CELEBRATED CRIMES, COMPLETE

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, PERE

IN EIGHT VOLUMES

THE MARQUISE DE GANGES--1657

Toward the close of the year 1657, a very plain carriage, with no armspainted on it, stopped, about eight o'clock one evening, before thedoor of a house in the rue Hautefeuille, at which two other coaches werealready standing. A lackey at once got down to open the carriage door;but a sweet, though rather tremulous voice stopped him, saying, "Wait, while I see whether this is the place. "

Then a head, muffled so closely in a black satin mantle that no featurecould be distinguished, was thrust from one of the carriage windows, and looking around, seemed to seek for some decisive sign on the housefront. The unknown lady appeared to be satisfied by her inspection, forshe turned back to her companion. 

"It is here, " said she. "There is the sign. "

As a result of this certainty, the carriage door was opened, the twowomen alighted, and after having once more raised their eyes to a stripof wood, some six or eight feet long by two broad, which was nailedabove the windows of the second storey, and bore the inscription, "Madame Voison, midwife, " stole quickly into a passage, the door ofwhich was unfastened, and in which there was just so much light asenabled persons passing in or out to find their way along the narrowwinding stair that led from the ground floor to the fifth story. 

The two strangers, one of whom appeared to be of far higher rank thanthe other, did not stop, as might have been expected, at the doorcorresponding with the inscription that had guided them, but, on thecontrary, went on to the next floor. 

Here, upon the landing, was a kind of dwarf, oddly dressed after thefashion of sixteenth-century Venetian buffoons, who, when he saw the twowomen coming, stretched out a wand, as though to prevent them from goingfarther, and asked what they wanted. 

"To consult the spirit, " replied the woman of the sweet and tremulousvoice. 

"Come in and wait, " returned the dwarf, lifting a panel of tapestry andushering the two women into a waiting-room. 

The women obeyed, and remained for about half an hour, seeing andhearing nothing. At last a door, concealed by the tapestry, was suddenlyopened; a voice uttered the word "Enter, " and the two women wereintroduced into a second room, hung with black, and lighted solely by athree-branched lamp that hung from the ceiling. The door closed behindthem, and the clients found themselves face to face with the sibyl. 

She was a woman of about twenty-five or twenty-six, who, unlike otherwomen, evidently desired to appear older than she was. She was dressedin black; her hair hung in plaits; her neck, arms, and feet were bare;the belt at her waist was clasped by a large garnet which threw outsombre fires. In her hand she held a wand, and she was raised on a sortof platform which stood for the tripod of the ancients, and from whichcame acrid and penetrating fumes; she was, moreover, fairly handsome, although her features were common, the eyes only excepted, and these, bysome trick of the toilet, no doubt, looked inordinately large, and, likethe garnet in her belt, emitted strange lights. 

When the two visitors came in, they found the soothsayer leaning herforehead on her hand, as though absorbed in thought. Fearing to rouseher from her ecstasy, they waited in silence until it should please herto change her position. At the end of ten minutes she raised her head, and seemed only now to become aware that two persons were standingbefore her. 

"What is wanted of me again?" she asked, "and shall I have rest only inthe grave?"

"Forgive me, madame, " said the sweet-voiced unknown, "but I am wishingto know----"

"Silence!" said the sibyl, in a solemn voice. "I will not know youraffairs. It is to the spirit that you must address yourself; he is ajealous spirit, who forbids his secrets to be shared; I can but pray tohim for you, and obey his will. "

At these words, she left her tripod, passed into an adjoining room, and soon returned, looking even paler and more anxious than before, andcarrying in one hand a burning chafing dish, in the other a red paper. The three flames of the lamp grew fainter at the same moment, and theroom was left lighted up only by the chafing dish; every object nowassumed a fantastic air that did not fail to disquiet the two visitors, but it was too late to draw back. 

The soothsayer placed the chafing dish in the middle of the room, presented the paper to the young woman who had spoken, and said to her--

"Write down what you wish to know. "

The woman took the paper with a steadier hand than might have beenexpected, seated herself at a table, and wrote:--

"Am I young? Am I beautiful? Am I maid, wife, or widow? This is for thepast. 

"Shall I marry, or marry again? Shall I live long, or shall I die young?This is for the future. "

Then, stretching out her hand to the soothsayer, she asked--

"What am I to do now with this?"

"Roll that letter around this ball, " answered the other, handing tothe unknown a little ball of virgin wax. "Both ball and letter will beconsumed in the flame before your eyes; the spirit knows your secretsalready. In three days you will have the answer. "

The unknown did as the sibyl bade her; then the latter took from herhands the ball and the paper in which it was wrapped, and went and threwboth into the chafing pan. 

"And now all is done as it should be, " said the soothsayer. "Comus!"

The dwarf came in. 

"See the lady to her coach. "

The stranger left a purse upon the table, and followed Comus. Heconducted her and her companion, who was only a confidential maid, downa back staircase, used as an exit, and leading into a different streetfrom that by which the two women had come in; but the coachman, whohad been told beforehand of this circumstance, was awaiting them at thedoor, and they had only to step into their carriage, which bore themrapidly away in the direction of the rue Dauphine. 

Three days later, according to the promise given her, the fair unknown, when she awakened, found on the table beside her a letter in anunfamiliar handwriting; it was addressed "To the beautiful Provencale, "and contained these words--

"You are young; you are beautiful; you are a widow. This is for thepresent. 

"You will marry again; you will die young, and by a violent death. Thisis for the future. THE SPIRIT. "

The answer was written upon a paper like that upon which the questionshad been set down. 

The marquise turned pale and uttered a faint cry of terror; the answerwas so perfectly correct in regard to the past as to call up a fear thatit might be equally accurate in regard to the future. 

The truth is that the unknown lady wrapped in a mantle whom we haveescorted into the modern sibyl's cavern was no other than the beautifulMarie de Rossan, who before her marriage had borne the name ofMademoiselle de Chateaublanc, from that of an estate belonging to hermaternal grandfather, M. Joannis de Nocheres, who owned a fortune offive to six hundred thousand livres. At the age of thirteen--that is tosay, in 1649--she had married the Marquis de Castellane, a gentleman ofvery high birth, who claimed to be descended from John of Castille, theson of Pedro the Cruel, and from Juana de Castro, his mistress. Proud ofhis young wife's beauty, the Marquis de Castellane, who was an officerof the king's galleys, had hastened to present her at court. Louis XIV, who at the time of her presentation was barely twenty years old, wasstruck by her enchanting face, and to the great despair of the famousbeauties of the day danced with her three times in one evening. Finally, as a crowning touch to her reputation, the famous Christina of Sweden, who was then at the French court, said of her that she had never, inany of the kingdoms through which she had passed, seen anything equal to"the beautiful Provencale. " This praise had been so well received, that the name of "the beautiful Provencale" had clung to Madame deCastellane, and she was everywhere known by it. 

This favour of Louis XIV and this summing up of Christina's had beenenough to bring the Marquise de Castellane instantly into fashion;and Mignard, who had just received a patent of nobility and been madepainter to the king, put the seal to her celebrity by asking leave topaint her portrait. That portrait still exists, and gives a perfectnotion of the beauty which it represents; but as the portrait is farfrom our readers' eyes, we will content ourselves by repeating, in itsown original words, the one given in 1667 by the author of a pamphletpublished at Rouen under the following title: True and PrincipalCircumstances of the Deplorable Death of Madame the Marquise de Ganges:

[Note: It is from this pamphlet, and from the Account of the Death ofMadame the Marquise de Ganges, formerly Marquise de Castellane, that wehave borrowed the principal circumstances of this tragic story. Tothese documents we must add--that we may not be constantly referring ourreaders to original sources--the Celebrated Trials by Guyot de Pitaval, the Life of Marie de Rossan, and the Lettres galantes of MadameDesnoyers. ]

"Her complexion, which was of a dazzling whiteness, was illumined bynot too brilliant a red, and art itself could not have arranged moreskilfully the gradations by which this red joined and merged into thewhiteness of the complexion. The brilliance of her face was heightenedby the decided blackness of her hair, growing, as though drawn by apainter of the finest taste, around a well proportioned brow; her large, well opened eyes were of the same hue as her hair, and shone with asoft and piercing flame that rendered it impossible to gaze upon hersteadily; the smallness, the shape, the turn of her mouth, and, thebeauty of her teeth were incomparable; the position and the regularproportion of her nose added to her beauty such an air of dignity, asinspired a respect for her equal to the love that might be inspiredby her beauty; the rounded contour of her face, produced by a becomingplumpness, exhibited all the vigour and freshness of health; to completeher charms, her glances, the movements of her lips and of her head, appeared to be guided by the graces; her shape corresponded to thebeauty of her face; lastly, her arms, her hands, her bearing, and hergait were such that nothing further could be wished to complete theagreeable presentment of a beautiful woman. "

 [Note: All her contemporaries, indeed, are in agreement as to her marvellous beauty; here is a second portrait of the marquise, delineated in a style and manner still more characteristic of that period:--

 "You will remember that she had a complexion smoother and finer than a mirror, that her whiteness was so well commingled with the lively blood as to produce an exact admixture never beheld elsewhere, and imparting to her countenance the tenderest animation; her eyes and hair were blacker than jet; her eyes, I say, of which the gaze could scarce, from their excess of lustre, be supported, which have been celebrated as a miracle of tenderness and sprightliness, which have given rise, a thousand times, to the finest compliments of the day, and have been the torment of many a rash man, must excuse me, if I do not pause longer to praise them, in a letter; her mouth was the feature of her face which compelled the most critical to avow that they had seen none of equal perfection, and that, by its shape, its smallness, and its brilliance, it might furnish a pattern for all those others whose sweetness and charms had been so highly vaunted; her nose conformed to the fair proportion of all her features; it was, that is to say, the finest in the world; the whole shape of her face was perfectly round, and of so charming a fullness that such an assemblage of beauties was never before seen together. The expression of this head was one of unparalleled sweetness and of a majesty which she softened rather by disposition than by study; her figure was opulent, her speech agreeable, her step noble, her demeanour easy, her temper sociable, her wit devoid of malice, and founded upon great goodness of heart. "]

It is easy to understand that a woman thus endowed could not, in a courtwhere gallantry was more pursued than in any other spot in the world, escape the calumnies of rivals; such calumnies, however, never producedany result, so correctly, even in the absence of her husband, did themarquise contrive to conduct herself; her cold and serious conversation, rather concise than lively, rather solid than brilliant, contrasted, indeed, with the light turn, the capricious and fanciful expressionsemployed by the wits of that time; the consequence was that thosewho had failed to succeed with her, tried to spread a report that themarquise was merely a beautiful idol, virtuous with the virtue of astatue. But though such things might be said and repeated in the absenceof the marquise, from the moment that she appeared in a drawing-room, from the moment that her beautiful eyes and sweet smile added theirindefinable expression to those brief, hurried, and sensible words thatfell from her lips, the most prejudiced came back to her and were forcedto own that God had never before created anything that so nearly touchedperfection. 

