into another room, and summoned the accused to declare all thecircumstances: the poor wretches, half dead, fell at the vizier's feet. The woman spoke, explaining that the necessity of defending life andhonour had driven them to take up arms to kill their enemy. She addedthat God alone had witnessed their crime, and it would still be unknownhad not the law of the same God compelled them to confide it to theear of one of His ministers for their forgiveness. Now the priest'sinsatiable avarice had ruined them first and then denounced them. Thevizier made them go into a third room, and ordered the treacherouspriest to be confronted with the bishop, making him again rehearse thepenalties incurred by those who betray confessions. Then, applying thisto the guilty priest, he condemned him to be burnt alive in a publicplace;--in anticipation, said he, of burning in hell, where he wouldassuredly receive the punishment of his infidelity and crimes. Thesentence was executed without delay. 

In spite of the effect which the advocate intended to produce by thesethree cases, either the judges rejected them, or perhaps they thoughtthe other evidence without the confession was enough, and it was soonclear to everyone, by the way the trial went forward, that the marquisewould be condemned. Indeed, before sentence was pronounced, on themorning of July 16th, 1676, she saw M. Pirot, doctor of the Sorbonne, come into her prison, sent by the chief president. This worthymagistrate, foreseeing the issue, and feeling that one so guilty shouldnot be left till the last moment, had sent the good priest. Thelatter, although he had objected that the Conciergerie had its own twochaplains, and added that he was too feeble to undertake such a task, being unable even to see another man bled without feeling ill, acceptedthe painful mission, the president having so strongly urged it, on theground that in this case he needed a man who could be entirely trusted. The president, in fact, declared that, accustomed as he was to dealingwith criminals, the strength of the marquise amazed him. The day beforehe summoned M. Pirot, he had worked at the trial from morning to night, and for thirteen hours the accused had been confronted with Briancourt, one of the chief witnesses against her. On that very day, there hadbeen five hours more, and she had borne it all, showing as much respecttowards her judges as haughtiness towards the witness, reproaching himas a miserable valet, given to drink, and protesting that as he had beendismissed for his misdemeanours, his testimony against her ought togo for nothing. So the chief president felt no hope of breaking herinflexible spirit, except by the agency of a minister of religion; forit was not enough to put her to death, the poisons must perish withher, or else society would gain nothing. The doctor Pirot came to themarquise with a letter from her sister, who, as we know, was a nunbearing the name of Sister Marie at the convent Saint-Jacques. Herletter exhorted the marquise, in the most touching and affectionateterms, to place her confidence in the good priest, and look upon him notonly as a helper but as a friend. 

When M. Pirot came before the marquise, she had just left the dock, where she had been for three hours without confessing anything, orseeming in the least touched by what the president said, though he, after acting the part of judge, addressed her simply as a Christian, andshowing her what her deplorable position was, appearing now for the lasttime before men, and destined so soon to appear before God, spoke to hersuch moving words that he broke down himself, and the oldest and mostobdurate judges present wept when they heard him. When the marquiseperceived the doctor, suspecting that her trial was leading her todeath, she approached him, saying:

"You have come, sir, because----"

But Father Chavigny, who was with M. Pirot; interrupted her, saying:

"Madame, we will begin with a prayer. "

They all fell on their knees invoking the Holy Spirit; then the marquiseasked them to add a prayer to the Virgin, and, this prayer finished, shewent up to the doctor, and, beginning afresh, said:

"Sir, no doubt the president has sent you to give me consolation: withyou I am to pass the little life I have left. I have long been eager tosee you. "

"Madame, " the doctor replied, "I come to render you any spiritual officethat I can; I only wish it were on another occasion. "

"We must have resolution, sir, " said she, smiling, "for all things. "

Then turning to Father Chavigny, she said:

"My father, I am very grateful to you for bringing the doctor here, andfor all the other visits you have been willing to pay me. Pray to Godfor me, I entreat you; henceforth I shall speak with no one but thedoctor, for with him I must speak of things that can only be discussedtete-a-tete. Farewell, then, my father; God will reward you for theattention you have been willing to bestow upon me. "

With these words the father retired, leaving the marquise alone with thedoctor and the two men and one woman always in attendance on her. Theywere in a large room in the Montgomery tower extending, throughout itswhole length. There was at the end of the room a bed with grey curtainsfor the lady, and a folding-bed for the custodian. It is said to havebeen the same room where the poet Theophile was once shut up, and nearthe door there were still verses in his well-known style written by hishand. 

As soon as the two men and the woman saw for what the doctor had come, they retired to the end of the room, leaving the marquise free to askfor and receive the consolations brought her by the man of God. Then thetwo sat at a table side by side. The marquise thought she was alreadycondemned, and began to speak on that assumption; but the doctor toldher that sentence was not yet given, and he did not know preciselywhen it would be, still less what it would be; but at these words themarquise interrupted him. 

"Sir, " she said, "I am not troubled about the future. If my sentence isnot given yet, it soon will be. I expect the news this morning, and Iknow it will be death: the only grace I look for from the president isa delay between the sentence and its execution; for if I were executedto-day I should have very little time to prepare, and I feel I have needfor more. "

The doctor did not expect such words, so he was overjoyed to learn whatshe felt. In addition to what the president had said, he had heard fromFather Chavigny that he had told her the Sunday before that it was veryunlikely she would escape death, and indeed, so far as one could judgeby reports in the town, it was a foregone conclusion. When he said so, at first she had appeared stunned, and said with an air of great terror, "Father, must I die?" And when he tried to speak words of consolation, she had risen and shaken her head, proudly replying--

"No, no, father; there is no need to encourage me. I will play my part, and that at once: I shall know how to die like a woman of spirit. "

Then the father had told her that we cannot prepare for death so quicklyand so easily; and that we have to be in readiness for a long time, not to be taken by surprise; and she had replied that she needed but aquarter of an hour to confess in, and one moment to die. 

So the doctor was very glad to find that between Sunday and Thursday herfeelings had changed so much. 

"Yes, " said she, "the more I reflect the more I feel that one day wouldnot be enough to prepare myself for God's tribunal, to be judged by Himafter men have judged me. "

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "I do not know what or when your sentencewill be; but should it be death, and given to-day, I may venture topromise you that it will not be carried out before to-morrow. Butalthough death is as yet uncertain, I think it well that you should beprepared for any event. "

"Oh, my death is quite certain, " said she, "and I must not give way touseless hopes. I must repose in you the great secrets of my whole life;but, father, before this opening of my heart, let me hear from yourlips the opinion you have formed of me, and what you think in my presentstate I ought to do. "

"You perceive my plan, " said the doctor, "and you anticipate what Iwas about to say. Before entering into the secrets of your conscience, before opening the discussion of your affairs with God, I am ready, madame, to give you certain definite rules. I do not yet know whetheryou are guilty at all, and I suspend my judgment as to all the crimesyou are accused of, since of them I can learn nothing except throughyour confession. Thus it is my duty still to doubt your guilt. But Icannot be ignorant of what you are accused of: this is a public matter, and has reached my ears; for, as you may imagine, madame, your affairshave made a great stir, and there are few people who know nothing aboutthem. "

"Yes, " she said, smiling, "I know there has been a great deal of talk, and I am in every man's mouth. "

