John Leech, His Life and Work Volume I Part 13

And he had, therefore, ordered a body of the "Guard Royal to attend, when they would receive sufficient proof of the trade Exili was driving in his capacity of alchemist."

Sainte-Croix visited the Italian with excuses for the non-payment of the money early in the evening of the day on which the arrest was planned to take place later. To those excuses the poisoner listened angrily; he discovered some valuable jewels which Sainte-Croix wore. He had purposely brushed his hand against Sainte-Croix's cloak, and in the pocket of it he felt some weighty substance. The c.h.i.n.k a.s.sured him it was gold.

"'You cannot have that,' said Gaudin confusedly; 'it is going with me to the gaming-table to-night.'

"'You have rich jewels, too, about you,' continued Exili, peering at him with a fearful expression. 'The carcanet becomes you well. That diamond clasp is a fortune in itself.'

"'Not one of them is mine,' said Sainte-Croix. 'They belong to the Marchioness of Brinvilliers.'"

The Italian affected to be satisfied with the a.s.surance that the money should be paid next day, and Sainte-Croix's doom was sealed. The alchemist "turned to the furnace to superintend the progress of some preparation that was evaporating over the fire.

"'What have you there?' asked Gaudin, who was anxious to prolong the interview till the guard could arrive.

"'A venom more deadly than any we have yet known--that will kill like lightning, and leave no trace of its presence to the most subtle tests.'

"'You will give me the secret?' asked Gaudin.

"'As soon as it is finished, and the time is coming on apace. You have arrived opportunely to a.s.sist me.'

"He took a mask with gla.s.s eyes, and tied it round his face.

"'If you would see the preparation completed, you must wear one as well.'

"Exili took another visor, and, under pretence of rearranging the string, he broke it from the mask; and then, fixing it back with some resinous compound that would be melted by the heat of the furnace, he cautiously fixed it to Sainte-Croix's face.

"'I will mind the furnace whilst you go,' said Gaudin, in reply to the alchemist, who said he must fetch some drugs required for further operations.

"At that moment Sainte-Croix heard an adjacent bell sound the hour at which he had appointed the guard to arrive.

"'There is no danger in this mask, you say?'

"'None,' said Exili.

"Anxious to become acquainted with the new poison, and in the hope that as soon as he had acquired the secret of its manufacture the guard would arrive, Gaudin bent over the furnace. Exili had left the apartment, but as soon as his footfall was beyond Sainte-Croix's hearing he returned, treading as stealthily as a tiger, and took up his place at the door to watch his prey. As Gaudin bent his head to watch the preparation more closely, the heat of the furnace melted the resin with which the string had been fastened. It gave way, and the mask fell on the floor, whilst the vapour of the poison rose full in his face almost before, in his eager attention, he was aware of the accident.

"One terrible scream--a cry which, once heard, could never be forgotten--not that of agony, or terror, or surprise, but a shrill and violent indrawing of the breath, resembling rather the screech of some huge, hoa.r.s.e bird of prey irritated to madness, than the sound of a human voice--broke from Gaudin's lips. Every muscle of his face was contorted into the most frightful form; he remained a second, and no more, wavering at the side of the furnace, and then fell heavily on the floor. He was dead."

This terrible death-scene has found a perfect ill.u.s.trator in John Leech.

How admirable is the fiendish expression of the poisoner as he gloats over the body of his victim, which is drawn with a power and truthfulness altogether perfect! Every detail of the laboratory how skilfully introduced, how effectively rendered!

The alchemist behaved on the occasion as might be expected.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"He darted at the dead body like a beast of prey; and drew forth the bag of money, which he transferred to his own pouch. He next tore away every ornament of any value that adorned Gaudin's costly dress...."

While at this congenial occupation, "the bristling halberts of the guard appeared.

"'Back!' screamed Exili. 'Keep off, or I will slay you and myself, so that not one shall live to tell the tale! Your lives are in my hands,'

continued the physician, 'and if you move one step forward they are forfeited.'

"He darted through a doorway at the end of the room as he spoke, and disappeared. The guard pressed forward; but, as Exili pa.s.sed out at the arch, a ma.s.s of timber descended like a portcullis and opposed their further progress. A loud and fiendish laugh sounded in the _souterrain_, which grew fainter and fainter, till they heard it no more."

The poisoner escaped--for a time. He was captured afterwards, tried, and, of course, condemned to death--a merciful death compared with that which befell him on his way to execution at the hands of the infuriated people, by whom his guards were overpowered, and after being almost torn to pieces, he was thrown into the Seine.

The toils were now closing round the miserable Marchioness de Brinvilliers. The wretched woman had reached the inconceivable condition of degradation said to be common to successful murderers when impunity has followed their first crimes--that of killing for killing's sake. She put on the clothes of a _religeuse_, attended the hospitals, and poisoned the patients. Their dying cries were music to her, their agonies afforded her the keenest pleasure. To the student of French criminal history this is no news. I note it here so that the historian of the woman's crimes should not be thought to have invented incidents that existed only in his imagination. Mr. Smith had the best authority for all the murders with which he charges Madame de Brinvilliers.