She was thus in the enjoyment of a triumph that backbiters failed toshake, and that scandal vainly sought to tarnish, when news came of thewreck of the French galleys in Sicilian waters, and of the death ofthe Marquis de Castellane, who was in command. The marquise on thisoccasion, as usual, displayed the greatest piety and propriety: althoughshe had no very violent passion for her husband, with whom she had spentscarcely one of the seven years during which their marriage had lasted, on receipt of the news she went at once into retreat, going to livewith Madame d'Ampus, her mother-in-law, and ceasing not only to receivevisitors but also to go out. 

Six months after the death of her husband, the marquise received lettersfrom her grandfather, M. Joannis de Nocheres, begging her to come andfinish her time of mourning at Avignon. Having been fatherless almostfrom childhood, Mademoiselle de Chateaublanc had been brought up by thisgood old man, whom she loved dearly; she hastened accordingly to accedeto his invitation, and prepared everything for her departure. 

This was at the moment when la Voisin, still a young woman, and far fromhaving the reputation which she subsequently acquired, was yet beginningto be talked of. Several friends of the Marquise de Castellane had beento consult her, and had received strange predictions from her, some ofwhich, either through the art of her who framed them, or through someodd concurrence of circumstances, had come true. The marquise could notresist the curiosity with which various tales that she had heard of thiswoman's powers had inspired her, and some days before setting out forAvignon she made the visit which we have narrated. What answer shereceived to her questions we have seen. 

The marquise was not superstitious, yet this fatal prophecy impresseditself upon her mind and left behind a deep trace, which neither thepleasure of revisiting her native place, nor the affection of hergrandfather, nor the fresh admiration which she did not fail to receive, could succeed in removing; indeed, this fresh admiration was a wearinessto the marquise, and before long she begged leave of her grandfather toretire into a convent and to spend there the last three months of hermourning. 

It was in that place, and it was with the warmth of these poorcloistered maidens, that she heard a man spoken of for the first time, whose reputation for beauty, as a man, was equal to her own, as a woman. This favourite of nature was the sieur de Lenide, Marquis de Ganges, Baron of Languedoc, and governor of Saint-Andre, in the diocese of Uzes. The marquise heard of him so often, and it was so frequently declaredto her that nature seemed to have formed them for each other, thatshe began to allow admission to a very strong desire of seeing him. Doubtless, the sieur de Lenide, stimulated by similar suggestions, had conceived a great wish to meet the marquise; for, having got M. DeNocheres who no doubt regretted her prolonged retreat--to entrust himwith a commission for his granddaughter, he came to the convent parlourand asked for the fair recluse. She, although she had never seen him, recognised him at the first glance; for having never seen so handsomea cavalier as he who now presented himself before her, she thought thiscould be no other than the Marquis de Ganges, of whom people had sooften spoken to her. 

That which was to happen, happened: the Marquise de Castellane and theMarquis de Ganges could not look upon each other without loving. Bothwere young, the marquis was noble and in a good position, the marquisewas rich; everything in the match, therefore, seemed suitable: andindeed it was deferred only for the space of time necessary to completethe year of mourning, and the marriage was celebrated towards thebeginning of the year 1558. The marquis was twenty years of age, and themarquise twenty-two. 

The beginnings of this union were perfectly happy; the marquis was inlove for the first time, and the marquise did not remember ever to havebeen in love. A son and a daughter came to complete their happiness. The marquise had entirely forgotten the fatal prediction, or, if sheoccasionally thought of it now, it was to wonder that she could everhave believed in it. Such happiness is not of this world, and when bychance it lingers here a while, it seems sent rather by the angerthan by the goodness of God. Better, indeed, would it be for him whopossesses and who loses it, never to have known it. 

The Marquis de Ganges was the first to weary of this happy life. Littleby little he began to miss the pleasures of a young man; he began todraw away from the marquise and to draw nearer to his former friends. On her part, the marquise, who for the sake of wedded intimacy hadsacrificed her habits of social life, threw herself into society, wherenew triumphs awaited her. These triumphs aroused the jealousy of themarquis; but he was too much a man of his century to invite ridicule byany manifestation; he shut his jealousy into his soul, and it emerged ina different form on every different occasion. To words of love, so sweetthat they seemed the speech of angels, succeeded those bitter and bitingutterances that foretell approaching division. Before long, the marquisand the marquise only saw each other at hours when they could not avoidmeeting; then, on the pretext of necessary journeys, and presentlywithout any pretext at all, the marquis would go away for three-quartersof a year, and once more the marquise found herself widowed. Whatevercontemporary account one may consult, one finds them all agreeing todeclare that she was always the same--that is to say, full of patience, calmness, and becoming behaviour--and it is rare to find such aunanimity of opinion about a young and beautiful woman. 

About this time the marquis, finding it unendurable to be alone with hiswife during the short spaces of time which he spent at home, invitedhis two brothers, the chevalier and the abbe de Ganges, to come and livewith him. He had a third brother, who, as the second son, bore the titleof comte, and who was colonel of the Languedoc regiment, but as thisgentleman played no part in this story we shall not concern ourselveswith him. 

The abbe de Ganges, who bore that title without belonging to the Church, had assumed it in order to enjoy its privileges: he was a kind of wit, writing madrigals and 'bouts-rimes' [Bouts-rimes are verses written toa given set of rhymes. ] on occasion, a handsome man enough, though inmoments of impatience his eyes would take a strangely cruel expression;as dissolute and shameless to boot, as though he had really belonged tothe clergy of the period. 

The chevalier de Ganges, who shared in some measure the beauty soprofusely showered upon the family, was one of those feeble men whoenjoy their own nullity, and grow on to old age inapt alike for good andevil, unless some nature of a stronger stamp lays hold on them and dragsthem like faint and pallid satellites in its wake. This was what befellthe chevalier in respect of his brother: submitted to an influence ofwhich he himself was not aware, and against which, had he but suspectedit, he would have rebelled with the obstinacy of a child, he was amachine obedient to the will of another mind and to the passions ofanother heart, a machine which was all the more terrible in that nomovement of instinct or of reason could, in his case, arrest the impulsegiven. 

Moreover, this influence which the abbe had acquired over the chevalierextended, in some degree also, to the marquis. Having as a younger sonno fortune, having no revenue, for though he wore a Churchman's robes hedid not fulfil a Churchman's functions, he had succeeded in persuadingthe marquis, who was rich, not only in the enjoyment of his own fortune, but also in that of his wife, which was likely to be nearly doubled atthe death of M. De Nocheres, that some zealous man was needed who woulddevote himself to the ordering of his house and the management of hisproperty; and had offered himself for the post. The marquis had verygladly accepted, being, as we have said, tired by this time of hissolitary home life; and the abbe had brought with him the chevalier, whofollowed him like his shadow, and who was no more regarded than if hehad really possessed no body. 

The marquise often confessed afterwards that when she first saw thesetwo men, although their outward aspect was perfectly agreeable, she feltherself seized by a painful impression, and that the fortune-teller'sprediction of a violent death, which she had so long forgotten, gashedout like lightning before her eyes. The effect on the two brotherswas not of the same kind: the beauty of the marquise struck themboth, although in different ways. The chevalier was in ecstasies ofadmiration, as though before a beautiful statue, but the impression thatshe made upon him was that which would have been made by marble, andif the chevalier had been left to himself the consequences of thisadmiration would have been no less harmless. Moreover, the chevalierdid not attempt either to exaggerate or to conceal this impression, and allowed his sister-in-law to see in what manner she struck him. Theabbe, on the contrary, was seized at first sight with a deep and violentdesire to possess this woman--the most beautiful whom he had evermet; but being as perfectly capable of mastering his sensations as thechevalier was incapable, he merely allowed such words of compliment toescape him as weigh neither with him who utters nor her who hears them;and yet, before the close of this first interview, the abbe had decidedin his irrevocable will that this woman should be his. 

As for the marquise, although the impression produced by her twobrothers-in-law could never be entirely effaced, the wit of the abbe, to which he gave, with amazing facility, whatever turn he chose, andthe complete nullity of the chevalier brought her to certain feelingsof less repulsion towards them: for indeed the marquise had one of thosesouls which never suspect evil, as long as it will take the troubleto assume any veil at all of seeming, and which only recognise it withregret when it resumes its true shape. 

Meanwhile the arrival of these two new inmates soon spread a littlemore life and gaiety through the house. Furthermore; greatly tothe astonishment of the marquise, her husband, who had so long beenindifferent to her beauty, seemed to remark afresh that she was toocharming to be despised; his words accordingly began little by littleto express an affection that had long since gradually disappeared fromthem. The marquise had never ceased to love him; she had suffered theloss of his love with resignation, she hailed its return with joy, andthree months elapsed that resembled those which had long ceased to bemore to the poor wife than a distant and half-worn-out memory. 

