The executioner approached Marie again, and leading her to the bench rudely tied her feet to the rings in the floor. Then forcing her back with brutal violence, he fastened her wrists to the links in the wall, pulling the cords as tightly as they would come. Finally, he fastened the edge of her garment round her knees with one of the bands of her dress, and then announced that all was in readiness for the torture.
The greffier gave the word, and the terrible operation commenced in silence, broken only by an occasional ejaculation of Marie, as measure after measure of the fluid disappeared. But beyond this she spoke not a word: a low wail was her only reply to the questions of the examiner, whilst she shook her head, as much as the hold of her tormentor permitted her to do, in answer to all his energetic and impressive requests that she would disclose all she knew. And in these he was influenced as much by compassion as by the wish that the ends of justice should be answered.
The limits of the ordinary torture had been reached without any admission on her part, and the executioner stopped until he received fresh directions from the greffier to proceed to the second stage of the question. The bench upon which Marie was tied down was removed, and one more than a foot higher was substituted for it—wedged under her by the power of the torturer, without releasing her hands and feet, now so tightly wrung by the cords that the blood started from the parts where they cut into the flesh. Still no cry escaped her lips; with superhuman endurance she went through the continuation of the dreadful ordeal, betraying scarcely any signs of life except the quivering of her limbs and an occasional violent contraction of the muscles as she turned herself round upon the trestle as far as the cords would allow of her doing. At last she cried out, with a violence that for the instant startled the officials in attendance, ‘Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!they have killed me!’ And this was followed by a piercing cry of agony; after which all was still.
The greffier rose from his seat, and once more asked her respecting her accomplices. But she returned no answer, nor indeed gave the least sign of consciousness: upon which, fearing that the punishment had been carried too far, he gave orders that she should be unbound. The executioner obeyed; and then, calling in his fellows to his assistance, they untied the cords from the rings and staples and bore the unhappy woman into an adjoining chamber, placing her on a mattress before a large fire that was burning in the huge open chimney-place.
It was some time before her senses returned. When she came to herself she found the good Pirot supporting her head, whilst the greffier was communing with the magistrates respecting the proceedings of the ordeal. They quitted the chamber soon after she recovered, and then she was left alone with the doctor, who had thrown his cloak around her thinly clad and shivering form, and was now only waiting until she should be sufficiently brought round to join him in assisting at the last offices of religion.
At last he half-led, half-carried her to aprie-dieu, and there prayed with her until the cold and dismal light of morning, overcoming the red glare of the fire, stole cheerlessly through the small and heavy-barred loopholes of the chamber. And with it came something of terrible import—the low murmur of the vast crowd already assembled without the gates, and in the Cour des Miracles24—the audible passing and repassing of the Royal Guard, as bodies of them paraded the streets in the immediate line from the Palais de Justice to Notre Dame, and thence to the Place de Grêve—and an unwonted stir in the Conciergerie, as those friends of the officers and other functionaries who had procured the entree to the prison arrived. Not a sound escaped Marie’s ear, although Pirot strove in some measure to drown the distant hum by his voice. Every nerve appeared intensely sensitive, and the reaction of a terrible excitement had brought the blood back to the surface of her flesh. Her eyes were again blazing with fevered brilliancy; her cheek was flushed, and a rapid shuddering movement kept every muscle in convulsive action.
Her prayers were only interrupted by the arrival of the same magistrates who had before left her, followed by the executioner and his assistants; and the Marchioness directly knew that the terrible hour had arrived. Without a word she held out her wrists, now discoloured and swollen by the question, to the headsman; and not an expression of pain escaped her lips as he roughly bound them together. The cloak which Pirot had lent her was then thrown on one side; when, as she found her bosom exposed, she requested the man to fasten the lappets of her garment together with a pin. He, however, threw a large scarf over her shoulders, and part of this formed a cowl, which she pulled down over her face as well as her imprisoned hands enabled her to do. And when this had been arranged she left the chapel, preceded and followed by the officers of the prison.
Beyond the wicket some people had assembled in the court. As she emerged from the building a man pressed rudely forward from the little knot of gazers, and came close to her side, as he thrust a small note almost in her face. Pirot took it from him, at Marie’s request, and inquired what it was.
‘An account of money due to me,’ said the man, ‘for a tumbrel and a horse, both ruined on the road from La Villette to Le Bourget.’
‘I know not what he means,’ said Marie.
‘You do—you do, madame,’ answered the intruder. ‘It was taken from yourhôtelin the Rue St. Paul for your flight to Liége.’
‘Another time will do to settle this,’ observed Pirot.
‘Another time will not do,’ answered the man. ‘Where will be my chance of payment five minutes after madame reaches the Grêve?’
As he spoke the man was pulled forcibly away, and thrust on one side, by one of the bystanders. Marie looked up to see who had thus interfered, and her eyes met those of Philippe Glazer. Clasping his hands together he gazed at her with a look of intense agony. Even in the horror of the moment Marie perceived that he had placed in his hat the clasp she gave him at Compiègne. She bowed her head in recognition, and then passed on. Philippe never saw her again.