"Then, " replied the doctor, "the crime you are accused of is poisoning. If you are guilty, as is believed, you cannot hope that God will pardonyou unless you make known to your judges what the poison is, what is itscomposition and what its antidote, also the names of your accomplices. Madame, we must lay hands on all these evil-doers without exception; forif you spared them, they would be able to make use of your poison, andyou would then be guilty of all the murders committed by them afteryour death, because you did not give them over to the judges during yourlife; thus one might say you survive yourself, for your crime survivesyou. You know, madame, that a sin in the moment of death is neverpardoned, and that to get remission for your crimes, if crimes you have, they must die when you die: for if you slay them not, be very sure theywill slay you. "

"Yes, I am sure of that, " replied the marquise, after a moment of silentthought; "and though I will not admit that I am guilty, I promise, ifI am guilty, to weigh your words. But one question, sir, and pray takeheed that an answer is necessary. Is there not crime in this world thatis beyond pardon? Are not some people guilty of sins so terrible andso numerous that the Church dares not pardon them, and if God, in Hisjustice, takes account of them, He cannot for all His mercy pardon them?See, I begin with this question, because, if I am to have no hope, it isneedless for me to confess. "

"I wish to think, madame, " replied the doctor, in spite of himself halffrightened at the marquise, "that this your first question is only putby way of a general thesis, and has nothing to do with your own state. Ishall answer the question without any personal application. No, madame, in this life there are no unpardonable sinners, terrible and numeroushowsoever their sins may be. This is an article of faith, and withoutholding it you could not die a good Catholic. Some doctors, it is true, have before now maintained the contrary, but they have been condemned asheretics. Only despair and final impenitence are unpardonable, and theyare not sins of our life but in our death. "

"Sir, " replied the marquise, "God has given me grace to be convinced bywhat you say, and I believe He will pardon all sins--that He has oftenexercised this power. Now all my trouble is that He may not deignto grant all His goodness to one so wretched as I am, a creature sounworthy of the favours already bestowed on her. "

The doctor reassured her as best he could, and began to examine herattentively as they conversed together. "She was, " he said, "a womannaturally courageous and fearless; naturally gentle and good; not easilyexcited; clever and penetrating, seeing things very clearly in her mind, and expressing herself well and in few but careful words; easily findinga way out of a difficulty, and choosing her line of conduct in the mostembarrassing circumstances; light-minded and fickle; unstable, payingno attention if the same thing were said several times over. For thisreason, " continued the doctor, "I was obliged to alter what I had tosay from time to time, keeping her but a short time to one subject, towhich, however, I would return later, giving the matter a new appearanceand disguising it a little. She spoke little and well, with no signof learning and no affectation, always, mistress of herself, alwayscomposed and saying just what she intended to say. No one would havesupposed from her face or from her conversation that she was so wickedas she must have been, judging by her public avowal of the parricide. Itis surprising, therefore--and one must bow down before the judgment ofGod when He leaves mankind to himself--that a mind evidently of somegrandeur, professing fearlessness in the most untoward and unexpectedevents, an immovable firmness and a resolution to await and to enduredeath if so it must be, should yet be so criminal as she was proved tobe by the parricide to which she confessed before her judges. She hadnothing in her face that would indicate such evil. She had very abundantchestnut hair, a rounded, well-shaped face, blue eyes very pretty andgentle, extraordinarily white skin, good nose, and no disagreeablefeature. Still, there was nothing unusually attractive in the face:already she was a little wrinkled, and looked older than her age. Something made me ask at our first interview how old she was. 'Monsieur, ' she said, 'if I were to live till Sainte-Madeleine's day Ishould be forty-six. On her day I came into the world, and I bear hername. I was christened Marie-Madeleine. But near to the day as wenow are, I shall not live so long: I must end to-day, or at latestto-morrow, and it will be a favour to give me the one day. For thiskindness I rely on your word. ' Anyone would have thought she was quiteforty-eight. Though her face as a rule looked so gentle, whenever anunhappy thought crossed her mind she showed it by a contortion thatfrightened one at first, and from time to time I saw her face twitchingwith anger, scorn, or ill-will. I forgot to say that she was very littleand thin. Such is, roughly given, a description of her body and mind, which I very soon came to know, taking pains from the first to observeher, so as to lose no time in acting on what I discovered. "

As she was giving a first brief sketch of her life to her confessor, the marquise remembered that he had not yet said mass, and reminded himherself that it was time to do so, pointing out to him the chapel of theConciergerie. She begged him to say a mass for her and in honour ofOur Lady, so that she might gain the intercession of the Virgin at thethrone of God. The Virgin she had always taken for her patron saint, andin the midst of her crimes and disorderly life had never ceased in herpeculiar devotion. As she could not go with the priest, she promised tobe with him at least in the spirit. He left her at half-past ten in themorning, and after four hours spent alone together, she had been inducedby his piety and gentleness to make confessions that could not be wrungfrom her by the threats of the judges or the fear of the question. The holy and devout priest said his mass, praying the Lord's help forconfessor and penitent alike. After mass, as he returned, he learnedfrom a librarian called Seney, at the porter's lodge, as he was takinga glass of wine, that judgment had been given, and that Madame deBrinvilliers was to have her hand cut off. This severity--as a fact, there was a mitigation of the sentence--made him feel yet more interestin his penitent, and he hastened back to her side. 

As soon as she saw the door open, she advanced calmly towards him, andasked if he had truly prayed for her; and when he assured her ofthis, she said, "Father, shall I have the consolation of receiving theviaticum before I die?"

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "if you are condemned to death, you mustdie without that sacrament, and I should be deceiving you if I let youhope for it. We have heard of the death of the constable of Saint-Paulwithout his obtaining this grace, in spite of all his entreaties. Hewas executed in sight of the towers of Notre-Dame. He offered his ownprayer, as you may offer yours, if you suffer the same fate. But that isall: God, in His goodness, allows it to suffice. "

"But, " replied the marquise, "I believe M. De Cinq-Mars and M. De Thoucommunicated before their death. "

"I think not, madame, " said the doctor; "for it is not so said in thepages of Montresor or any other book that describes their execution. "

"But M. De Montmorency?" said she. 

"But M. De Marillac?" replied the doctor. 

In truth, if the favour had been granted to the first, it had beenrefused to the second, and the marquise was specially struck thereby, for M. De Marillac was of her own family, and she was very proud of theconnection. No doubt she was unaware that M. De Rohan had received thesacrament at the midnight mass said for the salvation of his soulby Father Bourdaloue, for she said nothing about it, and hearing thedoctor's answer, only sighed. 