Thus she had, with the supreme facility of youth, always ready to behappy, taken up her gladness again, without even asking what genius hadbrought back to her the treasure which she had thought lost, when shereceived an invitation from a lady of the neighbourhood to spend somedays in her country house. Her husband and her two brothers-in-law, invited with her, were of the party, and accompanied her. A greathunting party had been arranged beforehand, and almost immediately uponarriving everyone began to prepare for taking part in it. 

The abbe, whose talents had made him indispensable in every company, declared that for that day he was the marquise's cavalier, a title whichhis sister-in-law, with her usual amiability, confirmed. Each of thehuntsmen, following this example, made choice of a lady to whom todedicate his attentions throughout the day; then, this chivalrousarrangement being completed, all present directed their course towardsthe place of meeting. 

That happened which almost always happens the dogs hunted on their ownaccount. Two or three sportsmen only followed the dogs; the rest gotlost. The abbe, in his character of esquire to the marquise, had notleft her for a moment, and had managed so cleverly that he wasalone with her--an opportunity which he had been seeking for a monthpreviously with no less care--than the marquise had been using to avoidit. No sooner, therefore, did the marquise believe herself aware thatthe abbe had intentionally turned aside from the hunt than she attemptedto gallop her horse in the opposite direction from that which she hadbeen following; but the abbe stopped her. The marquise neither could norwould enter upon a struggle; she resigned herself, therefore, to hearingwhat the abbe had to say to her, and her face assumed that air ofhaughty disdain which women so well know how to put on when they wisha man to understand that he has nothing to hope from them. There was aninstant's silence; the abbe was the first to break it. 

"Madame, " said he, "I ask your pardon for having used this means tospeak to you alone; but since, in spite of my rank of brother-in-law, you did not seem inclined to grant me that favour if I had asked it, Ithought it would be better for me, to deprive you of the power to refuseit me. "

"If you have hesitated to ask me so simple a thing, monsieur, " repliedthe marquise, "and if you have taken such precautions to compel me tolisten to you, it must, no doubt, be because you knew beforehand thatthe words you had to say to me were such as I could not hear. Have thegoodness, therefore, to reflect, before you open this conversation, that here as elsewhere I reserve the right--and I warn you of it--tointerrupt what you may say at the moment when it may cease to seem to mebefitting. "

"As to that, madame, " said the abbe, "I think I can answer for it thatwhatever it may please me to say to you, you will hear to the end;but indeed the matters are so simple that there is no need to makeyou uneasy beforehand: I wished to ask you, madame, whether you haveperceived a change in the conduct of your husband towards you. "

"Yes, monsieur, " replied the marquise, "and no single day has passed inwhich I have not thanked Heaven for this happiness. "

"And you have been wrong, madame, " returned the abbe, with one of thosesmiles that were peculiar to himself; "Heaven has nothing to do withit. Thank Heaven for having made you the most beautiful and charmingof women, and that will be enough thanksgiving without despoiling me ofsuch as belong to my share. "

"I do not understand you, monsieur, " said the marquise in an icy tone. 

"Well, I will make myself comprehensible, my dear sister-in-law. Iam the worker of the miracle for which you are thanking Heaven; to metherefore belongs your gratitude. Heaven is rich enough not to rob thepoor. "

"You are right, monsieur: if it is really to you that I owe this return, the cause of which I did not know, I will thank you in the first place;and then afterwards I will thank Heaven for having inspired you withthis good thought. "

"Yes, " answered the abbe, "but Heaven, which has inspired me with a goodthought, may equally well inspire me with a bad one, if the good thoughtdoes not bring me what I expect from it. "

"What do you mean, monsieur?"

"That there has never been more than one will in the family, and thatwill is mine; that the minds of my two brothers turn according to thefancy of that will like weathercocks before the wind, and that he whohas blown hot can blow cold. "

"I am still waiting for you to explain yourself, monsieur. "

"Well, then, my dear sister-in-law, since you are pleased not tounderstand me, I will explain myself more clearly. My brother turnedfrom you through jealousy; I wished to give you an idea of my power overhim, and from extreme indifference I have brought him back, by showinghim that he suspected you wrongly, to the ardours of the warmest love. Well, I need only tell him that I was mistaken, and fix his wanderingsuspicions upon any man whatever, and I shall take him away from you, even as I have brought him back. I need give you no proof of what I say;you know perfectly well that I am speaking the truth. "

"And what object had you, in acting this part?"

"To prove to you, madame, that at my will I can cause you to be sad orjoyful, cherished or neglected, adored or hated. Madame, listen to me: Ilove you. "

"You insult me, monsieur!" cried the marquise, trying to withdraw thebridle of her horse from the abbe's hands. 

"No fine words, my dear sister-in-law; for, with me, I warn you, theywill be lost. To tell a woman one loves her is never an insult; onlythere are a thousand different ways of obliging her to respond to thatlove. The error is to make a mistake in the way that one employs--thatis the whole of the matter. "

"And may I inquire which you have chosen?" asked the marquise, with acrushing smile of contempt. 

"The only one that could succeed with a calm, cold, strong woman likeyou, the conviction that your interest requires you to respond to mylove. "

"Since you profess to know me so well, " answered the marquise, withanother effort, as unsuccessful as the former, to free the bridle ofher horse, "you should know how a woman like me would receive such anoverture; say to yourself what I might say to you, and above all, what Imight say to my husband. "

The abbe smiled. 

"Oh, as to that, " he returned, "you can do as you please, madame. Tellyour husband whatever you choose; repeat our conversation word for word;add whatever your memory may furnish, true or false, that may be mostconvincing against me; then, when you have thoroughly given him his cue, when you think yourself sure of him, I will say two words to him, andturn him inside out like this glove. That is what I had to say to you, madame I will not detain you longer. You may have in me a devoted friendor a mortal enemy. Reflect. "

At these words the abbe loosed his hold upon the bridle of themarquise's horse and left her free to guide it as she would. Themarquise put her beast to a trot, so as to show neither fear nor haste. The abbe followed her, and both rejoined the hunt. 

The abbe had spoken truly. The marquise, notwithstanding the threatwhich she had made, reflected upon the influence which this man hadover her husband, and of which she had often had proof she kept silence, therefore, and hoped that he had made himself seem worse than he was, tofrighten her. On this point she was strangely mistaken. 

The abbe, however, wished to see, in the first place, whether themarquise's refusal was due to personal antipathy or to real virtue. Thechevalier, as has been said, was handsome; he had that usage of goodsociety which does instead of mind, and he joined to it the obstinacyof a stupid man; the abbe undertook to persuade him that he was in lovewith the marquise. It was not a difficult matter. We have describedthe impression made upon the chevalier by the first sight of Madamede Ganges; but, owing beforehand the reputation of austerity that hissister-in-law had acquired, he had not the remotest idea of paying courtto her. Yielding, indeed, to the influence which she exercised upon allwho came in contact with her, the chevalier had remained her devotedservant; and the marquise, having no reason to mistrust civilities whichshe took for signs of friendliness, and considering his position as herhusband's brother, treated him with less circumspection than was hercustom. 

The abbe sought him out, and, having made sure they were alone, said, "Chevalier, we both love the same woman, and that woman is our brother'swife; do not let us thwart each other: I am master of my passion, andcan the more easily sacrifice it to you that I believe you are the manpreferred; try, therefore, to obtain some assurance of the love which Isuspect the marquise of having for you; and from the day when you reachthat point I will withdraw, but otherwise, if you fail, give up yourplace civilly to me, that I may try, in my turn, whether her heart isreally impregnable, as everybody says. "

The chevalier had never thought of the possibility of winning themarquise; but from the moment in which his brother, with no apparentmotive of personal interest, aroused the idea that he might be beloved, every spark of passion and of vanity that still existed in thisautomaton took fire, and he began to be doubly assiduous and attentiveto his sister-in-law. She, who had never suspected any evil in thisquarter, treated the chevalier at first with a kindliness that washeightened by her scorn for the abbe. But, before long, the chevalier, misunderstanding the grounds of this kindliness, explained himself moreclearly. The marquise, amazed and at first incredulous, allowed him tosay enough to make his intentions perfectly clear; then she stopped him, as she had done the abbe, by some of those galling words which womenderive from their indifference even more than from their virtue. 

At this check, the chevalier, who was far from possessing his brother'sstrength and determination, lost all hope, and came candidly to own tothe latter the sad result of his attentions and his love. This was whatthe abbe had awaited, in the first place for the satisfaction of hisown vanity, and in the second place for the means of carrying out hisschemes. He worked upon the chevalier's humiliation until he had wroughtit into a solid hatred; and then, sure of having him for a supporter andeven for an accomplice, he began to put into execution his plan againstthe marquise. 

The consequence was soon shown in a renewal of alienation on the partof M. De Ganges. A young man whom the marquise sometimes met in society, and to whom, on account of his wit, she listened perhaps a little morewillingly than to others, became, if not the cause, at least the excuseof a fresh burst of jealousy. This jealousy was exhibited as on previousoccasions, by quarrels remote from the real grievance; but the marquisewas not deceived: she recognised in this change the fatal hand of herbrother-in-law. But this certainty, instead of drawing her towards him, increased her repulsion; and thenceforward she lost no opportunityof showing him not only that repulsion but also the contempt thataccompanied it. 

Matters remained in this state for some months. Every day the marquiseperceived her husband growing colder, and although the spies wereinvisible she felt herself surrounded by a watchfulness that tooknote of the most private details of her life. As to the abbe and thechevalier, they were as usual; only the abbe had hidden his hate behinda smile that was habitual, and the chevalier his resentment behind thatcold and stiff dignity in which dull minds enfold themselves when theybelieve themselves injured in their vanity. 