They moved forward through the courts of the Conciergerie, Pirot never ceasing his religious consolations until they came to the lodge of the prison. Here the cortege halted, and then the executioner approached her with a long white garment hanging over his arm. The ghastly toilette of the scaffold was to be made at this place. She was about to surrender herself to the operation when a door at the other side of the lodge was opened, and a large concourse of people—so many that they nearly filled the apartment—entered eagerly. They were chiefly females—women holding high rank in Paris, who had met the Marchioness frequently in society. Amongst them were the Countess of Soissons and Mademoiselle de Scudery.
The shock given to Marie by this unexpected sight was too great, and she would have fallen but for the support of Pirot. He sustained her whilst the executioner once more released her hands, and drew the long white dress over that she was wearing, tying it up closely round her neck, and knotting a large cord round her waist in lieu of a girdle.
‘She has a neat foot,’ whispered the Countess of Soissons to M. de Roquelaure, as she looked at Marie’s small naked foot, not covered by the garment, planted upon the chill pavement of the lodge.
‘You told me she squeezed it into a shoe always too small when we saw her at Versailles,’ replied the other. ‘O the jealousy of women!’
‘You have smarted yourself, monsieur, when she has refused you for a dance,’ returned the Countess; ‘she did not think you equal to the gay Sainte-Croix.’
‘And yet he dazzled and went out like a firework,’ said Roquelaure; ‘I hope such will not be my fate.’
He smiled affectedly as he spoke. Marie heard the import of their heartless conversation, and gazed at them with an expression of withering contempt. They fell back abashed, and retreated amidst the crowd.
‘In God’s name, monsieur,’ she said, ‘offer me some consolation. Is there not something terrible and unnatural in such barbarous curiosity on the part of these people?’
‘Madame,’ replied Pirot, in whose eyes the tears were standing, from pity for the ordeal she was then undergoing, and that which he knew was to come, ‘regard this curiosity rather as an additional misery imposed upon you as a further expiation than as a wish on the part of these ill-judging people to cause you further pain. Lean on me if you need support. I will aid you as far as is in my power, and the law permits.’
As he spoke the executioner approached, carrying a heavy lighted torch, which he placed in her hands, according to the sentence of the arrest; but her strained and swollen wrists refused to sustain it, and it would have fallen to the ground had not Pirot held it up with his hand, as Marie was leaning heavily upon his arm. The greffier then read the paper a second time, and the dreary procession moved on to the point that required all the nerve of Pirot, no less than of the Marchioness, to encounter—the gate of the lodge that opened into the thoroughfare before the Palais de Justice, which was now nearly blocked up, as far as the eye could reach, in every direction, by a vast and expectant crowd.
As the officers of the prison, with their wands, came forth on the top of the flight of steps, the mass of people became suddenly agitated, and their noise increased; but the moment Marie appeared, prominent amidst them all by reason of her white dress and the torch which she was carrying, a loud and savage roar—a wild continuous cry of ferocious triumph and execration—burst as by one impulse from the entire crowd, and this was caught up by those who were not even visible from the Palais, and echoed along the quays and places adjoining, until the whole of Paris appeared to be speaking with one voice, and rejoicing at the ghastly ceremony about to take place. Marie fell back, as though the uproar had been endowed with material power to strike her; but the expression of her features was not that which Pirot had expected. She was not terrified; on the contrary, the demon appeared to be again reigning in her soul; every line in her face gave indication of the most intense rage; her forehead contracted; her eyes appeared actually scintillating with passion; her under lip was compressed until her teeth almost bit through it, and she clenched Pirot’s arm with a grasp of iron.
‘Speak not to me at present, my friend,’ she said to him, as noticing her emotion, he addressed to her a few words of intended consolation. ‘This is terrible!’
She remained for some minutes as if fixed to the ground gazing at the sea of heads before her, and apparently without the power of moving. Every eye was fixed upon her, for her now fiendish beauty fascinated all who were near her, and no one more than the great painter Lebrun, who was on the steps of the Palais. To the impression made upon him at this fearful moment, and which haunted him long afterwards, we owe the fine painting in the Louvre.
A few minutes elapsed, and then Pirot, obeying the orders of the officers, drew Marie towards the steps, the executioner assisting on the other side. The archers in the street cleared a space with some difficulty, almost riding the people down, who crowded about the entrance to the court; and then they saw more plainly, in the middle of the semicircle thus opened, a small tumbrel, with a horse attached to it—a wretched animal, in as bad condition as the rude dirty vehicle he dragged after him. There was no awning, nor were there any seats; some straw was all for them to travel on. The back-board of the cart taken out, with one end laid on the steps and the other on the cart now backed against them, made a rude platform, along which Marie hurriedly stepped, and then crouched down in the corner, averting her face from the greater part of the crowd. Pirot next entered, and took his place at her side; and then the executioner followed them, replacing the board, upon the edge of which he seated himself; one of his assistants climbed up in front, and the other walked at the head of the horse, to guide the animal along the narrow opening made by the crowd, which the archers with difficulty forced.