"Besides, " he continued, "in recalling examples of the kind, madame, youmust not build upon them, please: they are extraordinary cases, not therule. You must expect no privilege; in your case the ordinary laws willbe carried out, and your fate will not differ from the fate of othercondemned persons. How would it have been had you lived and died beforethe reign of Charles VI? Up to the reign of this prince, the guilty diedwithout confession, and it was only by this king's orders that therewas a relaxation of this severity. Besides, communion is not absolutelynecessary to salvation, and one may communicate spiritually in readingthe word, which is like the body; in uniting oneself with the Church, which is the mystical substance of Christ; and in suffering for Him andwith Him, this last communion of agony that is your portion, madame, andis the most perfect communion of all. If you heartily detest your crimeand love God with all your soul, if you have faith and charity, yourdeath is a martyrdom and a new baptism. "

"Alas, my God, " replied the marquise, "after what you tell me, now thatI know the executioner's hand was necessary to my salvation, what shouldI have become had I died at Liege? Where should I have been now? Andeven if I had not been taken, and had lived another twenty years awayfrom France, what would my death have been, since it needed the scaffoldfor my purification? Now I see all my wrong-doings, and the worst of allis the last--I mean my effrontery before the judges. But all is not yetlost, God be thanked; and as I have one last examination to go through, I desire to make a complete confession about my whole life. You, Sir, I entreat specially to ask pardon on my behalf of the first president;yesterday, when I was in the dock, he spoke very touching words to me, and I was deeply moved; but I would not show it, thinking that if I madeno avowal the evidence would not be sufficiently strong to convict me. But it has happened otherwise, and I must have scandalised my judgesby such an exhibition of hardihood. Now I recognise my fault, and willrepair it. Furthermore, sir, far from feeling angry with the presidentfor the judgment he to-day passes against me, far from complaining ofthe prosecutor who has demanded it, I thank them both most humbly, formy salvation depends upon it. "

The doctor was about to answer, encouraging her, when the door opened:it was dinner coming in, for it was now half-past one. The marquisepaused and watched what was brought in, as though she were playinghostess in her own country house. She made the woman and the two menwho watched her sit down to the table, and turning to the doctor, said, "Sir, you will not wish me to stand on ceremony with you; these goodpeople always dine with me to keep me company, and if you approve, wewill do the same to-day. This is the last meal, " she added, addressingthem, "that I shall take with you. " Then turning to the woman, "PoorMadame du Rus, " said she, "I have been a trouble to you for a long time;but have a little patience, and you will soon be rid of me. To-morrowyou can go to Dravet; you will have time, for in seven or eight hoursfrom now there will be nothing more to do for me, and I shall be in thegentleman's hands; you will not be allowed near me. After then, you cango away for good; for I don't suppose you will have the heart to see meexecuted. " All this she said quite calmly, but not with pride. From timeto time her people tried to hide their tears, and she made a sign ofpitying them. Seeing that the dinner was on the table and nobody eating, she invited the doctor to take some soup, asking him to excusethe cabbage in it, which made it a common soup and unworthy of hisacceptance. She herself took some soup and two eggs, begging herfellow-guests to excuse her for not serving them, pointing out that noknife or fork had been set in her place. 

When the meal was almost half finished, she begged the doctor to lether drink his health. He replied by drinking hers, and she seemed tobe quite charmed by, his condescension. "To-morrow is a fast day, " saidshe, setting down her glass, "and although it will be a day of greatfatigue for me, as I shall have to undergo the question as well asdeath, I intend to obey the orders of the Church and keep my fast. "

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "if you needed soup to keep you up, youwould not have to feel any scruple, for it will be no self-indulgence, but a necessity, and the Church does not exact fasting in such a case. "

"Sir, " replied the marquise, "I will make no difficulty about it, if itis necessary and if you order it; but it will not be needed, I think:if I have some soup this evening for supper, and some more made strongerthan usual a little before midnight, it will be enough to last methrough to-morrow, if I have two fresh eggs to take after the question. "

"In truth, " says the priest in the account we give here, "I was alarmedby this calm behaviour. I trembled when I heard her give orders to theconcierge that the soup was to be made stronger than usual and thatshe was to have two cups before midnight. When dinner was over, she wasgiven pen and ink, which she had already asked for, and told me thatshe had a letter to write before I took up my pen to put down what shewanted to dictate. " The letter, she explained, which was difficult towrite, was to her husband. She would feel easier when it was written. For her husband she expressed so much affection, that the doctor, knowing what had passed, felt much surprised, and wishing to tryher, said that the affection was not reciprocated, as her husband hadabandoned her the whole time of the trial. The marquise interrupted him:

"My father, we must not judge things too quickly or merely byappearances. M. De Brinvilliers has always concerned himself withme, and has only failed in doing what it was impossible to do. Ourinterchange of letters never ceased while I was out of the kingdom; donot doubt but that he would have come to Paris as soon as he knew I wasin prison, had the state of his affairs allowed him to come safely. Butyou must know that he is deeply in debt, and could not appear in Pariswithout being arrested. Do not suppose that he is without feeling forme. "

She then began to write, and when her letter was finished she handedit to the doctor, saying, "You, sir, are the lord and master of allmy sentiments from now till I die; read this letter, and if you findanything that should be altered, tell me. "

This was the letter--

"When I am on the point of yielding up my soul to God, I wish to assureyou of my affection for you, which I shall feel until the last moment ofmy life. I ask your pardon for all that I have done contrary to my duty. I am dying a shameful death, the work of my enemies: I pardon them withall my heart, and I pray you to do the same. I also beg you to forgiveme for any ignominy that may attach to you herefrom; but consider thatwe are only here for a time, and that you may soon be forced to renderan account to God of all your actions, and even your idle words, just asI must do now. Be mindful of your worldly affairs, and of our children, and give them a good example; consult Madame Marillac and Madame Couste. Let as many prayers as possible be said for me, and believe that in mydeath I am still ever yours, D'AUBRAY. "

The doctor read this letter carefully; then he told her that one of herphrases was not right--the one about her enemies. "For you have noother enemies, " said he, "than your own crimes. Those whom you call yourenemies are those who love the memory of your father and brothers, whomyou ought to have loved more than they do. "

"But those who have sought my death, " she replied, "are my enemies, arethey not, and is it not a Christian act to forgive them?"

"Madame, " said the doctor, "they are not your enemies, but you arethe enemy of the human race: nobody can think without, horror of yourcrimes. "

"And so, my father, " she replied, "I feel no resentment towardsthem, and I desire to meet in Paradise those who have been chieflyinstrumental in taking me and bringing me here. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "what mean you by this? Such words are usedby some when they desire people's death. Explain, I beg, what you mean. "

"Heaven forbid, " cried the marquise, "that you should understand methus! Nay, may God grant them long prosperity in this world and infiniteglory in the next! Dictate a new letter, and I will write just what youplease. "

When a fresh letter had been written, the marquise would attend tonothing but her confession, and begged the doctor to take the pen forher. "I have done so many wrong thing's, " she said, "that if I only gaveyou a verbal confession, I should never be sure I had given a completeaccount. "

Then they both knelt down to implore the grace of the Holy Spirit. Theysaid a 'Veni Creator' and a 'Salve Regina', and the doctor then rose andseated himself at a table, while the marquise, still on her knees, began a Confiteor and made her whole confession. At nine o'clock, FatherChavigny, who had brought Doctor Pirot in the morning, came in again. The marquise seemed annoyed, but still put a good face upon it. "Myfather, " said she, "I did not expect to see you so late; pray leave mea few minutes longer with the doctor. " He retired. "Why has he come?"asked the marquise. 

"It is better for you not to be alone, " said the doctor. 

"Then do you mean to leave me?" cried the marquise, apparentlyterrified. 

