"THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS" (_continued_).
A great reception was given at Versailles by the King. M. d'Aubray was
"suffering from a sudden and fearful indisposition, but he insisted upon
his daughter accepting an invitation, were it only to establish her
_entree_ into society."
There, amongst the trees in the gardens, the Marchioness encounters
Sainte-Croix. "His face looked ghastly in the moonbeams, and his eyes
gleamed with a light that conscience made demoniac in the eyes of the
Marchioness."
"'You here!' she exclaimed.
"'Where should I be but in the place of rejoicing just now?' replied
Gaudin through his set teeth, and with a sardonic smile. 'I am this
moment from Paris. We are free!'
"'My father?' cried the Marchioness, as a terrible expression
overspread her countenance.
"'He is dead,' returned Sainte-Croix, 'and we are free!'"
There was a pause, and they looked at each other for nearly a minute.
"'Come,' at length said the Marchioness, 'come to the ball.'"
A prominent and very interesting figure in Mr. Smith's book is Louise
Gauthier, a girl of comparatively humble birth, who had the misfortune
to love Sainte-Croix with the intense self-sacrificing love that good
women so often show for bad men, who return their affection with
coldness and neglect. This girl, who had become the friend of Marotte
Dupre, one of the actresses in the plays of Moliere which were part of
the attraction at the Versailles fete, accompanied the actress to
Versailles, where she accidentally overheard a conversation between the
Marchioness of Brinvilliers and M. de Sainte-Croix, which not only
convinced her that the love for her that Sainte-Croix had once professed
was given to another, but that some fearful tie existed between the two,
caused by actions which had destroyed their happiness here and their
hopes of it hereafter.
She came from her concealment, and was received with jealous fury by
the Marchioness, who believed, or affected to believe, that the girl was
at "the grotto" by appointment with Sainte-Croix. She bestowed what is
commonly called "a piece of her mind" upon her lover, and concluded her
rhapsody by informing him that from henceforth "we meet no more."
Louise, however, convinced the passionate Marchioness that she had made
no appointment, but was at "the grotto" by, "perhaps, a dispensation of
Providence," in order that she might, having overheard their guilty
conversation, so act upon their consciences as to "save them both."
The first result of her good intentions is a declaration to the
Marchioness by Sainte-Croix that, though there had been some
love-passages between him and the girl, they were "madness,
infatuation--call it what name you will; but you are the only one I ever
loved." Thus the ruffian speaks in the presence of the woman he had
betrayed; but her love, though crushed, still urges her to become the
man's good angel, and, seizing his arm, she cries:
"'Hear me, Gaudin. By the recollection of what we once were to each
other--although you scorn me now, and the shadowy remembrance of old
times--before these terrible circumstances, whatever they may be, had
thus turned your heart from me and from your God, there is still time to
make amends for all that has occurred. I do not speak for myself, for
all those feelings have passed, but for you alone. Repent and be happy,
for happy now you are not!'"
"Gaudin made no reply, but his bosom heaved rapidly, betraying his
emotion.
"'This is idle talk,' said the Marchioness.... 'Will you not come with
me, Gaudin?'
"'Marie!' cried Gaudin faintly, 'take me where you list. In life or
after it, on earth or in hell, I am yours--yours only!'
"A flush of triumph passed over her face as she led Sainte-Croix from
the grotto," etc.
By the death of her father the Marchioness hoped, not only to have freed
herself and her lover from an ever-recurring obstacle to their
intercourse, but also to have inherited a much-needed sum of money--no
less than "one hundred and fifty thousand livres were to have been the
legacy to his daughter, Madame de Brinvilliers--and, what was more, her
absolute freedom to act as she pleased. The money had passed to her
brothers, in trust for her, and she was left entirely under their
surveillance.
"'This must be altered,' said the Chevalier Sainte-Croix in an
interview with the _alter ego_ of an Italian vendor of poisons named
Exili.'"
This man undertakes the "alteration," or, in other words, the murder, of
the two brothers for a "consideration" in the form of "one-fifth of
whatever may fall to the Marchioness thereupon.
"'Of course, there is a barrier between the brothers of Madame de
Brinvilliers and myself,' said Sainte-Croix to his accomplice, 'that
must for ever prevent our meeting. I will provide the means, and you
their application.'"
Sainte-Croix had the right to claim the merit of this scheme for
enriching the Marchioness, and at the same time relieving her from a
guardianship that was impenetrable by her lover. The murder of her
brothers seemed a trifling affair after the poisoning of her father, and
she readily consented to assist in procuring a situation for the
poisoner's assistant--a man named Lechaussee--in the household of her
brothers, who happened, very fortunately, to be in want of a servant at
the moment. How this wretch administered the poison to the two brothers,
who died instantly from its effect, the curious reader may
ascertain--together with the other dramatic particulars--by consulting
Mr. Albert Smith's book, in which the incidents are told with great
force and skill.