Trifling as was the distance, a long space of time was taken up in passing from the Palais de Justice to the Parvis Notre Dame. The Rue de Calandre was blocked up with people, and it was only by forcing the crowd to part right and left into the Rue aux Fèves that sufficient room could be gained for the tumbrel to pass; and when it halted, as it did every minute, the more ruffianly of the population, who nested in this vile quarter of the city,25came close up to the vehicle, slipping between the horses of the troops who surrounded it, and launched some brutal remark at Marie, with terrible distinctness and meaning; but she never gave the least mark of having heard them, only keeping her eyes intently fixed upon the crucifix which Pirot held up before her, until the tumbrel crossed the square, and at length stopped before the door of Notre Dame.
img_15.jpgThe Marchioness going to Execution
The Marchioness going to Execution
Here she was ordered to descend; and as she appeared upon the steps a fresh cry broke from the multitude, more appalling than any she had before heard, for the area was large, and every available position, even to the very housetops, was occupied. So also were the towers and porticos of the church, as well as the interior, for all the doors were open, and the sanctity of the place was so far forgotten that those who were in the body of the cathedral joined alike in the ringing maledictions of thousands of voices. But the most overwhelming yell of execration came from the Hôtel Dieu, where the students had, one and all, assembled to insult the unhappy criminal. Their hate was the deeper, for they had known her at the hospital, and had all been deceived by her wondrous hypocrisy; whilst the late revelations at the trial had shown up the destroying hand that, under the guise of charity, administered the poisons to the inmates and filled the dead-house with hapless and unoffending victims.
The amende was the work of a few minutes. The paper, which contained a simple avowal of her crimes, was handed to her by the executioner; and the Marchioness read it, firmly and with strange emphasis—albeit the uproar of the people prevented anybody from hearing it, except in close approximation. As soon as it was concluded, the torch which she carried was extinguished; the executioners, with Pirot and Marie, remounted the tumbrel, and the cortege once more moved on towards the fearful Place de Grêve, the crowd making an awful rush after it, as they pushed on in their anxiety to witness the last scene of the tragedy.
They were approaching the foot of the Pont Notre Dame, when Pirot observed a sudden change in Marie’s countenance. Her features, which, notwithstanding all the insults and maledictions of the crowd, had put on an expression almost of resignation, became violently convulsed, and the whole of her attention was in an instant abstracted from the urgent exhortations of her faithful companion. He saw that a violent revulsion of feeling had taken place, and he directly conjured her to tell him the cause of her excitement.
‘Do you see that man?’ she asked him, in hurried and almost breathless words, pointing along the bridge. ‘I was in hopes this last trial would have been spared me.’
Pirot looked in the direction indicated. A mounted exempt was coming across the bridge, meeting them, as it were, at the head of a body of archers, closely surrounding a small party who were walking. The two escorts with difficulty came nearer to each other, until they met at the foot of the Pont Notre Dame.
‘It is a party proceeding from the Hôtel de Ville to the Conciergerie with a prisoner,’ said Pirot. ‘Heed them not, madame. Remember that a few minutes only are now left to you for prayer in this world.’
‘I cannot pray,’ she answered wildly; ‘it is to that man I owe all this misery. He hunted me to Liége, and by a mean deception gave me up into the hands of the officers. It is Desgrais!’
‘Turn your eyes from him, madame,’ said Pirot; ‘and do not at such a moment give way to this feeling. He acted under authority; and is a trustworthy officer.’
‘He trapped me like a reptile,’ replied Marie with bitterness; ‘and my dying curses——’
‘Madame! madame!’ cried Pirot, as Marie raised herself in the tumbrel and looked towards the exempt, ‘do not peril your soul by this ill-timed passion. As you value a chance of salvation, listen to me.’
He drew her towards him, and earnestly commenced a prayer, as he endeavoured to turn her attention from the exempt. But she was no longer mistress of her feelings. The sight of Desgrais appeared to have lighted up a fire in her mind; and she continued gazing at him, though without speaking another word, as if impotent rage had deprived her of the power of utterance.
But there was soon a diversion to the feelings of Marie and her companion, as well as to the uproar of the crowd. The escort which Desgrais was conducting had arrived at the side of the tumbrel; and, what with the pressure of the multitude, and the narrow thoroughfare, the vehicle containing the Marchioness stopped to allow the others to pass, who were, as Pirot had observed, conducting a prisoner to the Palais de Justice. Marie had kept her eyes riveted upon the exempt since she first caught sight of him; but suddenly a voice called her by her name in an accent of thrilling familiarity. She looked hurriedly round, and perceived Exili at the side of the tumbrel, surrounded by a party of the Guet Royal.