The death of Sainte-Croix was followed by the usual police regulation where foul play is suspected. Seals were affixed to his effects, amongst which poisons were discovered that were proved to be the property of the Marchioness of Brinvilliers. The murderess, terror-stricken, fled from Paris; and, though hotly pursued, she escaped into Belgium, and sought refuge in a religious house, where she took "sanctuary." The pursuers were so near that, as she jumped from her carriage at the convent-door, she left her cloak in the hands of the exempt. She turned upon him, says the author, "with a smile of triumph that threw an expression of demoniac beauty over her features, and cried:

"'You dare not touch me, or you are lost body and soul!'"

I must again refer my reader to Mr. Albert Smith's book if he wishes to learn how the exempt, disguised as an abbe, beguiled the Marchioness from her sanctuary, and content myself with showing--or rather in letting Leech show--how she looked when the police-officer dropped his disguise and she found herself seized by his men.

The details given by Mr. Albert Smith of the last hours of Madame de Brinvilliers are, though painful reading, very remarkable. The Docteur Pirot, who pa.s.sed nearly the whole of his time at the Conciergerie, has left records of which the author has availed himself, as well as from the letters of Madame de Sevigne. Those who wish to "sup full of horrors" can satisfy themselves by reading the account of the torture by water which was inflicted upon the miserable woman to induce her to betray her accomplices. But there were none to betray. Her only accomplice was dead. Her sufferings on the rack very nearly cheated the headsman, for, as they culminated "in a piercing cry of agony, after which all was still, the graffier, fearing that the punishment had been carried too far, gave orders that she should be unbound." On her way to execution, she was attended by the constant Pirot. The tumbrel stopped before the door of Notre Dame, and a paper was put into her hands, from which she read, in a firm voice, a confession of her crimes. The tumbrel again advanced with difficulty through the dense crowds, portions of which, "slipping between the horses of the troops who surrounded it, launched some brutal remark at Marie with terrible distinctness and meaning; but she never gave the least sign of having heard them, only keeping her eyes intently fixed upon the crucifix which Pirot held up before her."

In this drawing Leech's power over individual character may be noted in the diversity of type amongst the hooting crowd round the tumbrel. The shrinking form of the prisoner is very beautiful.

When the Place de Greve was reached the execrations of the mob had ceased, and "a deep and awful silence" prevailed, "so perfect that the voices of the executioner and Pirot could be plainly heard," says the chroniclers. I pa.s.s over harrowing details. The beautiful head of the poisoner was struck off by a single sword-stroke, and the executioner, turning to Pirot, said:

"'It was well done, monsieur, and I hope madame has left me a trifle, for I deserve it.'"

He then "calmly took a bottle from his pocket and refreshed himself with its contents."

If the short extracts from the history of this great criminal have enabled my readers more clearly to understand and enjoy Leech's ill.u.s.trations, my object in selecting them has been realized.

CHAPTER X.

"A MAN MADE OF MONEY."--DOUGLAS JERROLD.

Knowing that this extraordinary book was ill.u.s.trated by John Leech, and hearing that it contained some of his best work, it became my duty to make a sufficient acquaintance with the book to enable me to criticise and explain the drawings to my readers. I tried "skimming," but the power of the book, and the brilliancy of the wit in it, so attracted me that I read the whole of it.

It is not my province, and it is certainly not in my power, to pose as a critic of literary work; and the hero--the man made of money, with a heart made of bank-notes instead of flesh and blood, containing within himself a bank that could be drawn upon to any amount--is so wonderful a being as to place him out of the category of human creatures, and altogether beyond criticism. This gentleman's name was Jericho. He had waited till he was forty, and then he married a widow with three children; two of them were girls, the third a young gentleman of whom those who knew him best said, "He was born for billiards." There was no love lost between Mr. Jericho and his step-children; in fact, they cordially hated him, and he returned the compliment. Their name was Pennibacker, inherited from their father, Captain Pennibacker, whose loving wife "was made a widow at two-and-twenty by an East Indian bullet." Mr. Jericho was one of that large cla.s.s which, though really needy, manoeuvres successfully to be considered wealthy. His step-children considered him as "a rich plum-cake, to be sliced openly or by stealth among them." The widow Pennibacker was first attracted to him by "a whispered announcement that he was a City gentleman. Hence Jericho appeared to the imagination of the widow with an indescribable glory of money about him."

Mrs. Jericho desired to make a few purchases, and she approached her husband with a cry familiar to most of us:

"'Mr. Jericho, when can you let me have some money?'"

The lady's confidence in her husband's wealth ought to have been shaken by what followed her application. Mr. Jericho turned a deaf ear to the appeal, which was repeated in every variety of tone and accent.

At length, "waving her right hand before her husband's face with a significant and snaky motion," she reiterated her demand with a terrible calmness:

"'When can I have some money?'

"'Woman!' cried Jericho vehemently, as though at once and for ever he emptied his heart of the s.e.x; and, rushing from the room, he felt himself in the flattering vivacity of the moment a single man. 'I'm sure, after all, I do my best to love the woman,' thought Jericho, 'and yet she will ask me for money.'"