In the midst of all this, M. Joannis de Nocheres died, and added to thealready considerable fortune of his granddaughter another fortune offrom six to seven hundred thousand livres. 

This additional wealth became, on accruing to the marquise, what wasthen called, in countries where the Roman law prevailed, a 'paraphernal'estate that is to say that, falling in, after marriage? it was notincluded in the dowry brought by the wife, and that she coulddispose freely both of the capital and the income, which might not beadministered even by her husband without a power of attorney, and ofwhich she could dispose at pleasure, by donation or by will. And infact, a few days after the marquise had entered into possession of hergrandfather's estate, her husband and his brothers learned that she hadsent for a notary in order to be instructed as to her rights. This stepbetokened an intention of separating this inheritance from the commonproperty of the marriage; for the behaviour of the marquis towards hiswife--of which within himself he often recognised the injustice--lefthim little hope of any other explanation. 

About this time a strange event happened. At a dinner given by themarquise, a cream was served at dessert: all those who partook of thiscream were ill; the marquis and his two brothers, who had not touchedit, felt no evil effects. The remainder of this cream, which wassuspected of having caused illness to the guests, and particularly tothe marquise, who had taken of it twice, was analysed, and the presenceof arsenic in it demonstrated. Only, having been mixed with milk, whichis its antidote, the poison had lost some of its power, and had producedbut half the expected effect. As no serious disaster had followed thisoccurrence, the blame was thrown upon a servant, who was said to havemistaken arsenic for sugar, and everybody forgot it, or appeared toforget it. 

The marquis, however, seemed to be gradually and naturally drawingnearer again to his wife; but this time Madame de Ganges was notdeceived by his returning kindness. There, as in his alienation, she sawthe selfish hand of the abbe: he had persuaded his brother that sevenhundred thousand livres more in the house would make it worth whileto overlook some levities of behaviour; and the marquis, obeying theimpulse given, was trying, by kind dealing, to oppose his wife's stillunsettled intention of making a will. 

Towards the autumn there was talk of going to spend that season atGanges, a little town situated in Lower Languedoc, in the diocese ofMontpellier, seven leagues from that town, and nineteen from Avignon. Although this was natural enough, since the marquis was lord of the townand had a castle there, the marquise was seized by a strange shudderwhen she heard the proposal. Remembrance of the prediction made to herreturned immediately to her mind. The recent and ill explained attemptto poison her, too, very naturally added to her fears. 

Without directly and positively suspecting her brothers-in-law ofthat crime, she knew that in them she had two implacable enemies. Thisjourney to a little town, this abode in a lonely castle, amid new, unknown neighbours, seemed to her of no good omen; but open oppositionwould have been ridiculous. On what grounds, indeed, could she baseresistance? The marquise could only own her terrors by accusing herhusband and her brothers-in-law. And of what could she accuse them? Theincident of the poisoned cream was not a conclusive proof. She resolvedaccordingly to lock up all her fears in her heart, and to commit herselfto the hands of God. 

Nevertheless, she would not leave Avignon without signing the will whichshe had contemplated making ever since M. De Nocheres' death. A notarywas called in who drew up the document. The Marquise de Ganges made hermother, Madame de Rossan, her sole inheritor, and left in her chargethe duty of choosing between the testatrix's two children as to which ofthem should succeed to the estate. These two children were, one a boy ofsix years old, the other a girl of five. But this was not enough forthe marquise, so deep was her impression that she would not survivethis fatal journey; she gathered together, secretly and at night, themagistrates of Avignon and several persons of quality, belonging to thefirst families of the town, and there, before them, verbally at first, declared that, in case of her death, she begged the honourable witnesseswhom she had assembled on purpose, not to recognise as valid, voluntary, or freely written anything except the will which she had signed theday before, and affirmed beforehand that any later will which might beproduced would be the effect of fraud or of violence. Then, having madethis verbal declaration, the marquise repeated it in writing, signed thepaper containing it, and gave the paper to be preserved by the honour ofthose whom she constituted its guardians. Such a precaution, taken withsuch minute detail, aroused the lively curiosity of her hearers. Manypressing questions were put to the marquise, but nothing could beextracted from her except that she had reasons for her action which shecould not declare. The cause of this assemblage remained a secret, andevery person who formed part of it promised the marquise not to revealit. 

On the next day, which was that preceding her departure for Ganges, the marquise visited all the charitable institutions and religiouscommunities in Avignon; she left liberal alms everywhere, with therequest that prayers and masses should be said for her, in order toobtain from God's grace that she should not be suffered to die withoutreceiving the sacraments of the Church. In the evening, she tookleave of all her friends with the affection and the tears of a personconvinced that she was bidding them a last farewell; and finally shespent the whole night in prayer, and the maid who came to wake her foundher kneeling in the same spot where she, had left her the night before. 

The family set out for Ganges; the journey was performed withoutaccident. On reaching the castle, the marquise found her mother-in-lawthere; she was a woman of remarkable distinction and piety, and herpresence, although it was to be but temporary, reassured the poorfearful marquise a little. Arrangements had been made beforehand at theold castle, and the most convenient and elegant of the rooms had beenassigned to the marquise; it was on the first floor, and looked out upona courtyard shut in on all sides by stables. 

On the first evening that she was to sleep here, the marquise exploredthe room with the greatest attention. She inspected the cupboards, sounded the walls, examined the tapestry, and found nothing anywherethat could confirm her terrors, which, indeed, from that time began todecrease. At the end of a certain time; however, the marquis's motherleft Ganges to return to Montpellier. Two, days after her departure, themarquis talked of important business which required him to go back toAvignon, and he too left the castle. The marquise thus remained alonewith the abbe, the chevalier, and a chaplain named Perette, who had beenattached for five-and-twenty years to the family of the marquis. Therest of the household consisted of a few servants. 

The marquise's first care, on arriving at the castle, had been tocollect a little society for herself in the town. This was easy: notonly did her rank make it an honour to belong to her circle, her kindlygraciousness also inspired at first-sight the desire of having her fora friend. The marquise thus endured less dulness than she had atfirst feared. This precaution was by no means uncalled for; insteadof spending only the autumn at Ganges, the marquise was obliged, inconsequence of letters from her husband, to spend the winter there. During the whole of this time the abbe and the chevalier seemed to havecompletely forgotten their original designs upon her, and had againresumed the conduct of respectful, attentive brothers. But with allthis, M. De Ganges remained estranged, and the marquise, who had notceased to love him, though she began to lose her fear, did not lose hergrief. 

One day the abbe entered her room suddenly enough to surprise her beforeshe had time to dry her tears; the secret being thus half surprised, heeasily obtained a knowledge of the whole. The marquise owned to him thathappiness in this world was impossible for her so long as her husbandled this separate and hostile life. The abbe tried to console her; butamid his consolations he told her that the grief which she was sufferinghad its source in herself; that her husband was naturally wounded by herdistrust of him--a distrust of which the will, executed by her, was aproof, all the more humiliating because public, and that, while thatwill existed, she could expect no advances towards reconciliation fromher husband. For that time the conversation ended there. 

Some days later, the abbe came into the marquise's room with a letterwhich he had just received from his brother. This letter, supposedconfidential, was filled with tender complaints of his wife's conducttowards him, and showed, through every sentence, a depth of affectionwhich only wrongs as serious as those from which the marquis consideredhimself to be feeling could counterbalance. The marquise was, at first, very much touched by this letter; but having soon reflected that justsufficient time had elapsed since the explanation between herself andthe abbe for the marquis to be informed of it, she awaited further andstronger proofs before changing her mind. 

From day to day, however, the abbe, under the pretext of reconciling thehusband and wife, became more pressing upon the matter of the will, andthe marquise, to whom this insistence seemed rather alarming, began toexperience some of her former fears. Finally, the abbe pressed her sohard as to make her reflect that since, after the precautions which shehad taken at Avignon, a revocation could have no result, it would bebetter to seem to yield rather than irritate this man, who inspired herwith so great a fear, by constant and obstinate refusals. The next timethat he returned to the subject she accordingly replied that she wasready to offer her husband this new proof of her love if it would bringhim back to her, and having ordered a notary to be sent for, she made anew will, in the presence of the abbe and the chevalier, and constitutedthe marquis her residuary legatee. This second instrument bore date the5th of May 1667. The abbe and the chevalier expressed the greatest joythat this subject of discord was at last removed, and offered themselvesas guarantees, on their brother's behalf, of a better future. Somedays were passed in this hope, which a letter from the marquis came toconfirm; this letter at the same time announced his speedy return toGanges. 

On the 16th of May; the marquise, who for a month or two had not beenwell, determined to take medicine; she therefore informed the chemistof what she wanted, and asked him to make her up something at hisdiscretion and send it to her the next day. Accordingly, at the agreedhour in the morning, the draught was brought to the marquise; but itlooked to her so black and so thick that she felt some doubt of theskill of its compounder, shut it up in a cupboard in her room withoutsaying anything of the matter, and took from her dressing-case somepills, of a less efficacious nature indeed, but to which she wasaccustomed, and which were not so repugnant to her. 

The hour in which the marquise was to take this medicine was hardly overwhen the abbe and the chevalier sent to know how she was. She repliedthat she was quite well, and invited them to a collation which she wasgiving about four o'clock to the ladies who made up her little circle. An hour afterwards the abbe and the chevalier sent a second time toinquire after her; the marquise, without paying particular attention tothis excessive civility, which she remembered afterwards, sent word asbefore that she was perfectly well. The marquise had remained in bedto do the honours of her little feast, and never had she felt morecheerful. At the hour named all her guests arrived; the abbe and thechevalier were ushered in, and the meal was served. Neither one northe other would share it; the abbe indeed sat down to table, but thechevalier remained leaning on the foot of the bed. The abbe appearedanxious, and only roused himself with a start from his absorption; thenhe seemed to drive away some dominant idea, but soon the idea, strongerthan his will, plunged him again into a reverie, a state which struckeveryone the more particularly because it was far from his usualtemper. As to the chevalier, his eyes were fixed constantly upon hissister-in-law, but in this there was not, as in his brother's behaviour, anything surprising, since the marquise had never looked so beautiful. 