"Madame, I will do as you wish, " he answered; "but you would be actingkindly if you could spare me for a few hours. I might go home, andFather Chavigny would stay with you. "

"Ah!" she cried, wringing her hands, "you promised you would not leaveme till I am dead, and now you go away. Remember, I never saw you beforethis morning, but since then you have become more to me than any of myoldest friends. "

"Madame, " said the good doctor, "I will do all I can to please you. IfI ask for a little rest, it is in order that I may resume my place withmore vigour to-morrow, and render you better service than I otherwisecould. If I take no rest, all I say or do must suffer. You count onthe execution for tomorrow; I do not know if you are right; but if so, to-morrow will be your great and decisive day, and we shall both needall the strength we have. We have already been working for thirteen orfourteen hours for the good of your salvation; I am not a strong man, and I think you should realise, madame, that if you do not let me rest alittle, I may not be able to stay with you to the end. "

"Sir, " said the marquise, "you have closed my mouth. To-morrow is for mea far more important day than to-day, and I have been wrong: of courseyou must rest to-night. Let us just finish this one thing, and read overwhat we have written. "

It was done, and the doctor would have retired; but the supper came in, and the marquise would not let him go without taking something. She toldthe concierge to get a carriage and charge it to her. She took a cup ofsoup and two eggs, and a minute later the concierge came back to say thecarriage was at the door. Then the marquise bade the doctor good-night, making him promise to pray for her and to be at the Conciergerie by sixo'clock the next morning. This he promised her. 

The day following, as he went into the tower, he found Father Chavigny, who had taken his place with the marquise, kneeling and praying withher. The priest was weeping, but she was calm, and received the doctorin just the same way as she had let him go. When Father Chavigny sawhim, he retired. The marquise begged Chavigny to pray for her, andwanted to make him promise to return, but that he would not do. Shethen turned to the doctor, saying, "Sir, you are punctual, and I cannotcomplain that you have broken your promise; but oh, how the time hasdragged, and how long it has seemed before the clock struck six!"

"I am here, madame, " said the doctor; "but first of all, how have youspent the night?"

"I have written three letters, " said the marquise, "and, short as theywere, they took a long time to write: one was to my sister, one toMadame de Marillac, and the third to M. Couste. I should have liked toshow them to you, but Father Chavigny offered to take charge of them, and as he had approved of them, I could not venture to suggest anydoubts. After the letters were written, we had some conversation andprayer; but when the father took up his breviary and I my rosary withthe same intention, I felt so weary that I asked if I might lie on mybed; he said I might, and I had two good hours' sleep without dreamsor any sort of uneasiness; when I woke we prayed together, and had justfinished when you came back. "

"Well, madame, " said the doctor, "if you will, we can pray again; kneeldown, and let us say the 'Veni Sancte Spiritus'. "

She obeyed, and said the prayer with much unction and piety. The prayerfinished, M. Pirot was about to take up the pen to go on with theconfession, when she said, "Pray let me submit to you one question whichis troubling me. Yesterday you gave me great hope of the mercy of God;but I cannot presume to hope I shall be saved without spending a longtime in purgatory; my crime is far too atrocious to be pardoned on anyother conditions; and when I have attained to a love of God far greaterthan I can feel here, I should not expect to be saved before my stainshave been purified by fire, without suffering the penalty that my sinshave deserved. But I have been told that the flames of purgatory wheresouls are burned for a time are just the same as the flames of hellwhere those who are damned burn through all eternity tell me, then, howcan a soul awaking in purgatory at the moment of separation from thisbody be sure that she is not really in hell? how can she know thatthe flames that burn her and consume not will some day cease? For thetorment she suffers is like that of the damned, and the flames wherewithshe is burned are even as the flames of hell. This I would fain know, that at this awful moment I may feel no doubt, that I may know forcertain whether I dare hope or must despair. "

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "you are right, and God is too just to addthe horror of uncertainty to His rightful punishments. At that momentwhen the soul quits her earthly body the judgment of God is passed uponher: she hears the sentence of pardon or of doom; she knows whether sheis in the state of grace or of mortal sin; she sees whether she is to beplunged forever into hell, or if God sends her for a time to purgatory. This sentence, madame, you will learn at the very instant when theexecutioner's axe strikes you; unless, indeed, the fire of charity hasso purified you in this life that you may pass, without any purgatory atall, straight to the home of the blessed who surround the throne of theLord, there to receive a recompense for earthly martyrdom. "

"Sir, " replied the marquise, "I have such faith in all you say that Ifeel I understand it all now, and I am satisfied. "

The doctor and the marquise then resumed the confession that wasinterrupted the night before. The marquise had during the nightrecollected certain articles that she wanted to add. So they continued, the doctor making her pause now and then in the narration of the heavieroffences to recite an act of contrition. 

After an hour and a half they came to tell her to go down. The registrarwas waiting to read her the sentence. She listened very calmly, kneeling, only moving her head; then, with no alteration in her voice, she said, "In a moment: we will have one word more, the doctor and I, and then I am at your disposal. " She then continued to dictate the restof her confession. When she reached the end, she begged him to offera short prayer with her, that God might help her to appear with suchbecoming contrition before her judges as should atone for her scandalouseffrontery. She then took up her cloak, a prayer-book which FatherChavigny had left with her, and followed the concierge, who led her tothe torture chamber, where her sentence was to be read. 

First, there was an examination which lasted five hours. The marquisetold all she had promised to tell, denying that she had any accomplices, and affirming that she knew nothing of the composition of the poisonsshe had administered, and nothing of their antidotes. When this wasdone, and the judges saw that they could extract nothing further, theysigned to the registrar to read the sentence. She stood to hear it: itwas as follows:

"That by the finding of the court, d'Aubray de Brinvilliers is convictedof causing the death by poison of Maitre Dreux d'Aubray, her father, andof the two Maitres d'Aubray, her brothers, one a civil lieutenant, theother a councillor to the Parliament, also of attempting the lifeof Therese d'Aubray, her sister; in punishment whereof the court hascondemned and does condemn the said d'Aubray de Brinvilliers to make therightful atonement before the great gate of the church of Paris, whithershe shall be conveyed in a tumbril, barefoot, a rope on her neck, holding in her hands a burning torch two pounds in weight; and there onher knees she shall say and declare that maliciously, with desire forrevenge and seeking their goods, she did poison her father, cause to bepoisoned her two brothers, and attempt the life of her sister, whereofshe doth repent, asking pardon of God, of the king, and of the judges;and when this is done, she shall be conveyed and carried in the sametumbril to the Place de Greve of this town, there to have her head cutoff on a scaffold to be set up for the purpose at that place; afterwardsher body to be burnt and the ashes scattered; and first she is to besubjected to the question ordinary and extraordinary, that she mayreveal the names of her accomplices. She is declared to be deprived ofall successions from her said father, brothers, and sister, from thedate of the several crimes; and all her goods are confiscated to theproper persons; and the sum of 4000 livres shall be paid out of herestate to the king, and 400 livres to the Church for prayers to be saidon behalf of the poisoned persons; and all the costs shall be paid, including those of Amelin called Lachaussee. In Parliament, 16th July1676. "

The marquise heard her sentence without showing any sign of fear orweakness. When it was finished, she said to the registrar, "Will you, sir, be so kind as to read it again? I had not expected the tumbril, andI was so much struck by that that I lost the thread of what followed. "

The registrar read the sentence again. From that moment she was theproperty of the executioner, who approached her. She knew him by thecord he held in his hands, and extended her own, looking him over coollyfrom head to foot without a word. The judges then filed out, disclosingas they did so the various apparatus of the question. The marquisefirmly gazed upon the racks and ghastly rings, on which so many had beenstretched crying and screaming. She noticed the three buckets of water

