BY GEORGE HOGARTH.

There are few things in the history of mankind more extraordinary than the frightful extent to which the crime of secret poisoning was carried, in several countries of Europe, during a large portion of the seventeenth century. It appears to have taken its rise in Italy, where it prevailed to a degree that is almost incredible. The instrument chiefly used in its perpetration was a liquid called aqua tofana, from the name of Tofania, its inventor, a woman who has acquired an infamous celebrity. According to the account of Hoffmann, the famous physician, this woman confessed that she had used this liquid in poisoning above six hundred persons; and Gmelin says that more people were destroyed by it than by the plague, which had raged for some time before it came into use. This crime also prevailed, though for a shorter time and to a smaller extent, in France; and was far from being unknown in England. We intend to give our readers such information as we have collected on this curious subject; and though the most regular way might be to begin with the Signora Tofania herself, and the diffusion of her practices in her own country, we prefer giving at present the history of the most eminent of her followers, the Marchioness de Brinvillier, whose atrocities created so much excitement in France in the time of Louis the Fourteenth, as we shall thus be enabled at once to place the matter in its most striking light. We have consulted, we believe, most of the French works in which there are any particulars respecting this lady; and our readers may take the following as a faithful account of her life.

Marie-Marguerite d'Aubray was the daughter of M. d'Aubray, a gentleman who held a considerable judicial office in Paris. In 1651 she married the Marquis de Brinvillier. The match was a suitable one, both in respect to station and property. The marquis had estates of thirty thousand livres a-year; and his wife, who had two brothers and a sister, brought him a fortune of two hundred thousand livres, with the prospect of a considerable share of her father's inheritance. The marchioness enjoyed the gifts of nature as well as of fortune. Her figure was not remarkably handsome, but her face was round and pretty, with a serene and quiet expression; and she had an air of innocence, simplicity, and good-nature which gained the confidence of everybody who had any intercourse with her.

The Marquis de Brinvillier was colonel of a regiment of foot. While on service, he had contracted an intimacy with a gentleman of the name of St. Croix, a captain of cavalry. There was some mystery about this man's birth. It was known that he was from Montauban. Some thought him an illegitimate scion of a noble house; others said he belonged to a respectable family; but all agreed that he was totally destitute of the gifts of fortune.

The part which this personage acted in the occurrences of which we are about to give a sketch, makes it worth while to repeat the description of him contained in some of the memoirs of the time. His countenance was handsome and intelligent; he was remarkably courteous and obliging, and entered into any benevolent or pious proposal with the same alacrity with which he agreed to commit a crime. He was vindictive, susceptible of love, and jealous to madness. His extravagance was unbounded, and, being unsupported by any regular income, led him into every sort of wickedness. Some years before his death, he assumed an appearance of devotion, and it is said even wrote some tracts on religious subjects.

The Marquis de Brinvillier was much addicted to pleasure. St. Croix got into his good graces, and was introduced into his house. At first he was only the husband's friend, but presently he became the wife's lover; and their attachment became mutual. The dissipation of the marquis's life prevented him from observing his wife's conduct, so that the pair carried on a guilty commerce without any suspicion on his part. His affairs became so disordered, that his wife succeeded, on this ground, in obtaining a separation, and after this paid no respect to decency or concealment in her connexion with her paramour. Scandalous, however, as her conduct was, it made no impression on the mind of the marquis, whose apathy induced the marchioness's father, M. d'Aubray, to use his paternal authority. He obtained a lettre de cachet against St. Croix, who was arrested one day when he was in a carriage with the marchioness, and carried to the Bastile, where he remained for a year.

Absence, far from abating the marchioness's passion, only inflamed it; and the constraint to which she found it necessary to subject herself in order to prevent a second separation, inflamed it still more. She conducted herself, however, with such apparent propriety, that she regained her father's favour, and even his confidence. St. Croix availed himself of the power which love had given him over his mistress to root out every good principle or feeling from her mind. Under his horrid lessons she became a monster, whose atrocities, we hope and believe, have hardly ever been paralleled. He resolved to take a dreadful revenge on the family of d'Aubray, and at the same time to get his whole property into the possession of the marchioness, that they might spend it together in guilty pleasures.