The meal over, the company took leave. The abbe escorted the ladiesdownstairs; the chevalier remained with the marquise; but hardly had theabbe left the room when Madame de Ganges saw the chevalier turn pale anddrop in a sitting position--he had been standing on the foot of the bed. The marquise, uneasy, asked what was the matter; but before he couldreply, her attention was called to another quarter. The abbe, as paleand as disturbed as the chevalier, came back into the room, carrying inhis hands a glass and a pistol, and double-locked the door behind him. Terrified at this spectacle, the marquise half raised herself in herbed, gazing voiceless and wordless. Then the abbe approached her, hislips trembling; his hair bristling and his eyes blazing, and, presentingto her the glass and the pistol, "Madame, " said he, after a moment ofterrible silence, "choose, whether poison, fire, or"--he made a sign tothe chevalier, who drew his sword--"or steel. "

The marquise had one moment's hope: at the motion which she saw thechevalier make she thought he was coming to her assistance; but beingsoon undeceived, and finding herself between two men, both threateningher, she slipped from her bed and fell on her knees. 

"What have I done, " she cried, "oh, my God? that you should thus decreemy death, and after having made yourselves judges should make yourselvesexecutioners? I am guilty of no fault towards you except of having beentoo faithful in my duty to my husband, who is your brother. "

Then seeing that it was vain to continue imploring the abbe, whose looksand gestures spoke a mind made up, she turned towards the chevalier. 

"And you too, brother, " said she, "oh, God, God! you, too! Oh, have pityon me, in the name of Heaven!"

But he, stamping his foot and pressing the point of his sword to herbosom, answered--

"Enough, madam, enough; take your choice without delay; for if you donot take it, we will take it for you. "

The marquise turned once again to the abbe, and her forehead struckthe muzzle of the pistol. Then she saw that she must die indeed, andchoosing of the three forms of death that which seemed to her the leastterrible, "Give me the poison, then, " said she, "and may God forgive youmy death!"

With these words she took the glass, but the thick black liquid of whichit was full aroused such repulsion that she would have attempted alast appeal; but a horrible imprecation from the abbe and a threateningmovement from his brother took from her the very last gleam of hope. Sheput the glass to her lips, and murmuring once more, "God! Saviour! havepity on me!" she swallowed the contents. 

As she did so a few drops of the liquid fell upon her breast, andinstantly burned her skin like live coals; indeed, this infernal draughtwas composed of arsenic and sublimate infused in aqua-fortis; then, thinking that no more would be required of her, she dropped the glass. 

The marquise was mistaken: the abbe picked it up, and observing thatall the sediment had remained at the bottom, he gathered together on asilver bodkin all that had coagulated on the sides of the glass and allthat had sunk to the bottom, and presenting this ball, which was aboutthe size of a nut, to the marquise, on the end of the bodkin, he said, "Come, madame, you must swallow the holy-water sprinkler. "

The marquise opened her lips, with resignation; but instead of doing asthe abbe commanded, she kept this remainder of the poison in her mouth, threw herself on the bed with a scream, and clasping the pillows, inher pain, she put out the poison between the sheets, unperceived by herassassins; and then turning back to them, folded her hands in entreatyand said, "In the name of God, since you have killed my body, at leastdo not destroy my soul, but send me a confessor. "

Cruel though the abbe and the chevalier were, they were no doubtbeginning to weary of such a scene; moreover, the mortal deed wasaccomplished--after what she had drunk, the marquise could live buta few minutes; at her petition they went out, locking the door behindthem. But no sooner did the marquise find herself alone than thepossibility of flight presented itself to her. She ran to the window:this was but twenty-two feet above the ground, but the earth belowwas covered with stones and rubbish. The marquise, being only in hernightdress, hastened to slip on a silk petticoat; but at the moment whenshe finished tying it round her waist she heard a step approaching herroom, and believing that her murderers were returning to make an endof her, she flew like a madwoman to the window. At the moment of hersetting foot on the window ledge, the door opened: the marquise, ceasingto consider anything, flung herself down, head first. 

Fortunately, the new-comer, who was the castle chaplain, had time toreach out and seize her skirt. The skirt, not strong enough to bear theweight of the marquise, tore; but its resistance, slight though it was, sufficed nevertheless to change the direction of her body: the marquise, whose head would have been shattered on the stones, fell on her feetinstead, and beyond their being bruised by the stones, received noinjury. Half stunned though she was by her fall, the marquise sawsomething coming after her, and sprang aside. It was an enormous pitcherof water, beneath which the priest, when he saw her escaping him, had tried to crush her; but either because he had ill carried out hisattempt or because the marquise had really had time to move away, thevessel was shattered at her feet without touching her, and the priest, seeing that he had missed his aim, ran to warn the abbe and thechevalier that the victim was escaping. 

As for the marquise, she had hardly touched the ground, when withadmirable presence of mind she pushed the end of one of her long plaitsso far down her throat as to provoke a fit of vomiting; this was themore easily done that she had eaten heartily of the collation, andhappily the presence of the food had prevented the poison from attackingthe coats of the stomach so violently as would otherwise have been thecase. Scarcely had she vomited when a tame boar swallowed what she hadrejected, and falling into a convulsion, died immediately. 

As we have said, the room looked upon an enclosed courtyard; and themarquise at first thought that in leaping from her room into thiscourt she had only changed her prison; but soon perceiving a light thatflickered from an upper window of ore of the stables, she ran thither, and found a groom who was just going to bed. 

"In the name of Heaven, my good man, " said she to him, "save me! I ampoisoned! They want to kill me! Do not desert me, I entreat you! Havepity on me, open this stable for me; let me get away! Let me escape!"

The groom did not understand much of what the marquise said to him; butseeing a woman with disordered hair, half naked, asking help of him, hetook her by the arm, led her through the stables, opened a door for her, and the marquise found herself in the street. Two women were passing;the groom put her into their hands, without being able to explain tothem what he did not know himself. As for the marquise, she seemed ableto say nothing beyond these words: "Save me! I am poisoned! In the nameof Heaven, save me!"

All at once she escaped from their hands and began to run like a madwoman; she had seen, twenty steps away, on the threshold of the door bywhich she had come, her two murderers in pursuit of her. 

Then they rushed after her; she shrieking that she was poisoned, theyshrieking that she was mad; and all this happening amid a crowd which, not knowing what part to take, divided and made way for the victim andthe murderers. Terror gave the marquise superhuman strength: the womanwho was accustomed to walk in silken shoes upon velvet carpets, ran withbare and bleeding feet over stocks and stones, vainly asking help, which none gave her; for, indeed, seeing her thus, in mad flight, ina nightdress, with flying hair, her only garment a tattered silkpetticoat, it was difficult not to--think that this woman was, as herbrothers-in-law said, mad. 

At last the chevalier came up with her, stopped her, dragged her, inspite of her screams, into the nearest house, and closed the door behindthem, while the abbe, standing at the threshold with a pistol inhis hand, threatened to blow out the brains of any person who shouldapproach. 

The house into which the chevalier and the marquise had gone belongedto one M. Desprats, who at the moment was from home, and whose wife wasentertaining several of her friends. The marquise and the chevalier, still struggling together, entered the room where the company wasassembled: as among the ladies present were several who also visited themarquise, they immediately arose, in the greatest amazement, to give herthe assistance that she implored; but the chevalier hastily pushedthem aside, repeating that the marquise was mad. To this reiteratedaccusation--to which, indeed, appearances lent only too great aprobability--the marquise replied by showing her burnt neck and herblackened lips, and wringing her hands in pain, cried out that she waspoisoned, that she was going to die, and begged urgently for milk, or atleast for water. Then the wife of a Protestant minister, whose name wasMadame Brunel, slipped into her hand a box of orvietan, some pieces ofwhich she hastened to swallow, while another lady gave her a glass ofwater; but at the instant when she was lifting it to her mouth, thechevalier broke it between her teeth, and one of the pieces of glass cuther lips. At this, all the women would have flung themselves upon thechevalier; but the marquise, fearing that he would only become moreenraged, and hoping to disarm him, asked, on the contrary, that shemight be left alone with him: all the company, yielding to her desire, passed into the next room; this was what the chevalier, on his part, too, asked. 

Scarcely were they alone, when the marquise, joining her hands, kneltto him and said in the gentlest and most appealing voice that it waspossible to use, "Chevalier, my dear brother, will you not have pityupon me, who have always had so much affection for you, and who, evennow, would give my blood for your service? You know that the things Iam saying are not merely empty words; and yet how is it you are treatingme, though I have not deserved it? And what will everyone say to suchdealings? Ah, brother, what a great unhappiness is mine, to have been socruelly treated by you! And yet--yes, brother--if you will deign to havepity on me and to save my life, I swear, by my hope of heaven, to keepno remembrance of what has happened; and to consider you always as myprotector and my friend. "

All at once the marquise rose with a great cry and clasped her hand toher right side. While she was speaking, and before she perceived what hewas doing, the chevalier had drawn his sword, which was very short, andusing it as a dagger, had struck her in the breast; this first blow wasfollowed by a second, which came in contact with the shoulder blade, and so was prevented from going farther. At these two blows the marquiserushed towards the door, of the room into which the ladies had retired, crying, "Help! He is killing me!"

But during the time that she took to cross the room the chevalierstabbed her five times in the back with his sword, and would no doubthave done more, if at the last blow his sword had not broken; indeed, he had struck with such force that the fragment remained embedded in hershoulder, and the marquise fell forward on the floor, in a pool of herblood, which was flowing all round her and spreading through the room. 