 [Note: The torture with the water was thus administered. There were eight vessels, each containing 2 pints of water. Four of these were given for the ordinary, and eight for the extraordinary. The executioner inserted a horn into the patient's mouth, and if he shut his teeth, forced him to open them by pinching his nose with the finger and thumb. ]

prepared for her, and turned to the registrar--for she would not addressthe executioner--saying, with a smile, "No doubt all this water is todrown me in? I hope you don't suppose that a person of my size couldswallow it all. " The executioner said not a word, but began taking offher cloak and all her other garments, until she was completely naked. Hethen led her up to the wall and made her sit on the rack of the ordinaryquestion, two feet from the ground. There she was again asked to givethe names of her accomplices, the composition of the poison and itsantidote; but she made the same reply as to the doctor, only adding, "If you do not believe me, you have my body in your hands, and you cantorture me. "

The registrar signed to the executioner to do his duty. He firstfastened the feet of the marquise to two rings close together fixed toa board; then making her lie down, he fastened her wrists to two otherrings in the wall, distant about three feet from each other. The headwas at the same height as the feet, and the body, held up on a trestle, described a half-curve, as though lying over a wheel. To increase thestretch of the limbs, the man gave two turns to a crank, which pushedthe feet, at first about twelve inches from the rings, to a distanceof six inches. And here we may leave our narrative to reproduce theofficial report. 

"On the small trestle, while she was being stretched, she said severaltimes, 'My God! you are killing me! And I only spoke the truth. '

"The water was given: she turned and twisted, saying, 'You are killingme!'

"The water was again given. 

"Admonished to name her accomplices, she said there was only one man, who had asked her for poison to get rid of his wife, but he was dead. 

"The water was given; she moved a little, but would not say anything. 

"Admonished to say why, if she had no accomplice, she had written fromthe Conciergerie to Penautier, begging him to do all he could for her, and to remember that his interests in this matter were the same as herown, she said that she never knew Penautier had had any understandingwith Sainte-Croix about the poisons, and it would be a lie to sayotherwise; but when a paper was found in Sainte-Croix's box thatconcerned Penautier, she remembered how often she had seen him at thehouse, and thought it possible that the friendship might have includedsome business about the poisons; that, being in doubt on the point, sherisked writing a letter as though she were sure, for by doing so she wasnot prejudicing her own case; for either Penautier was an accompliceof Sainte-Croix or he was not. If he was, he would suppose the marquiseknew enough to accuse him, and would accordingly do his best to saveher; if he was not, the letter was a letter wasted, and that was all. 

"The water was again given; she turned and twisted much, but saidthat on this subject she had said all she possibly could; if she saidanything else, it would be untrue. "

The ordinary question was at an end. The marquise had now taken half thequantity of water she had thought enough to drown her. The executionerpaused before he proceeded to the extraordinary question. Instead of thetrestle two feet and a half high on which she lay, they passed under herbody a trestle of three and a half feet, which gave the body a greaterarch, and as this was done without lengthening the ropes, her limbs werestill further stretched, and the bonds, tightly straining at wrists andankles, penetrated the flesh and made the blood run. The question beganonce more, interrupted by the demands of the registrar and the answersof the sufferer. Her cries seemed not even to be heard. 

"On the large trestle, during the stretching, she said several times, 'OGod, you tear me to, pieces! Lord, pardon me! Lord, have mercy upon me!'

"Asked if she had nothing more to tell regarding her accomplices, she said they might kill her, but she would not tell a lie that woulddestroy her soul. 

"The water was given, she moved about a little, but would not speak. 

"Admonished that she should tell the composition of the poisons andtheir antidotes, she said that she did not know what was in them; theonly thing she could recall was toads; that Sainte-Croix never revealedhis secret to her; that she did not believe he made them himself, buthad them prepared by Glazer; she seemed to remember that some of themcontained nothing but rarefied arsenic; that as to an antidote, she knewof no other than milk; and Sainte-Croix had told her that if one hadtaken milk in the morning, and on the first onset of the poison tookanother glassful, one would have nothing to fear. 

"Admonished to say if she could add anything further, she said she hadnow told everything; and if they killed her, they could not extractanything more. 

"More water was given; she writhed a little, and said she was dead, butnothing more. 

"More water was given; she writhed more violently, but would say nomore. 

"Yet again water was given; writhing and twisting, she said, with a deepgroan, 'O my God, I am killed!' but would speak no more. "

Then they tortured her no further: she was let down, untied, and placedbefore the fire in the usual manner. While there, close to the fire, lying on the mattress, she was visited by the good doctor, who, feelinghe could not bear to witness the spectacle just described, had asked herleave to retire, that he might say a mass for her, that God might granther patience and courage. It is plain that the good priest had notprayed in vain. 

"Ah, " said the marquise, when she perceived him, "I have long beendesiring to see you again, that you might comfort me. My torture hasbeen very long and very painful, but this is the last time I shall haveto treat with men; now all is with God for the future. See myhands, sir, and my feet, are they not torn and wounded? Have not myexecutioners smitten me in the same places where Christ was smitten?"

"And therefore, madame, " replied the priest, "these sufferings now areyour happiness; each torture is one step nearer to heaven. As you say, you are now for God alone; all your thoughts and hopes must be fastenedupon Him; we must pray to Him, like the penitent king, to give you aplace among His elect; and since nought that is impure can pass thither, we must strive, madame, to purify you from all that might bar the way toheaven. "

The marquise rose with the doctor's aid, for she could scarcely stand;tottering, she stepped forward between him and the executioner, whotook charge of her immediately after the sentence was read, and wasnot allowed to leave her before it was completely carried out. They allthree entered the chapel and went into the choir, where the doctor andthe marquise knelt in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. At that momentseveral persons appeared in the nave, drawn by curiosity. They couldnot be turned out, so the executioner, to save the marquise from beingannoyed, shut the gate of the choir, and let the patient pass behind thealtar. There she sat down in a chair, and the doctor on a seat opposite;then he first saw, by the light of the chapel window, how greatlychanged she was. Her face, generally so pale, was inflamed, her eyesglowing and feverish, all her body involuntarily trembling. The doctorwould have spoken a few words of consolation, but she did not attend. "Sir, " she said, "do you know that my sentence is an ignominious one? Doyou know there is fire in the sentence?"