While St. Croix was in the Bastile, he had formed an acquaintance with an Italian of the name of Exili, to whom he communicated his views. Exili excited him to vengeance, and taught him the way to obtain it with impunity. Poisoning may be called, par excellence, an Italian art. With many fine qualities, vindictiveness and subtlety must be acknowledged to be strong features in the character of that people; and hence their early superiority in this art of taking the most deadly, and at the same time the safest, revenge on their enemies. It appears, accordingly, (as we have already said,) that it was from the Italians that the poisoners of other countries derived their skill. They acquired the art of composing poisons so disguised in their appearance and subtle in their effects, that they baffled the penetration and art of the physicians of that age. Some were slow, and consumed the vitals of the victim by almost imperceptible degrees; others were sudden and violent in their action; but few of them left any traces of their real nature, for the symptoms they produced were generally so equivocal, that they might be ascribed to many ordinary diseases. St. Croix greedily devoured the instructions of his fellow-prisoner, and left the Bastile prepared to exercise his infernal art.

His first object of vengeance was M. d'Aubray himself; and he soon found means to persuade the daughter to become the agent in the destruction of her father. The old gentleman had a house in the country, where he used to spend his vacations. All his fondness for his daughter, whom he now believed to have been "more sinned against than sinning," had returned; and she, on her part, behaved to him with an appearance of affectionate duty. She anxiously attended to his every comfort; and, as his health had suffered from the fatigues of his office, she employed herself in superintending the preparation of nice and nourishing broths, which she gave him herself with every appearance of tender care. It is needless to say that these aliments contained some articles of Italian cookery; and the wretch, as she sat by his bed-side, witnessing his sufferings and listening to his groans, shed abundance of crocodile tears, while she eagerly administered to him remedies calculated to insure the accomplishment of her object. But neither the agonies of the poor old man, nor his touching expressions of love and gratitude to the fiend at his side, could turn her for a moment from her fell purpose. He was carried back to Paris, where in a few days he sunk under the effects of the poison.

No suspicion was entertained of the cause of his death; the idea of such a crime could not even have entered into the imagination of any one. No external symptoms appeared, and the expedient of opening the body was never thought of. The friends of the family were desirous only of pitying and comforting them; and the inconsolable daughter, who had tended her father with such filial piety, had the largest share of sympathy. She returned as soon as possible to the arms of her paramour, and made up for the restraint imposed on her during her father's life by spending the money she had inherited by his death in undisguised profligacy.

It afterwards appeared that this abandoned woman had made sure of the efficacy of her drugs by a variety of experiments, not only upon animals, but on human beings. She was in the habit of distributing to the poor poisoned biscuits, prepared by herself, the effect of which she found means to learn without committing herself. But this was not enough: she desired to be an eye-witness of the progress and symptoms of the effects produced by the poison; and for this purpose made the experiment on FranÇoise Roussel, her maid, to whom she gave, by way of treat, a plate of gooseberries and a slice of ham. The poor girl was very ill, but recovered; and this was a lesson to St. Croix to make his doses stronger.

Madame de SevignÉ, in one of her letters, written at a time when the public attention was engrossed by this strange affair, says, "La Brinvillier used to poison pigeon-pies, which caused the death of many people whom she had no intention of destroying. The Chevalier du Guet was at one of these pretty dinners, and died of it two or three years ago. When in prison, she asked if he was dead, and was told he was not. 'His life must be very tough, then,' said she. M. de la Rochefoucauld declares that this is perfectly true."

M. d'Aubray's inheritance was not so beneficial to his infamous daughter as she had expected. The best part of his property went to his son, M. d'Aubray, who succeeded to his father's office, and another brother a counsellor. It was necessary, therefore, to put them out of the way also; and this task St. Croix, thinking his accomplice had done enough for his purposes, took upon himself.

He had a villain at his devotion of the name of La ChaussÉe. This man had been in his service, and he knew him to be a fit agent in any atrocity. The marchioness got La ChaussÉe a place as servant to the counsellor, who lived with his brother the magistrate, taking great care to conceal from them that he had ever been in the service of St. Croix. La ChaussÉe's employers promised him a hundred pistoles and an annuity for life if he succeeded in causing the death of the magistrate, who was their first object of attack. His anxiety to do his business promptly made him fail in his first attempt. He gave the magistrate a glass of poisoned wine and water; but the dose was too strong: and no sooner had the magistrate put his lips to the glass, than he cried, "Ah, you scoundrel, what is this you have given me?—do you want to poison me?" He showed the liquid to his secretary, who, having examined it in a spoon, said it was bitter, and had a smell of vitriol. La ChaussÉe did not lose countenance, but, without any appearance of confusion, took the glass and poured out the liquor, saying that the younger M. d'Aubray's valet had taken some medicine in this glass, which had produced the bitter taste. He got off with a reprimand for his carelessness, and the matter was no more thought of.