‘Marchioness of Brinvilliers!’ he cried, ‘we have met again; and the rencontre is one of triumph for me. Murderess of Gaudin de Sainte-Croix—of my son—soul and body—you shall quit this world with my anathema ringing in your ears.Soyez maudite!’
‘Forward!’ cried Desgrais, as he rode by the side of Exili, between him and the cart, touching the Marchioness as he passed, who shrunk from him shuddering with disgust.
The crowd had thronged round the escort so densely that now neither party could move. The delay to Marie was fearful, and the terror of the moment was wrought to its extreme pitch by the curses and horrible salutations of the people, some of whom were close to the tumbrel.
‘Ho! ho! the capital meeting!’ cried a fellow on the bridge, applauding with his hands for joy. ‘Two poisoners at a time; Madame de Brinvilliers and the Physician Exili. What a pity they are not going to keep company out of the world.’
‘Down with the Italian!’ shouted another man, who was leaning from one of the windows.
The entire mass of people swayed towards the point where Exili was standing at the last speaker’s words, forcing the guards against the houses.
‘Down with the Italian!’ said the fellow who had first cried out.
‘Hang him to Maître Cluet’s sign!’ said another. ‘Who knows but he and La Voison together may bewitch M. de la Reynie, and get clear from the Chambre Ardente.’
‘Throw him into the river!’ shouted a third; ‘tied neck to neck with Madame la Marquise there.’
There was a movement towards the tumbrel. Marie started, and clung to Pirot as well as her pinioned arms allowed; whilst Desgrais, forcing himself in front of her, presented a heavysnaphaunceat the ruffian who had just spoken.
‘Down with the exempt!’ cried several voices. ‘He would murder the people.’
‘Let him be!’ exclaimed the man at the window. ‘He is only keeping her to make better sport on the Place de Grêve. Settle the Italian, if you please.’
There was a fresh rush, against which the guards could make no opposition, fixed as their arms were to their sides by the pressure of the mob; and this was increased by the plunging of some of the horses on which the archers were mounted, causing additional confusion and crushing. Determined to say a few words to the rabble, Exili contrived to get upon a round block of stone at the base of one of the houses, placed, in common with many others, to afford a protection to foot-passengers from the wheels of vehicles. But he had scarcely mounted, even before his guards were aware of his intention, when one of the mob hurled a wooden sabot with great force at his head. It struck him in the face, and he was in an instant covered with blood. Stunned by the blow, he fell forwards, and the multitude, excited like brutes at the sight of gore, rushed on through the ring which the Guet Royal in vain endeavoured to form, and seized him. A furious contest now commenced between the people and the archers; but the disparity of numbers was too great for them. They were borne down by the mere pressure of the mass, the ringleaders of whom hurried Exili, almost insensible—his limbs torn and bleeding from their rough handling, in addition to the blow he had received—towards the parapet of the bridge.
‘Into the river! into the river!’ cried a hundred voices. ‘Away with the poisoner! Death to the sorcerer!’
‘He can swim like a fish,’ said the fellow at the window. ‘I recollect him long ago, when they took him at the boat-mill.’
‘This shall stop him from doing so again!’ shouted a ruffian. ‘I will take the law out of M. de la Reynie’s hands. My brother in the Guet Royal was poisoned that night. Now see if he will swim.’
As he spoke he raised a butcher’s bill above the crowd, and it descended upon the head of the miserable Italian, crushing his skull before it. An awful yell of triumph broke from the crowd as the body was raised high above them by a dozen swart arms, and hurled with savage force over the bridge into the chafing river below. Thus terribly died the physician.
During this bloody and rapid scene Desgrais took advantage of the rush made by the mob in another direction to ride before the tumbrel, clearing the way as he best could for the cortege of the Marchioness to proceed, expecting that she would next fall a victim to the fury of the populace. Directly they got from the bridge to the quay adjoining the Port au Foin, he found the way cleared by the troops, who lined the footway on either side, and had been on duty since the early morning. But the crowd was still very great outside the line; and their cries never ceased, albeit Marie paid no attention to them now that the danger which had a minute before threatened her was averted; but never moved her eyes from the crucifix, which Pirot had held before her throughout the scene, until the procession turned from the Port to the Place de Grêve.
The sight here presented was sufficient at once to draw Marie’s attention from the exhortations of her companion. The entire Place was filled with spectators, the troops keeping but a little space clear immediately around the scaffold, which rose in the centre some ten feet from the ground. Far along the quay and the streets leading from the Grêve did the sea of heads extend. All the housetops were crowded with gazers, swarming like bees upon the parapets and chimneys, and on the ledges over the shops; and every window-place in the Hôtel de Ville had its dozen occupants.