By eavesdropping in somewhat improbable places--notably at a grand fete
at the Hotel de Cluny, given by the Marquis de Lauzan, the Italian
poisoner Exili becomes master of the guilty pair's secrets. The
Marchioness's jealousy had been aroused during the evening by
Sainte-Croix's attention to an actress; and she left the great _salon_,
and retired with her friend to a cabinet, in which, after the usual
denial and reconciliation, secure, as they thought, from interruption,
they discussed their demoniacal schemes. As they were about to pass from
the room, "a portion of a large bookcase, masking a door, was thrown
open, and Exili stood before them."
The somewhat theatrical character that Leech gives to the figure of
Sainte-Croix is much less apparent in this powerful drawing; and in the
figures of Exili and the Marchioness there is not a trace of it. Though
the Brinvilliers is masked according to a habit of the time, we feel
that the mask conceals a beautiful face, distorted by fear, no doubt,
but still lovely. The Italian is altogether excellent.
Exili loses no time in turning his information to account, and in reply
to Sainte-Croix, who asks him what he wants, he replies that his trade
as a sorcerer is failing, and as a poisoner he is in "a yet worse
position, thanks to the Lieutenant of Police, M. de la Regnie.
"'I must have money,' he adds, 'to enable me to retire and die elsewhere
than on the Greve.'"
He ends by extorting from Sainte-Croix an undertaking to share with him
the wealth obtained through the murder of the brothers. But if Exili
relied upon the bond as a security of value, he displayed a degree of
ignorance of the human nature of such individuals as Sainte-Croix that
was surprising in so astute a person.
"To elude the payment of Exili's bond," says the author, "he had
determined upon destroying him, running the risk of whatever might
happen subsequently through the physician's knowledge of the murders."
And he had, therefore, ordered a body of the "Guard Royal to attend,
when they would receive sufficient proof of the trade Exili was driving
in his capacity of alchemist."
Sainte-Croix visited the Italian with excuses for the non-payment of
the money early in the evening of the day on which the arrest was
planned to take place later. To those excuses the poisoner listened
angrily; he discovered some valuable jewels which Sainte-Croix wore. He
had purposely brushed his hand against Sainte-Croix's cloak, and in the
pocket of it he felt some weighty substance. The chink assured him it
was gold.
"'You cannot have that,' said Gaudin confusedly; 'it is going with me to
the gaming-table to-night.'
"'You have rich jewels, too, about you,' continued Exili, peering at him
with a fearful expression. 'The carcanet becomes you well. That diamond
clasp is a fortune in itself.'
"'Not one of them is mine,' said Sainte-Croix. 'They belong to the
Marchioness of Brinvilliers.'"
The Italian affected to be satisfied with the assurance that the money
should be paid next day, and Sainte-Croix's doom was sealed. The
alchemist "turned to the furnace to superintend the progress of some
preparation that was evaporating over the fire.
"'What have you there?' asked Gaudin, who was anxious to prolong the
interview till the guard could arrive.
"'A venom more deadly than any we have yet known--that will kill like
lightning, and leave no trace of its presence to the most subtle tests.'
"'You will give me the secret?' asked Gaudin.
"'As soon as it is finished, and the time is coming on apace. You have
arrived opportunely to assist me.'
"He took a mask with glass eyes, and tied it round his face.
"'If you would see the preparation completed, you must wear one as
well.'
"Exili took another visor, and, under pretence of rearranging the
string, he broke it from the mask; and then, fixing it back with some
resinous compound that would be melted by the heat of the furnace, he
cautiously fixed it to Sainte-Croix's face.
"'I will mind the furnace whilst you go,' said Gaudin, in reply to the
alchemist, who said he must fetch some drugs required for further
operations.
"At that moment Sainte-Croix heard an adjacent bell sound the hour at
which he had appointed the guard to arrive.
"'There is no danger in this mask, you say?'
"'None,' said Exili.
"Anxious to become acquainted with the new poison, and in the hope that
as soon as he had acquired the secret of its manufacture the guard would
arrive, Gaudin bent over the furnace. Exili had left the apartment, but
as soon as his footfall was beyond Sainte-Croix's hearing he returned,
treading as stealthily as a tiger, and took up his place at the door to
watch his prey. As Gaudin bent his head to watch the preparation more
closely, the heat of the furnace melted the resin with which the string
had been fastened. It gave way, and the mask fell on the floor, whilst
the vapour of the poison rose full in his face almost before, in his
eager attention, he was aware of the accident.
"One terrible scream--a cry which, once heard, could never be
forgotten--not that of agony, or terror, or surprise, but a shrill and
violent indrawing of the breath, resembling rather the screech of some
huge, hoarse bird of prey irritated to madness, than the sound of a
human voice--broke from Gaudin's lips. Every muscle of his face was
contorted into the most frightful form; he remained a second, and no
more, wavering at the side of the furnace, and then fell heavily on the
floor. He was dead."