This narrow escape from a discovery did not deter the murderers from prosecuting their design; but they took more effectual measures for its success, not caring though they should sacrifice by the same blow a number of people with whom they had no concern.

In the beginning of April 1670, the magistrate went to pass the Easter holidays at his house in the country. His brother the counsellor was of the party, and was attended by La ChaussÉe. One day at dinner there was a giblet-pie. Seven persons who eat of it became very ill, while those who had not partaken of it suffered no uneasiness. The two brothers were among the former, and had violent fits of vomiting. They returned to Paris a few days afterwards, having the appearance of persons who had undergone a long and violent illness.

St. Croix availed himself of this state of things to make sure of the fruit of his crimes. He obtained from the marchioness two promissory deeds, one for thirty thousand livres in his own name, and another for twenty-five thousand livres in the name of Martin, one of his familiars. The sum at first sight appears a small one, amounting only to about two thousand three hundred pounds sterling; but the immense difference in the value of money since the seventeenth century must be taken into account. Such, however, at all events, was the price paid by this demon for the death of her two brothers.

Meanwhile the elder d'Aubray became worse and worse; he could take no sustenance, and vomited incessantly. The three last days of his life he felt a fire in his stomach, which seemed to be consuming its very substance. At length he expired on the 17th of June 1670. On being opened, his stomach and duodenum were black, and falling to pieces, as if they had been put on a large fire; and the liver was burnt up and gangrened. It was evident that he had been poisoned: but on whom could suspicion fall?—there was no clue whatever to guide it. The marchioness had gone to the country. St. Croix wrote her that the magistrate was dead, and that, from his brother's situation, he must soon follow. It so turned out. The unfortunate counsellor died, after having lingered three months in excruciating torments; and he was so far from suspecting La ChaussÉe of any hand in his death, that he left him a legacy of three hundred livres, which was paid.

These three murders were still insufficient. There was yet a sister who kept from the marchioness the half of the successions which she wished to gain by the death of her father and brothers. The sister's life was repeatedly attempted in the same way; but the shocking occurrences in her family had made her suspicious, and her precautions preserved her.

The poor Marquis de Brinvillier was intended by his fury of a wife for her next victim. "Madame de Brinvillier," says Madame de SevignÉ in another of her letters, "wanted to marry St. Croix, and for that purpose poisoned her husband repeatedly. But St. Croix, who had no desire to have a wife as wicked as himself, gave the poor man antidotes; so that, having been tossed backward and forward in this way, sometimes poisoned, and sometimes unpoisoned, (dÉsempoisonnÉ), he has, after all, got off with his life."

Though everybody was convinced that the father and his two sons had been poisoned, yet nothing but very vague suspicions were entertained as to the perpetrators of the crime. Nobody thought of St. Croix as having had anything to do with it. He had for a long time ceased, to all appearance, to have any connexion with Madame de Brinvillier; and La ChaussÉe, the immediate agent, had played his part so well, that he was never suspected.

At last the horrible mystery was discovered. St. Croix continued to practise the art which had been so useful to him; and, as the poisons he made were so subtle as to be fatal even by respiration, he used to intercept their exhalations while compounding them by a glass mask over his face. One day the mask by accident dropped off, and he fell dead on the spot; "a death," says the French writer who mentions this occurrence, "much too good for a monster who had inflicted it by long and agonizing pangs on so many valuable citizens."[11] Having no relations that were known, his repositories were sealed up by the public authorities. When they were opened and examined, the first thing which was found was a casket, in which was a paper in the following terms:

"I earnestly request those into whose hands this casket may fall, to deliver it into the hands of Madame la Marquise de Brinvillier, residing in the Rue Neuve St. Paul, seeing that all that it contains concerns and belongs to her only, and that it can be of no use to any person in the world except herself; and, in case of her being dead before me, to burn it, and all that it contains, without opening or meddling with anything. And should any one contravene these my intentions on this subject, which are just and reasonable, I lay the consequences on their head, both in this world and the next; protesting that this is my last will. Done at Paris this 25th May, afternoon, 1672. (Signed) De Sainte Croix."