Pirot had expected a terrible outburst of malediction when the cortege arrived here, and feared also that the courage of the Marchioness would entirely fail her upon getting the first sight of the scaffold. But on both points he was mistaken. As the tumbrel advanced, after the first murmur of recognition a dead silence reigned; amidst this vast mass of many thousands not a sound was audible but the bell of the Tour d’Horloge, which kept tolling hoarsely at protracted intervals. Marie herself betrayed but little emotion. A rapid shiver passed over her frame as she first saw the preparations for her execution; and then she bent her eyes upon Pirot, and so kept them steadfastly until the assistant headsman guided the horse to the foot of the scaffold.
At this fearful moment M. Drouet approached the tumbrel, and taking off his hat, with a show of courtesy, that appeared a mockery at such a moment, said—
‘Madame, I have orders to inform you that if you have any further declarations to make, the magistrates are ready to receive them at the Hotel de Ville.’
‘Monsieur,’ replied the Marchioness, ‘how much oftener am I to tell you that you know all? For pity’s sake do not further persecute me. I have confessed everything.’
Drouet turned his horse away, and rode up to the scaffold to exchange a few words with some of the officials who were standing near it. At the same moment the executioner descended from the cart, and with his man went up the steps of the scaffold.
‘Do you leave me?’ gasped Marie hurriedly, as she seized Pirot’s hand. ‘Be with me on the scaffold, even when—— He is coming. It will soon be over.’
‘I will not leave you,’ said Pirot, rising, ‘until you are no more.’
‘Stop!’ cried Marie. ‘One word more. I may not speak to you again. Let me tell you how deeply I feel your patient kindness throughout this fearful trial. They are ready—keep by my side; and when we are on the scaffold, at the moment of my death, say aDe Profundis. You promise this.’
Pirot bent his head, and squeezed her hand in token of compliance. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. His whole frame appeared convulsed, and he offered a strong contrast to the strange calm of his companion.
The executioner came down from the scaffold, and assisted the Marchioness to descend; whilst Pirot also got out, and she went with him up the ladder—hurriedly, as though she was anxious to bring the scene to a conclusion. As she reached the platform, her beauty evidently made an impression on the crowd. They turned one to the other, and murmured; but this soon died away into the same deep, awful silence—so perfect, that the voices of the executioner and Pirot could be plainly heard. Throwing herself upon her knees, Marie submitted to the second dreary toilet she had been obliged to undergo. The assistant cut off the whole of her beautiful hair, throwing the long ringlets carelessly about on the scaffold; and next, tearing down the collar of her dress, rudely turned it back, so as to leave bare her neck and shoulders. Then bandaging her eyes with a small scarf, he retired.
The sun was shining brightly; and at this moment its rays fell upon the glittering blade of a long sword which the headsman had hitherto kept concealed under his garment. Pirot saw it, and his heart sank within him—so much so, that his utterance was choked, and Marie, by whose side he was kneeling, demanded why he had thus finished his prayer. And then, as if aware of the cause, she exclaimed rapidly—
‘Holy Virgin, pray for me, and forgive me! I abandon my body, which is but dust, to the earth. Do thou receive my soul!’
The executioner drew near, and the good Pirot closed his eyes, as with the greatest difficulty, in broken and quivering words, he commenced theDe Profundis. But in a few seconds his voice was again checked by the noise of a dull heavy blow at his side, and a strange and sudden sound from the crowd—not a cry of alarm, or triumph, but a rapid expiration of the breath, almost like a hiccough, terribly audible. The next instant a hand was laid on his shoulder. He started, and looking round with an effort, perceived the headsman standing over him.
‘It was well done, monsieur,’ said the man; ‘and I hope madame has left me a trifle, for I deserve it.’
Almost mechanically, following the direction of the man’s finger as he pointed to the platform, Pirot’s eyes fell upon a ghastly head lying in a pool of blood. He saw no more; but fell insensible on the scaffold.
This was scarcely noticed in the terrible excitement of the minute. The executioner calmly took a bottle from his pocket, and refreshed himself with its contents; and at the same time a cloud of smoke rose from the back of the scaffold, which was the part farthest from the river. He raised the head, and, pulling the gory scarf away, showed it to the people; then taking up the body as he would have done a sack, he threw them both down upon the pile of faggots which his assistant had just lighted. The wood was dry, and the flames were further fed by resinous matter sprinkled amongst them; and in twenty minutes some charred ashes alone remained, which the crowd nearest the scaffold struggled violently to collect, as the Garde kicked and dispersed them as well as they were able about the Place de Grêve.
And in this manner terminated the dark career of the Marchioness of Brinvilliers.
Itfrequently occurs that after a day of stormy darkness—when the elements appear to have combined the whole of their power against the earth, splitting the tossed and dismantled branches of the trees from their parent trunk, beating down the produce of the fields, and deluging the valleys with a sudden and rapid inundation, whilst the fire-laden clouds obscure the sun, lighting up the heavens in his stead by lurid flashes—the wind subsides, the clouds disperse, and the calm sunset beams over the now tranquil landscape.
