Part VI

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

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

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

After an hour and a half they came to tell her to go down.  The registrar was 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 rest of her confession.  When she reached the end, she begged him to offer a short prayer with her, that God might help her to appear with such becoming contrition before her judges as should atone for her scandalous effrontery.  She then took up her cloak, a prayer-book which Father Chavigny had left with her, and followed the concierge, who led her to the torture chamber, where her sentence was to be read.

First, there was an examination which lasted five hours.  The marquise told all she had promised to tell, denying that she had any accomplices, and affirming that she knew nothing of the composition of the poisons she had administered, and nothing of their antidotes. When this was done, and the judges saw that they could extract nothing further, they signed to the registrar to read the sentence. She stood to hear it: it was as follows:  "That by the finding of the court, d'Aubray de Brinvilliers is convicted of causing the death by poison of Maitre Dreux d'Aubray, her father, and of the two Maitres d'Aubray, her brothers, one a civil lieutenant, the other a councillor to the Parliament, also of attempting the life of Therese d'Aubray, her sister; in punishment whereof the court has condemned and does condemn the said d'Aubray de Brinvilliers to make the rightful atonement before the great gate of the church of Paris, whither she 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 on her knees she shall say and declare that maliciously, with desire for revenge and seeking their goods, she did poison her father, cause to be poisoned her two brothers, and attempt the life of her sister, whereof she 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 same tumbril to the Place de Greve of this town, there to have her head cut off on a scaffold to be set up for the purpose at that place; afterwards her body to be burnt and the ashes scattered; and first she is to be subjected to the question ordinary and extraordinary, that she may reveal the names of her accomplices.  She is declared to be deprived of all successions from her said father, brothers, and sister, from the date of the several crimes; and all her goods are confiscated to the proper persons; and the sum of 4000 livres shall be paid out of her estate to the king, and 400 livres to the Church for prayers to be said on behalf of the poisoned persons; and all the costs shall be paid, including those of Amelin called Lachaussee.  In Parliament, 16th July 1676."

The marquise heard her sentence without showing any sign of fear or weakness.  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, and I 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 the property of the executioner, who approached her.  She knew him by the cord he held in his hands, and extended her own, looking him over coolly from head to foot without a word.  The judges then filed out, disclosing as they did so the various apparatus of the question.  The marquise firmly gazed upon the racks and ghastly rings, on which so many had been stretched 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 address the executioner  --  saying, with a smile, "No doubt all this water is to drown me in?  I hope you don't suppose that a person of my size could swallow it all."  The executioner said not a word, but began taking off her cloak and all her other garments, until she was completely naked.  He then led her up to the wall and made her sit on the rack of the ordinary question, two feet from the ground.  There she was again asked to give the names of her accomplices, the composition of the poison and its antidote; 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 can torture me."

The registrar signed to the executioner to do his duty.  He first fastened the feet of the marquise to two rings close together fixed to a board; then making her lie down, he fastened her wrists to two other rings in the wall, distant about three feet from each other. The head was 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 the stretch of the limbs, the man gave two turns to a crank, which pushed the feet, at first about twelve inches from the rings, to a distance of six inches.  And here we may leave our narrative to reproduce the official report.

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

truth.'

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

"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 from the 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 her own, she said that she never knew Penautier had had any understanding with Sainte-Croix about the poisons, and it would be a lie to say otherwise; but when a paper was found in Sainte-Croix's box that concerned Penautier, she remembered how often she had seen him at the house, and thought it possible that the friendship might have included some business about the poisons; that, being in doubt on the point, she risked writing a letter as though she were sure, for by doing so she was not prejudicing her own case; for either Penautier was an accomplice of Sainte-Croix or he was not.  If he was, he would suppose the marquise knew enough to accuse him, and would accordingly do his best to save her; 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 said that on this subject she had said all she possibly could; if she said anything else, it would be untrue."

The ordinary question was at an end.  The marquise had now taken half the quantity of water she had thought enough to drown her.  The executioner paused before he proceeded to the extraordinary question. Instead of the trestle two feet and a half high on which she lay, they passed under her body a trestle of three and a half feet, which gave the body a greater arch, and as this was done without lengthening the ropes, her limbs were still further stretched, and the bonds, tightly straining at wrists and ankles, penetrated the flesh and made the blood run.  The question began once more, interrupted by the demands of the registrar and the answers of the sufferer.  Her cries seemed not even to be heard.  "On the large trestle, during the stretching, she said several times, 'O God, 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 would destroy 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 and their antidotes, she said that she did not know what was in them; the only thing she could recall was toads; that Sainte-Croix never revealed his secret to her; that she did not believe he made them himself, but had them prepared by Glazer; she seemed to remember that some of them contained nothing but rarefied arsenic; that as to an antidote, she knew of no other than milk; and Sainte-Croix had told her that if one had taken milk in the morning, and on the first onset of the poison took another glassful, one would have nothing to fear.

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

"More water was given; she writhed a little, and said she was dead, but nothing more. "More water was given; she writhed more violently, but would say no more.