The casket contained a number of parcels carefully sealed up, and some phials containing liquids. The parcels were found to contain a variety of drugs, which, having been submitted to the examination of physicians, were found to be most subtle and deadly poisons. This was ascertained by many experiments made upon pigeons, dogs, cats, and other animals, all which were detailed in a formal report made on the subject. It is stated in that report that no traces of the action of the poison, either external or internal, appeared on the bodies of the animals which had perished by it, and that it was impossible to detect its existence by any chemical tests. It would appear, therefore, that St. Croix had by his studies greatly increased in skill since the deaths of the d'Aubray family. The poisons administered to them were of a comparatively coarse and ordinary kind; they burnt up the stomach and bowels, produced horrid torment, and left unequivocal marks of their operation when any suspicion caused these marks to be sought for. But, with the skill subsequently acquired, this hateful pair might have destroyed thousands of their fellow-creatures with absolute impunity. It is impossible to suppose that St. Croix could have been constantly engaged, for a long series of years, in the composition of these secret instruments of death without making use of them; and there is no saying to what extent his work of destruction may have been carried.

The same casket contained ample evidence of the marchioness's share in these transactions. There were a number of letters from her to St. Croix, and the deed of promise which she had executed in his favour for thirty thousand livres.

When the marchioness heard that St. Croix was dead, and that his repositories had been sealed up, she showed the utmost anxiety to get possession of the casket. At ten o'clock at night she came to the house of the commissary who had affixed and taken off the seals, and desired to speak with him. Being told by his clerk that he was asleep, she said she had come to inquire about a casket which belonged to her, and which she wished to get back, and would return next day. When she came back, she was told that the casket could not be given up to her. Thinking it high time, therefore, to take care of herself, she went off during the following night, and took refuge in Liege; leaving, however, a power to an attorney to appear for her and contest the validity of the promise she had given to St. Croix. La ChaussÉe, too, had the impudence to put in a claim to certain sums of money, which, as he pretended, belonged to him, and which were deposited, in places which he mentioned, in St. Croix's study. This proved that La ChaussÉe was acquainted with the localities of a place into which it was to be presumed that St. Croix admitted none but his confidants and confederates; and La ChaussÉe was arrested on suspicion, which was greatly strengthened by the confusion he betrayed when informed of the discoveries made at the removal of the seals.

A judicial inquiry was now set on foot, and many witnesses examined. Among others, Anne Huet, an apothecary's daughter, who was a sort of servant of the marchioness, deposed, that one day, when the marchioness was intoxicated, she had the imprudence to show the witness a little box which she took out of a casket, and which, she said, contained the means of getting rid of her enemies, and acquiring good inheritances. Mademoiselle Huet saw that the box contained sublimate of mercury in powder and in paste. Afterwards, when the fumes of the wine had evaporated, the witness told the marchioness what she had said. "Oh," she said, "I was talking nonsense;" but at the same time she earnestly begged her not to repeat what she had heard. The marchioness (this witness added) was in the habit, when anything chagrined her, to say she would poison herself. She said there were many ways of getting rid of people when they stood in one's way,—a bowl of broth was as good as a pistol-bullet. The girl added, that she had often seen La ChaussÉe with Madame de Brinvillier, who chatted familiarly with him; and that she had heard the marchioness say, "He is a good lad, and has been very serviceable to me." Mademoiselle Villeray, another witness, declared that she had seen La ChaussÉe on a very familiar footing with Madame de Brinvillier; that she had seen them alone together since the death of the magistrate; that, two days after the death of the counsellor, she made La ChaussÉe hide himself behind the bed-curtains when the magistrate's secretary came to see her. La ChaussÉe himself, on his examination, admitted this fact. Other persons related that La ChaussÉe, when he was asked how his master was during his illness, used to say, "Oh, he lingers on, the——!" adding a coarse epithet; "he gives us a deal of trouble. I wonder when he will kick the bucket."

On the 4th of March 1673, the court of La Tournelle pronounced a sentence, whereby La ChaussÉe was convicted of having poisoned the magistrate and the counsellor, and condemned to be broke alive upon the wheel, after having been put to the question ordinary and extraordinary, to discover his accomplices; and the Marchioness de Brinvillier was condemned, by default, to be beheaded. Under the torture, La ChaussÉe confessed his crimes, and gave a full account of all the transactions we have related, in so far as he was connected with them. He was executed in the Place de GrÊve, according to his sentence.

Desgrais, an officer of the MarechaussÉe, was sent to Liege to arrest the marchioness. He was provided with an escort, and a letter from the king to the municipality of that city, requesting that the criminal might be delivered up. Desgrais was permitted to arrest her and carry her to France.