The chevalier thought he had killed her, and hearing the women runningto her assistance, he rushed from the room. The abbe was still at thedoor, pistol in hand; the chevalier took him by the arm to drag himaway, and as the abbe hesitated to follow, he said:--

"Let us go, abbe; the business is done. "

The chevalier and the abbe had taken a few steps in the street when awindow opened and the women who had found the marquise expiring calledout for help: at these cries the abbe stopped short, and holding backthe chevalier by the arm, demanded--

"What was it you said, chevalier? If they are calling help, is she notdead, after all?"

"'Ma foi', go and see for yourself, " returned the chevalier. "I havedone enough for my share; it is your turn now. "

"'Pardieu', that is quite my opinion, " cried the abbe; and rushing backto the house, he flung himself into the room at the moment when thewomen, lifting the marquise with great difficulty, for she was so weakthat she could no longer help herself, were attempting to carry her tobed. The abbe pushed them away, and arriving at the marquise, put hispistol to her heart; but Madame Brunel, the same who had previouslygiven the marquise a box of orvietan, lifted up the barrel with herhand, so that the shot went off into the air, and the bullet insteadof striking the marquise lodged in the cornice of the ceiling. The abbethen took the pistol by the barrel and gave Madame Brunet so violent ablow upon the head with the butt that she staggered and almost fell; hewas about to strike her again, but all the women uniting against him, pushed him, with thousands of maledictions, out of the room, andlocked the door behind him. The two assassins, taking advantage of thedarkness, fled from Ganges, and reached Aubenas, which is a full leagueaway, about ten in the evening. 

Meanwhile the women were doing all they could for the marquise. Theirfirst intention, as we have already said, was to put her to bed, but thebroken sword blade made her unable to lie down, and they tried in vainto pull it out, so deeply had it entered the bone. Then the marquiseherself showed Madame Brunei what method to take: the operating lady wasto sit on the bed, and while the others helped to hold up the marquise, was to seize the blade with both hands, and pressing her--knees againstthe patient's back, to pull violently and with a great jerk. This planat last succeeded, and the marquise was able to get to bed; it was ninein the evening, and this horrible tragedy had been going on for nearlythree hours. 

The magistrates of Ganges, being informed of what had happened, andbeginning to believe that it was really a case of murder, came inperson, with a guard, to the marquise. As soon as she saw them come inshe recovered strength, and raising herself in bed, so great was herfear, clasped her hands and besought their protection; for shealways expected to see one or the other of her murderers return. Themagistrates told her to reassure herself, set armed men to guard allthe approaches to the house, and while physicians and surgeons were, summoned in hot haste from Montpellier, they on their part sent word tothe Baron de Trissan, provost of Languedoc, of the crime that hadjust been committed, and gave him the names and the description of themurderers. That official at once sent people after them, but it wasalready too late: he learned that the abbe and the chevalier had sleptat Aubenas on the night of the murder, that there they had reproachedeach other for their unskilfulness, and had come near cutting eachother's throats, that finally they had departed before daylight, and hadtaken a boat, near Agde, from a beach called the "Gras de Palaval. "

The Marquis de Ganges was at Avignon, where he was prosecuting a servantof his who had robbed him of two hundred crowns; when he heard news ofthe event. He turned horribly pale as he listened to the messenger'sstory, then falling into a violent fury against his brothers, he sworethat they should have no executioners other than himself. Nevertheless, though he was so uneasy about the marquise's condition, he waited untilthe next day in the afternoon before setting forth, and during theinterval he saw some of his friends at Avignon without saying anythingto them of the matter. He did not reach Ganges until four days after themurder, then he went to the house of M. Desprats and asked to see hiswife, whom some kind priests had already prepared for the meeting; andthe marquise, as soon as she heard of his arrival, consented to receivehim. The marquis immediately entered the room, with his eyes full oftears, tearing his hair, and giving every token of the deepest despair. 

The marquise receivers her husband like a forgiving wife and a dyingChristian. She scarcely even uttered some slight reproaches aboutthe manner in which he had deserted her; moreover, the marquis havingcomplained to a monk of these reproaches, and the monk having reportedhis complaints to the marquise, she called her husband to her bedside, at a moment when she was surrounded by people, and made him a publicapology, begging him to attribute the words that seemed to have woundedhim to the effect of her sufferings, and not to any failure in herregard for him. The marquis, left alone with his wife, tried to takeadvantage of this reconciliation to induce her to annul the declarationthat she had made before the magistrates of Avignon; for the vice-legateand his officers, faithful to the promises made to the marquise, hadrefused to register the fresh donation which she had made at Ganges, according to the suggestions of the abbe, and which the latter had sentoff, the very moment it was signed, to his brother. But on this pointthe marquise was immovably resolute, declaring that this fortune wasreserved for her children and therefore sacred to her, and that shecould make no alteration in what had been done at Avignon, sinceit represented her genuine and final wishes. Notwithstanding thisdeclaration, the marquis did not cease to--remain beside his wife and tobestow upon her every care possible to a devoted and attentive husband. 

Two days later than the Marquis de Ganges arrived Madame de Rossangreat was her amazement, after all the rumours that were already incirculation about the marquis, at finding her daughter in the hands ofhim whom she regarded as one of her murderers. But the marquise, farfrom sharing that opinion, did all she could, not only to make hermother feel differently, but even to induce her to embrace the marquisas a son. This blindness on the part of the marquise caused Madame deRossan so much grief that notwithstanding her profound affection for herdaughter she would only stay two days, and in spite of the entreatiesthat the dying woman made to her, she returned home, not allowinganything to stop her. This departure was a great grief to the marquise, and was the reason why she begged with renewed entreaties to be taken toMontpellier. The very sight of the place where she had been so cruellytortured continually brought before her, not only the remembrance ofthe murder, but the image of the murderers, who in her brief moments ofsleep so haunted her that she sometimes awoke suddenly, uttering shrieksand calling for help. Unfortunately, the physician considered her tooweak to bear removal, and declared that no change of place could be madewithout extreme danger. 

Then, when she heard this verdict, which had to be repeated to her, and which her bright and lively complexion and brilliant eyes seemed tocontradict, the marquise turned all her thoughts towards holy things, and thought only of dying like a saint after having already sufferedlike a martyr. She consequently asked to receive the last sacrament, andwhile it was being sent for, she repeated her apologies to her husbandand her forgiveness of his brothers, and this with a gentleness that, joined to her beauty, made her whole personality appear angelic. When, however, the priest bearing the viaticum entered, this expressionsuddenly changed, and her face presented every token of the greatestterror. She had just recognised in the priest who was bringing her thelast consolations of Heaven the infamous Perette, whom she could notbut regard as an accomplice of the abbe and the chevalier, since, afterhaving tried to hold her back, he had attempted to crush her beneath thepitcher of water which he had thrown at her from the window, and since, when he saw her escaping, he had run to warn her assassins and to setthem on her track. She recovered herself quickly, however, and seeingthat the priest, without any sign of remorse, was drawing near to herbedside, she would not cause so great a scandal as would have beencaused by denouncing him at such a moment. Nevertheless, bending towardshim, she said, "Father, I hope that, remembering what has passed, and inorder to dispel fears that--I may justifiably entertain, you will makeno difficulty of partaking with me of the consecrated wafer; for I havesometimes heard it said that the body of our Lord Jesus Christ, whileremaining a token of salvation, has been known to be made a principle ofdeath. "

The priest inclined his head as a sign of assent. 

So the marquise communicated thus, taking a sacrament that she sharedwith one of her murderers, as an evidence that she forgave this one likethe others and that she prayed God to forgive them as she herself did. 

The following days passed without any apparent increase in her illness, the fever by which she was consumed rather enhancing her beauties, andimparting to her voice and gestures a vivacity which they had never hadbefore. Thus everybody had begun to recover hope, except herself, who, feeling better than anyone else what was her true condition, never for amoment allowed herself any illusion, and keeping her son, who was sevenyears old, constantly beside her bed, bade him again and again look wellat her, so that, young as he was, he might remember her all his life andnever forget her in his prayers. The poor child would burst into tearsand promise not only to remember her but also to avenge her when he wasa man. At these words the marquise gently reproved him, telling him thatall vengeance belonged to the king and to God, and that all cares of thekind must be left to those two great rulers of heaven and of earth. 

On the 3rd of June, M. Catalan, a councillor, appointed as acommissioner by the Parliament of Toulouse, arrived at Ganges, togetherwith all the officials required by his commission; but he could notsee the marquise that night, for she had dozed for some hours, and thissleep had left a sort of torpor upon her mind, which might have impairedthe lucidity of her depositions. The next morning, without askinganybody's opinion, M. Catalan repaired to the house of M. Desprats, and in spite of some slight resistance on the part of those who were incharge of her, made his way to the presence of the marquise. The dyingwoman received him with an admirable presence of mind, that made M. Catalan think there had been an intention the night before to preventany meeting between him and the person whom he was sent to interrogate. At first the marquise would relate nothing that had passed, sayingthat she could not at the same time accuse and forgive; but M. Catalanbrought her to see that justice required truth from her before allthings, since, in default of exact information, the law might go astray, and strike the innocent instead of the guilty. This last argumentdecided the marquise, and during the hour and a half that he spent alonewith her she told him all the details of this horrible occurrence. On the morrow M. Catalan was to see her again; but on the morrow themarquise was, in truth, much worse. He assured himself of this by hisown eyes, and as he knew almost all that he wished to know, did notinsist further, for fear of fatiguing her. 

Indeed, from that day forward, such atrocious sufferings laid hold uponthe marquise, that notwithstanding the firmness which she had alwaysshown, and which she tried to maintain to the end, she could not preventherself from uttering screams mingled with prayers. In this manner shespent the whole day of the 4th and part of the 5th. At last, on thatday, which was a Sunday, towards four o'clock in the afternoon, sheexpired. 