True it is, the vestiges of the mischief wrought remain; but their importance is diminished by the general quietude that reigns around. The foliage is fresh and green; the cleared air is breathed gratefully, and imparts its lightness to the spirits; feeding hope, and kindness, and all good aspirations. The odours of the flowers are more fragrant, and the colours of their petals brighter; and the torrent which rushed darkly in its overcharged course, reflecting only the glooming heavens above, now once more murmurs over its bed of bright pebbles, sparkling in the warm rays of eventide.
Our scene changes, and now for the last time, from the fearful Place de Grêve to the most charming district of the teeming and sunny Languedoc. It is noon; and the stillness of a summer mid-day reigns around. But everything is not hushed. Birds are singing, and the hum of bees blends pleasantly with their minstrelsy, coming in soft murmurs from the floating aviaries lying upon the surface of a glassy river, which would seem at perfect rest but for the quivering of the buds and lilies that struggle with its gentle stream, or the hanging flowers that droop from the bank to kiss the clear water. The sky is deep blue, and cloudless, and the summer foliage of the trees waves in pleasant relief against its light, causing the dancing shadows to quiver on the spangled turf below, as though even the sunbeams were sporting for very gladness.
And now and then sounds of laughter, and snatches of old Provençal melodies are heard near a cottage which forms part of a small homestead on the banks of the river. On a table at the door, and beneath the shadow of a huge chestnut-tree—of which many more are visible on the land—is spread a repast of honey, bread, cheese, and wine; and seated at this table we have little difficulty in recognising Benoit, Bathilde, and Louise Gauthier. The two first are plump and merry as ever—perhaps more so, and Louise appears to have lost some of her sadness. Her cheek is scarcely so pale as it was in Paris when Benoit first knew her, and now and then a faint smile may be detected on her lips, which it appears to be Benoit’s ceaseless endeavour to call up.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed the honest ex-keeper of the boat-mill, with the expression of one whose stomach is comfortably filled; ‘this is better than the great cities after all. To think after staying in Paris so long we should come back with less than we went!’
‘You forget Louise,’ replies Bathilde, as she takes their friend kindly by the hand.
‘Not at all,’ continues Benoit, as he rises and kisses the Languedocian with a smack that quite echoes again. ‘Therema femme, you may be jealous of that if you like, and I don’t care; nor more does Louise, as I would wager my life. Eh! Louise?’
‘You would find it a difficult task to offend me,’ replies Louise, ‘for I owe you too much kindness—even if you kiss me before Bathilde.’
‘You owe us nothing. I think the debt is on our side. Whose are these things? Whose is this bit of ground?—yours, all yours! and you shall turn us out when you like.’
‘I do not think I shall do that,’ is Louise’s answer; ‘now, we must never part again. I know I am at times but a sad companion for such kind hearts as yours; but if you will bear with me, although I cannot forget the past, yet your goodness shall do more than aught else in the world to alleviate the memory of what has been.’
THE END.
1society of Gens de la Courte Épée] ‘Ces grades se composent ordinairement d’écoliers. On les nommait “gens de la courte épée” à cause des ciseaux qu’ils portaient pour couper les bourses.’—Dulaure.
2Manna of St. Nicholas de Barri] ‘The Manna of St. Nicholas de Barri’ was the name under which theAqua Tofanawas vended almost publicly.
3foul and reeking burial-ground attached to the Église des Innocens] The ill effects which the overcharged Cimetière des Innocens had upon the salubrity of Paris, situated as it was in its most crowded quarter, had been matter of complaint forfour hundred years. Yet such was the opposition of the ecclesiastical authorities, and the blind and superstitious obstinacy of the people generally, although the tainted air they breathed was thick with putrefaction and disease, that it was not until 1785 that the Council of State ordered its demolition. It was supposed, up to that time, that there had been one million two hundred thousand bodies forced into its comparatively narrow limits!
4they form his flambeaux]Adipocereis the substance alluded to. Its name conveys its properties, and it was first made the subject of an interesting analysis by M. Thouret in 1784, upon the occasion of removing the burial-ground of the Innocents. It has always been found most abundant where the bodies have had the chance of being exposed to inundations of fresh water; its formation being the result of some peculiar decomposition of the human frame hitherto unsatisfactorily accounted for. A piece is in the possession of the author.
5Tsa tshen pal!] ‘How are you, brother?’ This is true Gitano, or Gipsy language. Wherever it is used, the reader may be assured of its authenticity.
6morro] Bread.
7lon] Salt.
8ranee] A lady.
9blunderbus] Blunderbus is derived from the Dutchdonderbus—a thunder-gun.
