Do not refer to my weakness, I beg of you; but you must love me, and have respect for my tears, since they flow from a heart which is full of you.

The Brinvilliers Affair

The Brinvilliers affair is still the only thing talked of in Paris.  The Marquise confessed to having poisoned her father, her brothers, and one of her children.  The Chevalier Duget had been one of those who had partaken of a poisoned dish of pigeon-pie; and when the Brinvilliers was told three years later that he was still alive, her only remark was “that man surely has an excellent constitution.”  It seems she fell deeply in love with Sainte Croix, an officer in the regiment of her husband, the Marquis, who lived in their house.  Believing that Sainte Croix would marry her if she were free, she attempted to poison her husband.  Sainte Croix, not reciprocating her desire, administered an antidote, and thus saved the poor Marquis’s life.

And now, all is over.  The Brinvilliers is no more.  Judgment was given yesterday and this morning her sentence was read to her—­she was to make a public confession in front of Notre Dame, after which she was to be executed, her body burnt and her ashes scattered to the winds.  She was threatened with torture, but said it was unnecessary and that she would tell all.  Accordingly she recounted the history of her whole life, which was even more horrible than anyone had imagined, and I could not hear of it without shuddering.

At six in the morning she was led out, barefoot, and clad only in one loose garment, with a halter round her neck.  From Notre Dame she was carried back in the same Tumbril, in which I saw her lying on straw, with the Doctor on one side of her and the executioner on the other; the sight of her struck me with horror.  I am told that she mounted the scaffold with a firm step, and died as she had lived, resolutely, and without fear or emotion.

She asked her confessor to place the executioner so that she need not gaze on Degrais, who, you will remember, tracked her to England, and ultimately arrested her at Liege.  After she had mounted the ladder to the scaffold she was exposed to the public for a quarter of an hour, while the executioner arranged her for execution.  This raised a murmur of disapproval among the people, and it was a great cruelty.  It seems that some say she was a saint; and after her body had been burned, the people crowded near to search for bones as relics, but little was to be found, as her ashes were thrown into the fire.  And, it may be supposed, that we now inhale what remains of her.  It is to be hoped that we shall not inhale her murderous instincts also.

She had two confessors, of whom one counselled her to tell everything, the other nothing.  She laughed, and said, “I may in conscience do what pleases me best.”

I was pleased to hear what you think of this horrible woman; it is not possible that she should be in Paradise; her vile soul must be separated from others.