She had retired to a convent, a sanctuary in which Desgrais durst not attempt to seize her; he therefore had recourse to stratagem. Disguising himself in an ecclesiastical habit, he paid her a visit, pretending that, being a Frenchman, he could not think of passing through Liege without seeing a lady so celebrated for her beauty and misfortunes. He even went so far as to play the gallant, and his amorous advances were as well received as he could desire. He persuaded the lady to take a walk with him; but they had no sooner got into the fields than the lover transformed himself into a police-officer. He arrested the lady, and put her into the hands of his followers, whom he had placed in ambush near the spot; and then, having obtained an order from the authorities to that effect, he made a search in her apartment. Under her bed he found a casket, which she vehemently insisted on having returned to her, but without effect. She then tried to bribe one of the officer's men, who pretended to listen to her, and betrayed her. During her retreat she had carried on an intrigue with a person of the name of Theria. To him she wrote a letter, (which she intrusted to her confidant,) beseeching him to come with all haste and rescue her from the hands of Desgrais. In a second letter she told him that the escort consisted only of eight persons, who could easily be beaten by five. In a third, she wrote to "her dear Theria," that if he could not deliver her by open force, he might at least kill two out of the four horses of the carriage in which she was, and thus, at least, get possession of the casket, and throw it into the fire; otherwise she was lost. Though Theria, of course, received none of his chÈre amie's letters, yet he went of his own accord to Maestricht, through which she was to pass, and tried to corrupt the officers by an offer of a thousand pistoles, if they would let her escape; but they were immovable. All her resources being thus exhausted, she attempted to kill herself by swallowing a pin; but it was taken from her by one of her guards.

Among the proofs against her, that which alarmed her the most was a written confession containing a narrative of her life, kept by her in the casket which she made such desperate efforts to recover. No wonder she was now horrified at what she had thus committed to paper. In the first article she declared herself an incendiary, confessing that she had set fire to a house. Madame SevignÉ, speaking of this paper, says, "Madame de Brinvillier tells us, in her confession, that she was debauched at seven years old, and has led an abandoned life ever since; that she poisoned her father, her brothers, and one of her children; nay, that she poisoned herself, to try the effect of an antidote. Medea herself did not do so much. She has acknowledged this confession to be of her writing,—a great blunder; but she says she was in a high fever when she wrote it,—that it is mere frenzy,—a piece of extravagance which no one can read seriously." In a subsequent letter, Madame de SevignÉ adds, "Nothing is talked of but the sayings and doings of Madame de Brinvillier. She says in her confession that she has murdered her father;—she was afraid, no doubt, that she might forget to accuse herself of it. The peccadilloes which she is afraid of forgetting are admirable!"

The proceedings of her trial are fully reported in the Causes CÉlÈbres. She found an able advocate in the person of M. Nivelle, whose pleading in her behalf is exceedingly learned and ingenious. He laboured hard to get rid of the confession; maintaining that this paper was of the same nature as a confession made under the seal of secrecy to a priest; and cited a number of precedents to show that circumstances thus brought to light cannot be used in a criminal prosecution. Her confused, evasive, and contradictory answers to the questions put to her on her interrogatory by the court,—a very objectionable step, by the way, of French criminal procedure,—were considered as filling up the measure of evidence against her; though, in this case, it was sufficiently ample without the aid either of her confession or examinations before the judges. The corpus delicti (in the language of the law) was certain. The deaths of her two brothers by poison were proved by the evidence of several medical persons; and the testimony of other witnesses established the commission of these crimes by St. Croix and her, through the instrumentality of La ChaussÉe.

At length, by a sentence of the supreme criminal court of Paris, on the 16th of July 1676, Madame de Brinvillier was convicted of the murder of her father and her two brothers, and of having attempted the life of her sister, and condemned to make the amende honorable before the door of the principal church of Paris, whither she was to be drawn in a hurdle, with her feet bare, a rope about her neck, and carrying a burning torch in her hands; from thence to be taken to the Place de GrÊve, her head severed from her body on a scaffold, her body burnt, and her ashes thrown to the wind; after having been, in the first place, put to the question ordinary and extraordinary, to discover her accomplices.

Though she had denied her crimes as long as she had any hope of escape, she confessed everything after condemnation. During the latter days of her life, she was the sole object of public curiosity. An immense multitude assembled to see her execution, and every window on her way to the Place de GrÊve was crowded with spectators. Lebrun, the celebrated painter, placed himself in a convenient situation for observing her, in order, probably, to make a study for his "Passions." Among the spectators were many ladies of distinction, to some of whom, who had got very near her, she said, looking them firmly in the face, and with a sarcastic smile, "A very pretty sight you are come to see!"