The doctor gave no answer; but, thinking she needed something, bade thegaoler to bring her wine. A minute later he brought it in a cup, and thedoctor handed it to the marquise, who moistened her lips and then gaveit back. She then noticed that her neck was uncovered, and took out herhandkerchief to cover it, asking the gaoler for a pin to fasten it with. When he was slow in finding a pin, looking on his person for it, shefancied that he feared she would choke herself, and shaking her head, said, with a smile, "You have nothing to fear now; and here is thedoctor, who will pledge his word that I will do myself no mischief. "

"Madame, " said the gaoler, handing her the pin she wanted, "I beg yourpardon for keeping you waiting. I swear I did not distrust you; ifanyone distrusts you, it is not I. "

Then kneeling before her, he begged to kiss her hand. She gave it, andasked him to pray to God for her. "Ah yes, " he cried, sobbing, "with allmy heart. " She then fastened her dress as best she could with her handstied, and when the gaoler had gone and she was alone with the doctor, said:--

"Did you not hear what I said, sir? I told you there was fire in mysentence. And though it is only after death that my body is to be burnt, it will always be a terrible disgrace on my memory. I am saved the painof being burnt alive, and thus, perhaps, saved from a death of despair, but the shamefulness is the same, and it is that I think of. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "it in no way affects your soul's salvationwhether your body is cast into the fire and reduced to ashes or whetherit is buried in the ground and eaten by worms, whether it is drawn on ahurdle and thrown upon a dung-heap, or embalmed with Oriental perfumesand laid in a rich man's tomb. Whatever may be your end, your body willarise on the appointed day, and if Heaven so will, it will come forthfrom its ashes more glorious than a royal corpse lying at this moment ina gilded casket. Obsequies, madame, are for those who survive, not forthe dead. "

A sound was heard at the door of the choir. The doctor went to see whatit was, and found a man who insisted on entering, all but fighting withthe executioner. The doctor approached and asked what was the matter. The man was a saddler, from whom the marquise had bought a carriagebefore she left France; this she had partly paid for, but still owed himtwo hundred livres. He produced the note he had had from her, on whichwas a faithful record of the sums she had paid on account. The marquiseat this point called out, not knowing what was going on, and the doctorand executioner went to her. "Have they come to fetch me already?" saidshe. "I am not well prepared just at this moment; but never mind, I amready. "

The doctor reassured her, and told her what was going on. "The man isquite right, " she said to the executioner; "tell him I will give ordersas far as I can about the money. " Then, seeing the executioner retiring, she said to the doctor, "Must I go now, sir? I wish they would give me alittle more time; for though I am ready, as I told you, I am not reallyprepared. Forgive me, father; it is the question and the sentence thathave upset me it is this fire burning in my eyes like hell-flames. 

"Had they left me with you all this time, there would now be better hopeof my salvation. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "you will probably have all the time beforenightfall to compose yourself and think what remains for you to do. "

"Ah, sir, " she replied, with a smile, "do not think they will show somuch consideration for a poor wretch condemned to be burnt. That doesnot depend on ourselves; but as soon as everything is ready, they willlet us know, and we must start. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "I am certain that they will give you thetime you need. "

"No, no, " she replied abruptly and feverishly, "no, I will not keep themwaiting. As soon as the tumbril is at this door, they have only to tellme, and I go down. "

"Madame, " said he, "I would not hold you back if I found you prepared tostand before the face of God, for in your situation it is right to askfor no time, and to go when the moment is come; but not everyone is soready as Christ was, who rose from prayer and awaked His disciples thatHe might leave the garden and go out to meet His enemies. You at thismoment are weak, and if they come for you just now I should resist yourdeparture. "

"Be calm; the time is not yet come, " said the executioner, who had heardthis talk. He knew his statement must be believed, and wished as faras possible to reassure the marquise. "There is no hurry, and we cannotstart for another two of three hours. "

This assurance calmed the marquise somewhat, and she thanked the man. Then turning to the doctor, she said, "Here is a rosary that I wouldrather should not fall into this person's hands. Not that he could notmake good use of it; for, in spite of their trade, I fancy that thesepeople are Christians like ourselves. But I should prefer to leave thisto somebody else. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "if you will tell me your wishes in thismatter, I will see that they are carried out. "

"Alas!" she said, "there is no one but my sister; and I fear lest she, remembering my crime towards her, may be too horrified to touch anythingthat belonged to me. If she did not mind, it would be a great comfort tome to think she would wear it after my death, and that the sight of itwould remind her to pray for me; but after what has passed, the rosarycould hardly fail to revive an odious recollection. My God, my God! I amdesperately wicked; can it be that you will pardon me?"

"Madame, " replied the doctor, "I think you are mistaken about Mlle, d'Aubray. You may see by her letter what are her feelings towards you, and you must pray with this rosary up to the very end. Let not yourprayers be interrupted or distracted, for no guilty penitent must ceasefrom prayer; and I, madame, will engage to deliver the rosary where itwill be gladly received. "

And the marquise, who had been constantly distracted since the morning, was now, thanks to the patient goodness of the doctor, able to returnwith her former fervour to her prayers. She prayed till seven o'clock. As the clock struck, the executioner without a word came and stoodbefore her; she saw that her moment had come, and said to the doctor, grasping his arm, "A little longer; just a few moments, I entreat. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, rising, "we will now adore the divine bloodof the Sacrament, praying that you may be thus cleansed from all soiland sin that may be still in your heart. Thus shall you gain the respiteyou desire. "

The executioner then tied tight the cords round her hands that he hadlet loose before, and she advanced pretty firmly and knelt beforethe altar, between the doctor and the chaplain. The latter was in hissurplice, and chanted a 'Veni Creator, Salve Regina, and Tantum ergo'. These prayers over, he pronounced the blessing of the Holy Sacrament, while the marquise knelt with her face upon the ground. The executionerthen went forward to get ready a shirt, and she made her exit from thechapel, supported on the left by the doctor's arm, on the right by theexecutioner's assistant. Thus proceeding, she first felt embarrassmentand confusion. Ten or twelve people were waiting outside, and as shesuddenly confronted them, she made a step backward, and with her hands, bound though they were, pulled the headdress down to cover half herface. She passed through a small door, which was closed behind her, andthen found herself between the two doors alone, with the doctor andthe executioner's man. Here the rosary, in consequence of her violentmovement to cover her face, came undone, and several beads fell on thefloor. She went on, however, without observing this; but the doctorstopped her, and he and the man stooped down and picked up all thebeads, which they put into her hand. Thanking them humbly for thisattention, she said to the man, "Sir, I know I have now no worldlypossessions, that all I have upon me belongs to you, and I may not giveanything away without your consent; but I ask you kindly to allow me togive this chaplet to the doctor before I die: you will not be much theloser, for it is of no value, and I am giving it to him for my sister. Kindly let me do this. "

"Madame, " said the man, "it is the custom for us to get all the propertyof the condemned; but you are mistress of all you have, and if the thingwere of the very greatest value you might dispose of it as you pleased. "

The doctor, whose arm she held, felt her shiver at this gallantry, whichfor her, with her natural haughty disposition, must have been the worsthumiliation imaginable; but the movement was restrained, and her facegave no sign. She now came to the porch of the Conciergerie, between thecourt and the first door, and there she was made to sit down, so as tobe put into the right condition for making the 'amende honorable'. Eachstep brought her nearer to the scaffold, and so did each incident causeher more uneasiness. Now she turned round desperately, and perceivedthe executioner holding a shirt in his hand. The door of the vestibuleopened, and about fifty people came in, among them the Countess ofSoissons, Madame du Refuge, Mlle. De Scudery, M. De Roquelaure, andthe Abbe de Chimay. At the sight the marquise reddened with shame, andturning to the doctor, said, "Is this man to strip me again, as he didin the question chamber? All these preparations are very cruel; and, inspite of myself, they divert my thoughts, from God. "

Low as her voice was, the executioner heard, and reassured her, sayingthat they would take nothing off, only putting the shirt over her otherclothes. 

He then approached, and the marquise, unable to speak to the doctor witha man on each side of her, showed him by her looks how deeply she feltthe ignominy of her situation. Then, when the shirt had been put on, forwhich operation her hands had to be untied, the man raised the headdresswhich she had pulled down, and tied it round her neck, then fastened herhands together with one rope and put another round her waist, and yetanother round her neck; then, kneeling before her, he took off her shoesand stockings. Then she stretched out her hands to the doctor. 