This terrible death-scene has found a perfect illustrator in John Leech.
How admirable is the fiendish expression of the poisoner as he gloats
over the body of his victim, which is drawn with a power and
truthfulness altogether perfect! Every detail of the laboratory how
skilfully introduced, how effectively rendered!
The alchemist behaved on the occasion as might be expected.
[Illustration]
"He darted at the dead body like a beast of prey; and drew forth the
bag of money, which he transferred to his own pouch. He next tore away
every ornament of any value that adorned Gaudin's costly dress...."
While at this congenial occupation, "the bristling halberts of the guard
appeared.
"'Back!' screamed Exili. 'Keep off, or I will slay you and myself, so
that not one shall live to tell the tale! Your lives are in my hands,'
continued the physician, 'and if you move one step forward they are
forfeited.'
"He darted through a doorway at the end of the room as he spoke, and
disappeared. The guard pressed forward; but, as Exili passed out at the
arch, a mass of timber descended like a portcullis and opposed their
further progress. A loud and fiendish laugh sounded in the _souterrain_,
which grew fainter and fainter, till they heard it no more."
The poisoner escaped--for a time. He was captured afterwards, tried,
and, of course, condemned to death--a merciful death compared with that
which befell him on his way to execution at the hands of the infuriated
people, by whom his guards were overpowered, and after being almost torn
to pieces, he was thrown into the Seine.
The toils were now closing round the miserable Marchioness de
Brinvilliers. The wretched woman had reached the inconceivable condition
of degradation said to be common to successful murderers when impunity
has followed their first crimes--that of killing for killing's sake. She
put on the clothes of a _religeuse_, attended the hospitals, and
poisoned the patients. Their dying cries were music to her, their
agonies afforded her the keenest pleasure. To the student of French
criminal history this is no news. I note it here so that the historian
of the woman's crimes should not be thought to have invented incidents
that existed only in his imagination. Mr. Smith had the best authority
for all the murders with which he charges Madame de Brinvilliers.
The death of Sainte-Croix was followed by the usual police regulation
where foul play is suspected. Seals were affixed to his effects, amongst
which poisons were discovered that were proved to be the property of the
Marchioness of Brinvilliers. The murderess, terror-stricken, fled from
Paris; and, though hotly pursued, she escaped into Belgium, and sought
refuge in a religious house, where she took "sanctuary." The pursuers
were so near that, as she jumped from her carriage at the convent-door,
she left her cloak in the hands of the exempt. She turned upon him, says
the author, "with a smile of triumph that threw an expression of
demoniac beauty over her features, and cried:
"'You dare not touch me, or you are lost body and soul!'"
I must again refer my reader to Mr. Albert Smith's book if he wishes to
learn how the exempt, disguised as an abbe, beguiled the Marchioness
from her sanctuary, and content myself with showing--or rather in
letting Leech show--how she looked when the police-officer dropped his
disguise and she found herself seized by his men.
The details given by Mr. Albert Smith of the last hours of Madame de
Brinvilliers are, though painful reading, very remarkable. The Docteur
Pirot, who passed nearly the whole of his time at the Conciergerie, has
left records of which the author has availed himself, as well as from
the letters of Madame de Sevigne. Those who wish to "sup full of
horrors" can satisfy themselves by reading the account of the torture by
water which was inflicted upon the miserable woman to induce her to
betray her accomplices. But there were none to betray. Her only
accomplice was dead. Her sufferings on the rack very nearly cheated the
headsman, for, as they culminated "in a piercing cry of agony, after
which all was still, the graffier, fearing that the punishment had been
carried too far, gave orders that she should be unbound." On her way to
execution, she was attended by the constant Pirot. The tumbrel stopped
before the door of Notre Dame, and a paper was put into her hands, from
which she read, in a firm voice, a confession of her crimes. The tumbrel
again advanced with difficulty through the dense crowds, portions of
which, "slipping between the horses of the troops who surrounded it,
launched some brutal remark at Marie with terrible distinctness and
meaning; but she never gave the least sign of having heard them, only
keeping her eyes intently fixed upon the crucifix which Pirot held up
before her."
In this drawing Leech's power over individual character may be noted in
the diversity of type amongst the hooting crowd round the tumbrel. The
shrinking form of the prisoner is very beautiful.
When the Place de Greve was reached the execrations of the mob had
ceased, and "a deep and awful silence" prevailed, "so perfect that the
voices of the executioner and Pirot could be plainly heard," says the
chroniclers. I pass over harrowing details. The beautiful head of the
poisoner was struck off by a single sword-stroke, and the executioner,
turning to Pirot, said:
"'It was well done, monsieur, and I hope madame has left me a trifle,
for I deserve it.'"
He then "calmly took a bottle from his pocket and refreshed himself with
its contents."
If the short extracts from the history of this great criminal have
enabled my readers more clearly to understand and enjoy Leech's
illustrations, my object in selecting them has been realized.