Madame de SevignÉ gives an account of this execution the day it took place, in a tone of levity which is not a little offensive, and unbecoming a lady of her unquestionable elegance and refinement. "Well!" she says, "it is all over, and La Brinvillier is in the air. Her poor little body was thrown into a large fire, and her ashes scattered to the winds; so that we breathe her, and there is no saying but this communication of particles may produce among us some poisoning propensities which may surprise us. She was condemned yesterday. This morning her sentence was read to her, and she was shown the rack; but she said there was no occasion for it, for she would tell everything. Accordingly she continued till four o'clock giving a history of her life, which is even more frightful than people supposed. She poisoned her father ten times successively before she could accomplish her object; then her brothers; and her revelations were full of love affairs and pieces of scandal. She asked to speak with the procureur-gÉnÉral, and was an hour with him; but the subject of their conversation is not known. At six o'clock she was taken in her shift, and with a rope round her neck, to NÔtre Dame, to make the amende honorable. She was then replaced in the hurdle, in which I saw her drawn backwards, with a confessor on one side and the hangman on the other. It really made me shudder. Those who saw the execution say she ascended the scaffold with a great deal of courage. Never was such a crowd seen, nor such excitement and curiosity in Paris." In another letter the fair writer says, "A word more about La Brinvillier. She died as she lived, that is boldly. When she went into the place where she was to undergo the question, and saw three buckets of water, 'They surely are going to drown me,' she said; 'for they can't imagine that I am going to drink all this.' She heard her sentence with great composure. When the reading was nearly finished, she desired it to be repeated, saying, 'The hurdle struck me at first, and prevented my attending to the rest.' On her way to execution she asked her confessor to get the executioner placed before her, 'that I may not see that scoundrel Desgrais,' she said, 'who caught me.' Her confessor reproved her for this sentiment, and she said, 'Ah, my God! I beg your pardon. Let me continue, then, to enjoy this agreeable sight.' She ascended the scaffold alone and barefooted, and was nearly a quarter of an hour in being trimmed and adjusted for the block by the executioner; a piece of great cruelty which was loudly murmured against. Next day persons were seeking for her bones, for there was a belief among the people that she was a saint. She had two confessors, she said; one of whom enjoined her to tell everything, and the other said it was not necessary. She laughed at this difference of opinion, and said, 'Very well, I am at liberty to do as I please.' She did not please to say anything about her accomplices. Penautier will come out whiter than snow. The public is by no means satisfied."

This Penautier was a man of wealth and station, holding the office of treasurer of the province of Languedoc and of the clergy. He was discovered to have been intimately connected with St. Croix and Madame de Brinvillier, and strongly suspected of having been a participator in their crimes. He was accused by the widow of M. de Saint Laurent, receiver-general of the clergy, of having employed St. Croix to poison her husband, in order to obtain his place, and of having accomplished this object by means of a valet whom St. Croix had got into her husband's service. Penautier was put in prison; but Madame de SevignÉ says that the investigation was stifled by the influence of powerful protectors, among whom were the Archbishop of Paris and the celebrated Colbert. In one of her letters she says, "Penautier is fortunate; never was a man so well protected. He will get out of this business, but without being justified in the eyes of the world. Extraordinary things have transpired in the course of this investigation; but they cannot be mentioned." He was released, resumed the exercise of his offices, and lived in his former splendour. The first people had no objection to enjoy his luxurious table; but his character with the public was irrecoverably gone. Cardinal de Bonzy, who had to pay some annuities with which his archbishopric of Narbonne was burdened, survived all the annuitants, and said that, thanks to his star! he had buried them. Madame de SevignÉ, seeing him one day in his carriage with Penautier, said to a friend, "There goes the Archbishop of Narbonne with his star!"

The Marquis of Brinvillier is never mentioned in the course of the proceedings in this extraordinary case, and there are no traces of his subsequent life. Madame de SevignÉ says that he petitioned for the life of his chÈre moitiÉ. Wretched as he must have been, he is the less entitled to sympathy because his own dissolute character contributed to bring his misfortunes upon himself. He probably spent his latter days in the deepest retirement, hiding himself from the world, as the bearer of a name indissolubly associated with crime and infamy.

(This paper will be followed, in our next number, by another on the same subject.)