10cachots] ‘The hapless Prince d’Armagnac and his brother were confined in thesecachotsby Louis XI. They were taken out twice a week to be scourged, in the presence of Phillipe O’Huillier, the governor, and had some teeth drawn every three months. The eldest lost his reason; but the youngest, delivered at the death of Louis, published these facts, which would otherwise have been considered too terrible for belief.’—Hist. de l’Ancien Gouvern. par le compte de Boulainvilliers, tom. iii. Lettre 14.
11It is supposed that the fetes of Versailles at the present epoch entirely owed their origin to a desire on the part of Louis XIV. to eclipse the splendour of hissurintendantFouquet. At one of the magnificent entertainments given by this individual every guest invited was presented with a heavy purse of gold.
12Halles] Or, in English, ‘Billingsgate.’
13
‘Le tribut qu’on rend aux traits d’un beau visage,De la beauté d’une âme est un vrai témoignage;Et qu’il est malaisé que, sans être amoureux,Un jeune prince soit et grand et généreux.C’est une qualité que j’aime en un monarque,La tendresse du cœur est une grande marque;Que d’un prince, à votre âge, on peut tout présumer,Dès qu’on voit que son âme est capable d’aimer.Oui, cette passion, de toutes la plus belle,Traîne dans son esprit cent vertus après elle,Aux nobles actions elle pousse les cœurs,Et tous les grands héros ont senti ses ardeurs.’Molière.
‘Le tribut qu’on rend aux traits d’un beau visage,
De la beauté d’une âme est un vrai témoignage;
Et qu’il est malaisé que, sans être amoureux,
Un jeune prince soit et grand et généreux.
C’est une qualité que j’aime en un monarque,
La tendresse du cœur est une grande marque;
Que d’un prince, à votre âge, on peut tout présumer,
Dès qu’on voit que son âme est capable d’aimer.
Oui, cette passion, de toutes la plus belle,
Traîne dans son esprit cent vertus après elle,
Aux nobles actions elle pousse les cœurs,
Et tous les grands héros ont senti ses ardeurs.’
Molière.
14A Siamese prince, rejoicing in the name ofTan-oc-cun-srivi-saravacha, who formed part of the Siamese embassy in 1684, thus speaks of this group, in a ‘letter to a friend:’—‘Tu sais quel est le mortel que ce dieu représente: quant aux nymphes, si tu connaissais comme moi l’histoire secrète de la cour, tu comprendrais sans peine à la place de qui on les a mises là. Je ne trouvais pas d’abord que cela fut déraisonnable, parceque je pensais que la polygamie régnait en France comme à Siam.’
15Samaritaine] The Samaritaine was a large hydraulic machine just below the Pont Neuf, where the floating Bains de Louvre are moored at present. It was a house erected upon piles, in form somewhat like a church, with a clock at one end. Having fallen to decay, it was entirely demolished in 1813.
16the Hôtel de Cluny was… the abode of Mary] The circumstances connected with the residence of Mary of England at the Hôtel de Cluny are somewhat too curious to be passed over at this place, although the freedom of Brantôme and Dulaure, in describing them, may be softened down with advantage. Louis was upwards of fifty when he married; his bride, as we have stated, about sixteen. On his death the crown fell, for want of a direct heir, to the Duke of Valois, afterwards Francis I.; but the young widow, in the hopes of being proclaimedregénte, feigned to be in that condition popularly asserted to be coveted by ladies who are attached to their lawful partners. And indeed the attentions of the gallant Duke of Valois were sufficiently pointed to lead the retailers of court scandal to hint that the fiction might possibly become a fact—so much so, that the ministers remonstrated with him. They told him that he must have the greatest interest in seeing that the Queen lived in honour, instead of attempting to pay his court to her; that if she had a son, nothing could keep that son from ultimately coming to the throne, and that he, Francis, must retire contentedly to Brittany; in fact, that everything, altogether, would be as unpleasant for him as could possibly be. These admonishings appear to have had an effect upon the royal gallant, and somewhat quenched the fire of his passion, which was altogether put out by learning that an intrigue was all this while being carried on between the young Mary and Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, the most accomplished cavalier of his time, and to whom the Princess had shown some partiality before her marriage with Louis. Francis made this discovery under rather awkward circumstances—no matter how—at the Hôtel de Cluny; and by his commands Mary and Suffolk were married immediately in the chapel of the edifice. The happy pair left Paris for London the same afternoon. Thus ended the adventure, by which Francis lost a mistress, but insured to himself the crown of France.
17An outrage of this kind was by no means uncommon in the reckless times of Louis Quatorze, nor did its commission excite much attention, if we may credit the memoirs of the Abbe Dubois.
18Much has been written upon the Aqua Tofana, especially with respect to its alleged power of killing at any interval of time after it had been administered. No drug is now known that would thus exert any species of action. The only example that can be brought forward to support the possible truth of this statement is the poison from the bite of a mad dog, which will remain dormant in the system, it is well known, for several months.