The body was immediately opened, and the physicians attested that themarquise had died solely from the power of the poison, none of the sevensword cuts which she had received being, mortal. They found the stomachand bowels burned and the brain blackened. However, in spite of thatinfernal draught, which, says the official report, "would have killeda lioness in a few hours, " the marquise struggled for nineteen days, somuch, adds an account from which we have borrowed some of these details, so much did nature lovingly defend the beautiful body that she had takenso much trouble to make. 

M. Catalan, the very moment he was informed of the marquise's death, having with him twelve guards belonging to the governor, ten archers, and a poqueton, --despatched them to the marquis's castle with ordersto seize his person, that of the priest, and those of all the servantsexcept the groom who had assisted the marquise in her flight. Theofficer in command of this little squad found the marquis walking up anddown, melancholy and greatly disturbed, in the large hall of the castle, and when he signified to him the order of which he was the bearer, themarquis, without making any resistance, and as though prepared forwhat was happening to him, replied that he was ready to obey, and thatmoreover he had always intended to go before the Parliament to accusethe murderers of his wife. He was asked for the key of his cabinet, which he gave up, and the order was given to conduct him, with the otherpersons accused, to the prisons of Montpellier. As soon as the marquiscame into that town, the report of his arrival spread with incrediblerapidity from street to street. Then, as it was dark, lights came toall the windows, and people corning out with torches formed a torchlightprocession, by means of which everybody could see him. He, like thepriest, was mounted on a sorry hired horse, and entirely surrounded byarchers, to whom, no doubt, he owed his life on this occasion; for theindignation against him was so great that everyone was egging on hisneighbours to tear him limb from limb, which would certainly have cometo pass had he not been so carefully defended and guarded. 

Immediately upon receiving news of her daughter's death, Madame deRossan took possession of all her property, and, making herself a partyto the case, declared that she would never desist from her suit untilher daughter's death was avenged. M. Catalan began the examination atonce, and the first interrogation to which he submitted the marquislasted eleven hours. Then soon afterwards he and the other personsaccused were conveyed from the prisons of Montpellier to those ofToulouse. A crushing memorial by Madame de Rossan followed them, inwhich she demonstrated with absolute clearness that the marquis hadparticipated in the crime of his two brothers, if not in act, inthought, desire, and intention. 

The marquis's defence was very simple: it was his misfortune to have hadtwo villains for brothers, who had made attempts first upon the honourand then upon the life of a wife whom he loved tenderly; they haddestroyed her by a most atrocious death, and to crown his evil fortune, he, the innocent, was accused of having had a hand in that death. And, indeed, the examinations in the trial did not succeed in bringingany evidence against the marquis beyond moral presumptions, which, itappears, were insufficient to induce his judges to award a sentence ofdeath. 

A verdict was consequently given, upon the 21st of August, 1667, whichsentenced the abbe and the chevalier de Ganges to be broken alive on thewheel, the Marquis de Ganges to perpetual banishment from the kingdom, his property to be confiscated to the king, and himself to lose hisnobility and to become incapable of succeeding to the property of hischildren. As for the priest Perette, he was sentenced to the galleys forlife, after having previously been degraded from his clerical orders bythe ecclesiastical authorities. 

This sentence made as great a stir as the murder had done, and gaverise, in that period when "extenuating circumstances" had not beeninvented, to long and angry discussions. Indeed, the marquis either wasguilty of complicity or was not: if he was not, the punishment was toocruel; if he was, the sentence was too light. Such was the opinion ofLouis XIV. , who remembered the beauty of the Marquis de Ganges; for, some time afterwards, when he was believed to have forgotten thisunhappy affair, and when he was asked to pardon the Marquis de la Douze, who was accused of having poisoned his wife, the king answered, "Thereis no need for a pardon, since he belongs to the Parliament of Toulouse, and the Marquis de Ganges did very well without one. "

It may easily be supposed that this melancholy event did not passwithout inciting the wits of the day to write a vast number of versesand bouts-rimes about the catastrophe by which one of the most beautifulwomen of the country was carried off. Readers who have a taste forthat sort of literature are referred to the journals and memoirs of thetimes. 

Now, as our readers, if they have taken any interest at all in theterrible tale just narrated, will certainly ask what became of themurderers, we will proceed to follow their course until the moment whenthey disappeared, some into the night of death, some into the darknessof oblivion. 

The priest Perette was the first to pay his debt to Heaven: he died atthe oar on the way from Toulouse to Brest. 

The chevalier withdrew to Venice, took service in the army of the MostSerene Republic, then at war with Turkey, and was sent to Candia, whichthe Mussulmans had been besieging for twenty years; he had scarcelyarrived there when, as he was walking on the ramparts of the town withtwo other officers, a shell burst at their feet, and a fragment of itkilled the chevalier without so much as touching his companions, so thatthe event was regarded as a direct act of Providence. 

As for the abbe, his story is longer and stranger. He parted from thechevalier in the neighbourhood of Genoa, and crossing the whole ofPiedmont, part of Switzerland, and a corner of Germany, entered Hollandunder the name of Lamartelliere. After many hesitations as to the placewhere he would settle, he finally retired to Viane, of which the Countof Lippe was at that time sovereign; there he made the acquaintance of agentleman who presented him to the count as a French religious refugee. 

The count, even in this first conversation, found that the foreignerwho had come to seek safety in his dominions possessed not only greatintelligence but a very solid sort of intelligence, and seeing that theFrenchman was conversant with letters and with learning, proposed thathe should undertake the education of his son, who at that time wasnine years old. Such a proposal was a stroke of fortune for the abbe deGanges, and he did not dream of refusing it. 

The abbe de Ganges was one of those men who have great mastery overthemselves: from the moment when he saw that his interest, nay, the verysafety of his life required it, he concealed with extreme care whateverbad passions existed within him, and only allowed his good qualities toappear. He was a tutor who supervised the heart as sharply as the mind, and succeeded in making of his pupil a prince so accomplished in bothrespects, that the Count of Lippe, making use of such wisdom and suchknowledge, began to consult the tutor upon all matters of State, sothat in course of time the so-called Lamartelliere, without holding anypublic office, had become the soul of the little principality. 

The countess had a young relation living with her, who though withoutfortune was of a great family, and for whom the countess had a deepaffection; it did not escape her notice that her son's tutor hadinspired this poor young girl with warmer feelings than became her highstation, and that the false Lamartelliere, emboldened by his own growingcredit, had done all he could to arouse and keep up these feelings. Thecountess sent for her cousin, and having drawn from her a confession ofher love, said that she herself had indeed a great regard for her son'sgovernor, whom she and her husband intended to reward with pensions andwith posts for the services he had rendered to their family and to theState, but that it was too lofty an ambition for a man whose name wasLamartelliere, and who had no relations nor family that could be owned, to aspire to the hand of a girl who was related to a royal house; andthat though she did not require that the man who married her cousinshould be a Bourbon, a Montmorency, or a Rohan, she did at least desirethat he should be somebody, though it were but a gentleman of Gascony orPoitou. 

The Countess of Lippe's young kinswoman went and repeated this answer, word for word, to her lover, expecting him to be overwhelmed by it; but, on the contrary, he replied that if his birth was the only obstacle thatopposed their union, there might be means to remove it. In fact, theabbe, having spent eight years at the prince's court, amid the strongesttestimonies of confidence and esteem, thought himself sure enough of theprince's goodwill to venture upon the avowal of his real name. 

He therefore asked an audience of the countess, who immediately grantedit. Bowing to her respectfully, he said, "Madame, I had flattered myselfthat your Highness honoured me with your esteem, and yet you now opposemy happiness: your Highness's relative is willing to accept me as ahusband, and the prince your son authorises my wishes and pardons myboldness; what have I done to you, madame, that you alone should beagainst me? and with what can you reproach me during the eight yearsthat I have had the honour of serving your Highness?"

"I have nothing to reproach you with, monsieur, " replied the countess:"but I do not wish to incur reproach on my own part by permitting sucha marriage: I thought you too sensible and reasonable a man to needreminding that, while you confined yourself to suitable requests andmoderate ambitions, you had reason to be pleased with our gratitude. Do you ask that your salary shall be doubled? The thing is easy. Do youdesire important posts? They shall be given you; but do not, sir, sofar forget yourself as to aspire to an alliance that you cannot flatteryourself with a hope of ever attaining. "

"But, madame, " returned the petitioner, "who told you that my birth wasso obscure as to debar me from all hope of obtaining your consent?"

"Why, you yourself, monsieur, I think, " answered the countess inastonishment; "or if you did not say so, your name said so for you. "

"And if that name is not mine, madame?" said the abbe, growing bolder;"if unfortunate, terrible, fatal circumstances have compelled me to takethat name in order to hide another that was too unhappily famous, wouldyour Highness then be so unjust as not to change your mind?"

"Monsieur, " replied the countess, "you have said too much now not togo on to the end. Who are you? Tell me. And if, as you give me tounderstand, you are of good birth, I swear to you that want of fortuneshall not stand in the way. "

"Alas, madame, " cried the abbe, throwing himself at her feet, "my name, I am sure, is but too familiar to your Highness, and I would willinglyat this moment give half my blood that you had never heard it uttered;but you have said it, madame, have gone too far to recede. Well, then, Iam that unhappy abbe de Ganges whose crimes are known and of whom I havemore than once heard you speak. "

"The abbe de Ganges!" cried the countess in horror, --"the abbe deGanges! You are that execrable abbe de Ganges whose very name makesone shudder? And to you, to a man thus infamous, we have entrusted theeducation of our only son? Oh, I hope, for all our sakes, monsieur, thatyou are speaking falsely; for if you were speaking the truth I think Ishould have you arrested this very instant and taken back to France toundergo your punishment. The best thing you can do, if what you havesaid to me is true, is instantly to leave not only the castle, but thetown and the principality; it will be torment enough for the rest of mylife whenever I think that I have spent seven years under the same roofwith you. "

The abbe would have replied; but the countess raised her voice so much, that the young prince, who had been won over to his tutor's interestsand who was listening at his mother's door, judged that his protege'sbusiness was taking an unfavourable turn; and went in to try and putthings right. He found his mother so much alarmed that she drew himto her by an instinctive movement, as though to put herself underhis protection, and beg and pray as he might; he could only obtainpermission for his tutor to go away undisturbed to any country of theworld that he might prefer, but with an express prohibition of everagain entering the presence of the Count or the Countess of Lippe. 