"Oh, sir, " she cried, "in God's name, you see what they have done to me!Come and comfort me. "

The doctor came at once, supporting her head upon his breast, tryingto comfort her; but she, in a tone of bitter lamentation, gazing at thecrowd, who devoured her with all their eyes, cried, "Oh, sir, is notthis a strange, barbarous curiosity?"

"Madame, " said he, the tears in his eyes, "do not look at these eagerpeople from the point of view of their curiosity and barbarity, thoughthat is real enough, but consider it part of the humiliation sent by Godfor the expiation of your crimes. God, who was innocent, was subjectto very different opprobrium, and yet suffered all with joy; for, asTertullian observes, He was a victim fattened on the joys of sufferingalone. "

As the doctor spoke these words, the executioner placed in themarquise's hands the lighted torch which she was to carry to Notre-Dame, there to make the 'amende honorable', and as it was too heavy, weighingtwo pounds, the doctor supported it with his right hand, while theregistrar read her sentence aloud a second time. The doctor did all inhis power to prevent her from hearing this by speaking unceasingly ofGod. Still she grew frightfully pale at the words, "When this is done, she shall be conveyed on a tumbril, barefoot, a cord round her neck, holding in her hands a burning torch two pounds in weight, " and thedoctor could feel no doubt that in spite of his efforts she had heard. It became still worse when she reached the threshold of the vestibuleand saw the great crowd waiting in the court. Then her face workedconvulsively, and crouching down, as though she would bury her feet inthe earth, she addressed the doctor in words both plaintive and wild:"Is it possible that, after what is now happening, M. De Brinvillierscan endure to go on living?"

"Madame, " said the doctor, "when our Lord was about to leave Hisdisciples, He did not ask God to remove them from this earth, but topreserve them from all sin. 'My Father, ' He said, 'I ask not that Youtake them from the world, but keep them safe from evil. ' If, madame, you pray for M. De Brinvilliers, let it be only that he may be kept ingrace, if he has it, and may attain to it if he has it not. "

But the words were useless: at that moment the humiliation was too greatand too public; her face contracted, her eyebrows knit, flames dartedfrom her eyes, her mouth was all twisted. Her whole appearance washorrible; the devil was once more in possession. During this paroxysm, which lasted nearly a quarter of an hour, Lebrun, who stood near, gotsuch a vivid impression of her face that the following night he couldnot sleep, and with the sight of it ever before his eyes made the finedrawing which--is now in the Louvre, giving to the figure the head of atiger, in order to show that the principal features were the same, andthe whole resemblance very striking. 

The delay in progress was caused by the immense crowd blocking thecourt, only pushed aside by archers on horseback, who separated thepeople. The marquise now went out, and the doctor, lest the sight ofthe people should completely distract her, put a crucifix in her hand, bidding her fix her gaze upon it. This advice she followed till theygained the gate into the street where the tumbril was waiting; then shelifted her eyes to see the shameful object. It was one of the smallestof carts, still splashed with mud and marked by the stones it hadcarried, with no seat, only a little straw at the bottom. It was drawnby a wretched horse, well matching the disgraceful conveyance. 

The executioner bade her get in first, which she did very rapidly, as ifto escape observation. There she crouched like a wild beast, in the leftcorner, on the straw, riding backwards. The doctor sat beside her on theright. Then the executioner got in, shutting the door behind him, andsat opposite her, stretching his legs between the doctor's. His man, whose business it was to guide the horse, sat on the front, back to backwith the doctor and the marquise, his feet stuck out on the shafts. Thus it is easy to understand how Madame de Sevigne, who was on the PontNotre-Dame, could see nothing but the headdress of the marquise as shewas driven to Notre-Dame. 

The cortege had only gone a few steps, when the face of the marquise, for a time a little calmer, was again convulsed. From her eyes, fixedconstantly on the crucifix, there darted a flaming glance, then came atroubled and frenzied look which terrified the doctor. He knew she musthave been struck by something she saw, and, wishing to calm her, askedwhat it was. 

"Nothing, nothing, " she replied quickly, looking towards him; "it wasnothing. "

"But, madame, " said he, "you cannot give the lie to your own eyes; and aminute ago I saw a fire very different from the fire of love, which onlysome displeasing sight can have provoked. What may this be? Tell me, pray; for you promised to tell me of any sort of temptation that mightassail you. "

"Sir, " she said, "I will do so, but it is nothing. " Then, lookingtowards the executioner, who, as we know, sat facing the doctor, shesaid, "Put me in front of you, please; hide that man from me. " And shestretched out her hands towards a man who was following the tumbrilon horseback, and so dropped the torch, which the doctor took, and thecrucifix, which fell on the floor. The executioner looked back, andthen turned sideways as she wished, nodding and saying, "Oh yes, Iunderstand. " The doctor pressed to know what it meant, and she said, "Itis nothing worth telling you, and it is a weakness in me not to be ableto bear the sight of a man who has ill-used me. The man who touched theback of the tumbril is Desgrais, who arrested me at Liege, and treatedme so badly all along the road. When I saw him, I could not controlmyself, as you noticed. "

"Madame, " said the doctor, "I have heard of him, and you yourself spokeof him in confession; but the man was sent to arrest you, and was ina responsible position, so that he had to guard you closely andrigorously; even if he had been more severe, he would only have beencarrying out his orders. Jesus Christ, madame, could but have regardedHis executioners as ministers of iniquity, servants of injustice, whoadded of their own accord every indignity they could think of; yet allalong the way He looked on them with patience and more than patience, and in His death He prayed for them. "

In the heart of the marquise a hard struggle was passing, and this wasreflected on her face; but it was only for a moment, and after a lastconvulsive shudder she was again calm and serene; then she said:--

"Sir, you are right, and I am very wrong to feel such a fancy as this:may God forgive me; and pray remember this fault on the scaffold, whenyou give me the absolution you promise, that this too may be pardonedme. " Then she turned to the executioner and said, "Please sit where youwere before, that I may see M. Desgrais. " The man hesitated, but on asign from the doctor obeyed. The marquise looked fully at Desgrais forsome time, praying for him; then, fixing her eyes on the crucifix, beganto pray for herself: this incident occurred in front of the church ofSainte-Genevieve des Ardents. 

But, slowly as it moved, the tumbril steadily advanced, and at lastreached the place of Notre-Dame. The archers drove back the crowdingpeople, and the tumbril went up to the steps, and there stopped. Theexecutioner got down, removed the board at the back, held out his armsto the marquise, and set her down on the pavement. The doctor then gotdown, his legs quite numb from the cramped position he had been in sincethey left the Conciergerie. He mounted the church steps and stood behindthe marquise, who herself stood on the square, with the registrar on herright, the executioner on her left, and a great crowd of people behindher, inside the church, all the doors being thrown open. She was made tokneel, and in her hands was placed the lighted torch, which up to thattime the doctor had helped to carry. Then the registrar read the 'amendehonorable' from a written paper, and she began to say it after him, butin so low a voice that the executioner said loudly, "Speak out as hedoes; repeat every word. Louder, louder!" Then she raised her voice, andloudly and firmly recited the following apology. 