19This, and many of the incidents about to follow, the author has taken from some decayed and mouse-eaten pamphlets in his possession, bearing the date of the trial, which he was fortunate enough to find, some time back, at a bookshop in the neighbourhood of the Rue de l’École de Médecine, Paris. By the similarity of the pages and references, they appear to be the same from time to time referred to by M. Alexandre Dumas, in theCrimes Célèbres; and two bear imprint, ‘A Paris. Chez Pierre Aubouin, Cour du Palais, et, chez Jacques Villery, Rue Vieille Bouclerie.’ One is a memoir of this extraordinary ‘procez;’ the second is a copy of the sentence, much dilapidated; and the third is the defence of M. Nivelle,—‘De l’imprimerie de Thomas Le Gentil,’—in excellent preservation. They were all published before the denouement of the terrible drama. The following extract from the end of the ‘Mémoire’ is not without interest:—‘Le public en attend la décision avec la mesme impatience que chacun a pour ce qui doit contribuer à sa sûreté et à son repos. Il espére queMessievrsqui ont travaillé avec tant de précaution à pénétrer les circonstances d’une affaire aussi importante, en punissant la coupable par leur arrest, préviendront de pareils crimes, d’autant plus dangereux qu’ils sont secrets et inévitables.’
20Le Bourget] At this little village of Le Bourget, on the 20th of June 1815, Napoleon, returning from Waterloo, stopped for two hours, that he might not enter Paris until nightfall, and thus diminish in some measure the sensation which his flight from Belgium would produce.
21Those who may be inclined to pursue this portion of Marie’s career still further, especially as regards the confession, will find much relating to it in the letters of Madame de Sevigné, particularly Nos. 269 and 270.
22Pirot.
23The author has endeavoured as much as possible in the course of this romance to render it something more than a mere extension of the facts already known respecting the career of the Marchioness of Brinvilliers; and more especially with regard to the admirable narrative of Dumas, in theCrimes Célèbres. But, since it would be utterly futile to attempt any description of her last hours more graphic or interesting than the manuscript narrative of M. Pirot, he has, in portions of these chapters, availed himself largely of the circumstances therein stated. Besides this, he has taken the sentence from the original parliamentary document in his own possession, before alluded to, merely divesting it of long technicalities, and the repetitions of the names of the principal parties concerned in the affair. The authority for matters respecting the ‘Question’ will be found in a note to theTableau Moralof the reign of Louis Quatorze, in Dulaure’sHistory of Paris.
24Cour des Miracles] This Cour des Miracles—the principal of those so called—may be recollected by the visitor to Paris at the present day. It adjoins the bureau of the Prefecture, to which he goes to have his passportviséedprevious to leaving the city. The nuisance of tramping backwards and forwards from the English Embassy to this point is too well known.
25Rue aux Fèves] The Rue aux Fèves, still in existence, has gained some notoriety from having been the street in which M. Eugene Sue has placed thetapis francof the White Rabbit.
The Richard Bentley edition (London, 1846) was consulted for most of the changes listed below.
Minor spelling variances (e.g.befel/befell, Liège/Liége, fireplace/fire-place, etc.), along with the inconsistent italicization of some foreign words, have been preserved.
Plain text edition only: note markers are given in [square] brackets.
Alterations to the text:
Add title and author to cover image.
Convert the footnotes to endnotes.
Omit the head- and tailpieces.
Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings and missing periods.
[Chapter II]
Change “poisons in the stomach, likewitchesnails and pins” towitches’.
[Chapter VI]
“it was Marie-Marguerited’Aubrai, Marchioness of Brinvilliers” tod’Aubray.
[Chapter VII]
“were too great to allow them tothingof retiring to rest” tothink.
[Chapter IX]
“better or a wiser man. Ah these women’ he added” add exclamation mark afterwomen.
[Chapter XII]
“TheBastile, it may be known, consisted at that time of eight towers” toBastille.
[Chapter XV]
“from her first appearance inMoliére’scomedy” toMolière’s.
“better manners another time, Mademoiselle desUlris,’ said” toUrlis.
[Chapter XVIII]
“the astrologers gleaned importantimformationrespecting” toinformation.
[Chapter XIX]
“and, afteryourhave got all you can by agreement, see what else” toyou.
“whosemountebackengagements had given him a certain kind” tomountebank.
[Chapter XXI]
“and halfway along the street stopped ata porte-cochère” de-italicize thea.
[Chapter XXII]
“laugh against the the gallant abbe which he had raised” delete onethe.
[Chapter XXVIII]
“There were no signs ofliein that quarter of Paris” tolife.
[Chapter XXXI]
“‘There is noneccessityfor your so doing,’ returned Marie” tonecessity.
[Chapter XXXIV]
“He had forgotten hisfiance, and was anxious again to see her” tofiancée.
[Chapter XXXVI]
“even in the face of aconfesssionin her own hand-writing” toconfession.
[Chapter XXXVIII]
“Thearrrestwas to the effect that the Court of the Chambers” toarrest.
[End of text]