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

Then they tortured her no further: she was let down, untied, and placed before the fire in the usual manner.  While there, close to the fire, lying on the mattress, she was visited by the good doctor, who, feeling he could not bear to witness the spectacle just described, had asked her leave to retire, that he might say a mass for her, that God might grant her patience and courage.  It is plain that the good priest had not prayed in vain.  "Ah," said the marquise, when she perceived him, "I have long been desiring to see you again, that you might comfort me.  My torture has been very long and very painful, but this is the last time I shall have to treat with men; now all is with God for the future.  See my hands, sir, and my feet, are they not torn and wounded?  Have not my executioners smitten me in the same places where Christ was smitten?"  "And therefore, madame," replied the priest, "these sufferings now are your 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 fastened upon Him; we must pray to Him, like the penitent king, to give you a place 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 to heaven."

The marquise rose with the doctor's aid, for she could scarcely stand; tottering, she stepped forward between him and the executioner, who took charge of her immediately after the sentence was read, and was not allowed to leave her before it was completely carried out.  They all three entered the chapel and went into the choir, where the doctor and the marquise knelt in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.  At that moment several persons appeared in the nave, drawn by curiosity.  They could not be turned out, so the executioner, to save the marquise from being annoyed, shut the gate of the choir, and let the patient pass behind the altar.  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 greatly changed she was. Her face, generally so pale, was inflamed, her eyes glowing and feverish, all her body involuntarily trembling.  The doctor would 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? Do you know there is fire in the sentence?"  The doctor gave no answer; but, thinking she needed something, bade the gaoler to bring her wine.  A minute later he brought it in a cup, and the doctor handed it to the marquise, who moistened her lips and then gave it back.  She then noticed that her neck was uncovered, and took out her handkerchief 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, she fancied that he feared she would choke herself, and shaking her head, said, with a smile, "You have nothing to fear now; and here is the doctor, who will pledge his word that I will do myself no mischief."

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

Then kneeling before her, he begged to kiss her hand.  She gave it, and asked him to pray to God for her.  "Ah yes," he cried, sobbing, "with all my heart."  She then fastened her dress as best she could with her hands tied, 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 my sentence.  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 pain of 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 salvation whether your body is cast into the fire and reduced to ashes or whether it is buried in the ground and eaten by worms, whether it is drawn on a hurdle and thrown upon a dung-heap, or embalmed with Oriental perfumes and laid in a rich man's tomb. Whatever may be your end, your body will arise on the appointed day, and if Heaven so will, it will come forth from its ashes more glorious than a royal corpse lying at this moment in a gilded casket. Obsequies, madame, are for those who survive, not for the dead."  A sound was heard at the door of the choir.  The doctor went to see what it was, and found a man who insisted on entering, all but fighting with the executioner.  The doctor approached and asked what was the matter.  The man was a saddler, from whom the marquise had bought a carriage before she left France; this she had partly paid for, but still owed him two hundred livres.  He produced the note he had had from her, on which was a faithful record of the sums she had paid on account.  The marquise at this point called out, not knowing what was going on, and the doctor and executioner went to her.  "Have they come to fetch me already?" said she.  "I am not well prepared just at this moment; but never mind, I am ready."

The doctor reassured her, and told her what was going on.  "The man is quite right," she said to the executioner; " tell him I will give orders as 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 a little more time; for though I am ready, as I told you, I am not really prepared.  Forgive me, father; it is the question and the sentence that have 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 hope of my salvation."

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

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

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

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

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

"Be calm; the time is not yet come," said the executioner, who had heard this talk.  He knew his statement must be believed, and wished as far as possible to reassure the marquise.  "There is no hurry, and we cannot start 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 would rather should not fall into this person's hands.  Not that he could not make good use of it; for, in spite of their trade, I fancy that these people are Christians like ourselves.  But I should prefer to leave this to somebody else."

"Madame," said the doctor, "if you will tell me your wishes in this matter, 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 anything that belonged to me.  If she did not mind, it would be a great comfort to me to think she would wear it after my death, and that the sight of it would remind her to pray for me; but after what has passed, the rosary could hardly fail to revive an odious recollection.  My God, my God!  I am desperately 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 your prayers be interrupted or distracted, for no guilty penitent must cease from prayer; and I, madame, will engage to deliver the rosary where it will 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 return with her former fervour to her prayers.  She prayed till seven o'clock.  As the clock struck, the executioner without a word came and stood before 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 blood of the Sacrament, praying that you may be thus cleansed from all soil and sin that may be still in your heart.  Thus shall you gain the respite you desire." 

The executioner then tied tight the cords round her hands that he had let loose before, and she advanced pretty firmly and knelt before the altar, between the doctor and the chaplain.  The latter was in his surplice, 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 executioner then went forward to get ready a shirt, and she made her exit from the chapel, supported on the left by the doctor's arm, on the right by the executioner's assistant.  Thus proceeding, she first felt embarrassment and confusion.  Ten or twelve people were waiting outside, and as she suddenly confronted them, she made a step backward, and with her hands, bound though they were, pulled the headdress down to cover half her face.  She passed through a small door, which was closed behind her, and then found herself between the two doors alone, with the doctor and the executioner's man.  Here the rosary, in consequence of her violent movement to cover her face, came undone, and several beads fell on the floor.  She went on, however, without observing this; but the doctor stopped her, and he and the man stooped down and picked up all the beads, which they put into her hand.  Thanking them humbly for this attention, she said to the man, "Sir, I know I have now no worldly possessions, that all I have upon me belongs to you, and I may not give anything away without your consent; but I ask you kindly to allow me to give this chaplet to the doctor before I die: you will not be much the loser, 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 property of the condemned; but you are mistress of all you have, and if the thing were of the very greatest value you might dispose of it as you pleased."