"I confess that, wickedly and for revenge, I poisoned my father and mybrothers, and attempted to poison my sister, to obtain possession oftheir goods, and I ask pardon of God, of the king, and of my country'slaws. "

The 'amende honorable' over, the executioner again carried her to thetumbril, not giving her the torch any more: the doctor sat beside her:all was just as before, and the tumbril went on towards La Greve. Fromthat moment, until she arrived at the scaffold, she never took hereyes off the crucifix, which the doctor held before her the whole time, exhorting her with religious words, trying to divert her attentionfrom the terrible noise which the people made around the car, a murmurmingled with curses. 

When they reached the Place de Greve, the tumbril stopped at a littledistance from the scaffold. Then the registrar M. Drouet, came up onhorseback, and, addressing the marquise, said, "Madame, have younothing more to say? If you wish to make any declaration, the twelvecommissaries are here at hand, ready to receive it. "

"You see, madame, " said the doctor, "we are now at the end of ourjourney, and, thank God, you have not lost your power of endurance onthe road; do not destroy the effect of all you have suffered and all youhave yet to suffer by concealing what you know, if perchance you do knowmore than you have hitherto said. "

"I have told all I know, " said the marquise, "and there is no more I cansay. "

"Repeat these words in a loud voice, " said the doctor, "so thateverybody may hear. "

Then in her loudest voice the marquise repeated--

"I have told all I know, and there is no more I can say. "

After this declaration, they were going to drive the tumbril nearer tothe scaffold, but the crowd was so dense that the assistant could notforce a way through, though he struck out on every side with his whip. So they had to stop a few paces short. The executioner had already gotdown, and was adjusting the ladder. In this terrible moment of waiting, the marquise looked calmly and gratefully at the doctor, and when shefelt that the tumbril had stopped, said, "Sir, it is not here we part:you promised not to leave me till my head is cut off. I trust you willkeep your word. "

"To be sure I will, " the doctor replied; "we shall not be separatedbefore the moment of your death: be not troubled about that, for I willnever forsake you. "

"I looked for this kindness, " she said, "and your promise was too solemnfor you to think for one moment of failing me. Please be on thescaffold and be near me. And now, sir, I would anticipate the finalfarewell, --for all the things I shall have to do on the scaffold maydistract me, --so let me thank you here. If I am prepared to suffer thesentence of my earthly judge, and to hear that of my heavenly judge, I owe it to your care for me, and I am deeply grateful. I can only askyour forgiveness for the trouble I have given you. " Tears choked thedoctor's speech, and he could not reply. "Do you not forgive me?" sherepeated. At her words, the doctor tried to reassure her; but feelingthat if he opened his mouth he must needs break into sobs, he still keptsilent. The marquise appealed to him a third time. "I entreat you, sir, forgive me; and do not regret the time you have passed with me. Youwill say a De Profundus at the moment of my death, and a mass far meto-morrow: will you not promise?"

"Yes, madame, " said the doctor in a choking voice; "yes, yes, be calm, and I will do all you bid me. "

The executioner hereupon removed the board, and helped the marquise outof the tumbril; and as they advanced the few steps towards the scaffold, and all eyes were upon them, the doctor could hide his tears for amoment without being observed. As he was drying his eyes, the assistantgave him his hand to help him down. Meanwhile the marquise was mountingthe ladder with the executioner, and when they reached the platform hetold her to kneel down in front of a block which lay across it. Then thedoctor, who had mounted with a step less firm than hers, came and kneltbeside her, but turned in the other direction, so that he might whisperin her ear--that is, the marquise faced the river, and the doctor facedthe Hotel de Ville. Scarcely had they taken their place thus when theman took down her hair and began cutting it at the back and at thesides, making her turn her head this way and that, at times ratherroughly; but though this ghastly toilet lasted almost half an hour, shemade no complaint, nor gave any sign of pain but her silent tears. Whenher hair was cut, he tore open the top of the shirt, so as to uncoverthe shoulders, and finally bandaged her eyes, and lifting her face bythe chin, ordered her to hold her head erect. She obeyed, unresisting, all the time listening to the doctor's words and repeating them fromtime to time, when they seemed suitable to her own condition. Meanwhile, at the back of the scaffold, on which the stake was placed, stood theexecutioner, glancing now and again at the folds of his cloak, wherethere showed the hilt of a long, straight sabre, which he had carefullyconcealed for fear Madame de Brinvilliers might see it when she mountedthe scaffold. When the doctor, having pronounced absolution, turned hishead and saw that the man was not yet armed, he uttered these prayers, which she repeated after him: "Jesus, Son of David and Mary, have mercyupon me; Mary, daughter of David and Mother of Jesus, pray for me; myGod, I abandon my body, which is but dust, that men may burn it and dowith it what they please, in the firm faith that it shall one day ariseand be reunited with my soul. I trouble not concerning my body; grant, O God, that I yield up to Thee my soul, that it may enter into Thy rest;receive it into Thy bosom; that it may dwell once more there, whence itfirst descended; from Thee it came, to Thee returns; Thou art the sourceand the beginning; be thou, O God, the centre and the end!"

The marquise had said these words when suddenly the doctor heard a dullstroke like the sound of a chopper chopping meat upon a block: at thatmoment she ceased to speak. The blade had sped so quickly that thedoctor had not even seen a flash. He stopped, his hair bristling, hisbrow bathed in sweat; for, not seeing the head fall, he supposed thatthe executioner had missed the mark and must needs start afresh. But hisfear was short-lived, for almost at the same moment the head inclined tothe left, slid on to the shoulder, and thence backward, while the bodyfell forward on the crossway block, supported so that the spectatorscould see the neck cut open and bleeding. Immediately, in fulfilment ofhis promise, the doctor said a De Profundis. 

When the prayer was done and the doctor raised his head, he saw beforehim the executioner wiping his face. "Well, sir, " said he, "was not thata good stroke? I always put up a prayer on these occasions, and God hasalways assisted me; but I have been anxious for several days about thislady. I had six masses said, and I felt strengthened in hand and heart. "He then pulled out a bottle from under his cloak, and drank a dram; andtaking the body under one arm, all dressed as it was, and the head inhis other hand, the eyes still bandaged, he threw both upon the faggots, which his assistant lighted. 

"The next day, " says Madame de Sevigne, "people were looking for thecharred bones of Madame de Brinvilliers, because they said she was asaint. "

In 1814, M. D'Offemont, father of the present occupier of the castlewhere the Marquise de Brinvilliers poisoned her father, frightened atthe approach of all the allied troops, contrived in one of the towersseveral hiding-places, where he shut up his silver and such othervaluables as were to be found in this lonely country in the midst of theforest of Laigue. The foreign troops were passing backwards and forwardsat Offemont, and after a three months' occupation retired to the fartherside of the frontier. 

Then the owners ventured to take out the various things that had beenhidden; and tapping the walls, to make sure nothing had been overlooked, they detected a hollow sound that indicated the presence of someunsuspected cavity. With picks and bars they broke the wall open, and when several stones had come out they found a large closet likea laboratory, containing furnaces, chemical instruments, phialshermetically sealed full of an unknown liquid, and four packets ofpowders of different colours. Unluckily, the people who made thesediscoveries thought them of too much or too little importance; andinstead of submitting the ingredients to the tests of modern science, they made away with them all, frightened at their probably deadlynature. 

Thus was lost this great opportunity--probably the last--for finding andanalysing the substances which composed the poisons of Sainte-Croix andMadame de Brinvilliers.