The abbe de Ganges withdrew to Amsterdam, where he became a teacher oflanguages, and where his lady-love soon after came to him and marriedhim: his pupil, whom his parents could not induce, even when they toldhim the real name of the false Lamartelliere, to share their horrorof him, gave him assistance as long as he needed it; and this state ofthings continued until upon his wife attaining her majority he enteredinto possession of some property that belonged to her. His regularconduct and his learning, which had been rendered more solid by long andserious study, caused him to be admitted into the Protestant consistory;there, after an exemplary life, he died, and none but God ever knewwhether it was one of hypocrisy or of penitence. 

As for the Marquis de Ganges, who had been sentenced, as we have seen, to banishment and the confiscation of his property, he was conducted tothe frontier of Savoy and there set at liberty. After having spent twoor three years abroad, so that the terrible catastrophe in which he hadbeen concerned should have time to be hushed up, he came back to France, and as nobody--Madame de Rossan being now dead--was interested inprosecuting him, he returned to his castle at Ganges, and remainedthere, pretty well hidden. M. De Baville, indeed, the Lieutenant ofLanguedoc, learned that the marquis had broken from his exile; but hewas told, at the same time, that the marquis, as a zealous Catholic, wasforcing his vassals to attend mass, whatever their religion might be:this was the period in which persons of the Reformed Church were beingpersecuted, and the zeal of the marquis appeared to M. De Baville tocompensate and more than compensate for the peccadillo of which he hadbeen accused; consequently, instead of prosecuting him, he entered intosecret communication with him, reassuring him about his stay in France, and urging on his religious zeal; and in this manner twelve years passedby. 

During this time the marquise's young son, whom we saw at his mother'sdeathbed, had reached the age of twenty, and being rich in his father'spossessions--which his uncle had restored to him--and also by hismother's inheritance, which he had shared with his sister, had marrieda girl of good family, named Mademoiselle de Moissac, who was bothrich and beautiful. Being called to serve in the royal army, the countbrought his young wife to the castle of Ganges, and, having ferventlycommended her to his father, left her in his charge. 

The Marquis de Ganges was forty-two veers old, and scarcely seemedthirty; he was one of the handsomest men living; he fell in love withhis daughter-in-law and hoped to win her love, and in order to promotethis design, his first care was to separate from her, under the excuseof religion, a maid who had been with her from childhood and to whom shewas greatly attached. 

This measure, the cause of which the young marquise did not know, distressed her extremely. It was much against her will that she had cometo live at all in this old castle of Ganges, which had so recently beenthe scene of the terrible story that we have just told. She inhabitedthe suite of rooms in which the murder had been committed; herbedchamber was the same which had belonged to the late marquise; her bedwas the same; the window by which she had fled was before her eyes; andeverything, down to the smallest article of furniture, recalled to herthe details of that savage tragedy. But even worse was her case whenshe found it no longer possible to doubt her father-in-law's intentions;when she saw herself beloved by one whose very name had again and againmade her childhood turn pale with terror, and when she was left alone atall hours of the day in the sole company of the man whom public rumourstill pursued as a murderer. Perhaps in any other place the poor lonelygirl might have found some strength in trusting herself to God; butthere, where God had suffered one of the fairest and purest creaturesthat ever existed to perish by so cruel a death, she dared not appeal toHim, for He seemed to have turned away from this family. 

She waited, therefore, in growing terror; spending her days, as muchas she could, with the women of rank who lived in the little town ofGanges, and some of whom, eye-witnesses of her mother-in-law's murder, increased her terrors by the accounts which they gave of it, and whichshe, with the despairing obstinacy of fear, asked to hear again andagain. As to her nights, she spent the greater part of them on herknees, and fully dressed, trembling at the smallest sound; onlybreathing freely as daylight came back, and then venturing to seek herbed for a few hours' rest. 

At last the marquis's attempts became so direct and so pressing, thatthe poor young woman resolved to escape at all costs from his hands. Herfirst idea was to write to her father, explain to him her position andask help; but her father had not long been a Catholic, and had sufferedmuch on behalf of the Reformed religion, and on these accounts it wasclear that her letter would be opened by the marquis on pretext ofreligion, and thus that step, instead of saving, might destroy her. Shehad thus but one resource: her husband had always been a Catholic; herhusband was a captain of dragoons, faithful in the service of the kingand faithful in the service of God; there could be no excuse for openinga letter to him; she resolved to address herself to him, explained theposition in which she found herself, got the address written by anotherhand, and sent the letter to Montpellier, where it was posted. 

The young marquis was at Metz when he received his wife's missive. Atthat instant all his childish memories awoke; he beheld himself at hisdying mother's bedside, vowing never to forget her and to pray daily forher. The image presented itself of this wife whom he adored, in the sameroom, exposed to the same violence, destined perhaps to the same fate;all this was enough to lead him to take positive action: he flunghimself into a post-chaise, reached Versailles, begged an audience ofthe king, cast himself, with his wife's letter in his hand, at thefeet of Louis XIV, and besought him to compel his father to return intoexile, where he swore upon has honour that he would send him everythinghe could need in order to live properly. 

The king was not aware that the Marquis do Ganges had disobeyed thesentence of banishment, and the manner in which he learned it was notsuch as to make him pardon the contradiction of his laws. In consequencehe immediately ordered that if the Marquis de Ganges were found inFrance he should be proceeded against with the utmost rigour. 

Happily for the marquis, the Comte de Ganges, the only one of hisbrothers who had remained in France, and indeed in favour, learned theking's decision in time. He took post from Versailles, and making thegreatest haste, went to warn him of the danger that was threatening;both together immediately left Ganges, and withdrew to Avignon. Thedistrict of Venaissin, still belonging at that time to the pope andbeing governed by a vice-legate, was considered as foreign territory. There he found his daughter, Madame d'Urban, who did all she could toinduce him to stay with her; but to do so would have been to flout LouisXIV's orders too publicly, and the marquis was afraid to remain so muchin evidence lest evil should befall him; he accordingly retired to thelittle village of l'Isle, built in a charming spot near the fountainof Vaucluse; there he was lost sight of; none ever heard him spoken ofagain, and when I myself travelled in the south of France in 1835, Isought in vain any trace of the obscure and forgotten death which closedso turbulent and stormy an existence. 

As, in speaking of the last adventures of the Marquis de Ganges, we havementioned the name of Madame d'Urban, his daughter, we cannot exemptourselves from following her amid the strange events of her life, scandalous though they may be; such, indeed, was the fate of thisfamily, that it was to occupy the attention of France through well-nigha century, either by its crimes or by its freaks. 

On the death of the marquise, her daughter, who was barely six yearsold, had remained in the charge of the dowager Marquise de Ganges, who, when she had attained her twelfth year, presented to her as her husbandthe Marquis de Perrant, formerly a lover of the grandmother herself. Themarquis was seventy years of age, having been born in the reign of HenryIV; he had seen the court of Louis XIII and that of Louis XIV's youth, and he had remained one of its most elegant and favoured nobles; he hadthe manners of those two periods, the politest that the world has known, so that the young girl, not knowing as yet the meaning of marriageand having seen no other man, yielded without repugnance, and thoughtherself happy in becoming the Marquise de Perrant. 

The marquis, who was very rich, had quarrelled With his younger brother, and regarded him with such hatred that he was marrying only to deprivehis brother of the inheritance that would rightfully accrue to him, should the elder die childless. Unfortunately, the marquis soonperceived that the step which he had taken, however efficacious in thecase of another man, was likely to be fruitless in his own. He did not, however, despair, and waited two or three years, hoping every day thatHeaven would work a miracle in his favour; but as every day diminishedthe chances of this miracle, and his hatred for his brother grew withthe impossibility of taking revenge upon him, he adopted a strange andaltogether antique scheme, and determined, like the ancient Spartans, toobtain by the help of another what Heaven refused to himself. 

The marquis did not need to seek long for the man who should givehim his revenge: he had in his house a young page, some seventeen oreighteen years old, the son of a friend of his, who, dying withoutfortune, had on his deathbed particularly commended the lad to themarquis. This young man, a year older than his mistress, could not becontinually about her without falling passionately in love with her; andhowever much he might endeavour to hide his love, the poor youth was asyet too little practised in dissimulation to succeed iii concealing itfrom the eyes of the marquis, who, after having at first observed itsgrowth with uneasiness, began on the contrary to rejoice in it, from themoment when he had decided upon the scheme that we have just mentioned. 

The marquis was slow to decide but prompt to execute. Having taken hisresolution, he summoned his page, and, after having made him promiseinviolable secrecy, and having undertaken, on that condition, to provehis gratitude by buying him a regiment, explained what was expected ofhim. The poor youth, to whom nothing could have been more unexpectedthan such a communication, took it at first for a trick by which themarquis meant to make him own his love, and was ready to throwhimself at his feet and declare everything; but the marquis seeing hisconfusion, and easily guessing its cause, reassured him completely byswearing that he authorised him to take any steps in order to attain theend that the marquis had in view. As in his inmost heart the aim ofthe young man was the same, the bargain was soon struck: the page boundhimself by the most terrible oaths to keep the secret; and the marquis, in order to supply whatever assistance was in his power, gave him moneyto spend, believing that there was no woman, however virtuous, who couldresist the combination of youth, beauty, and fortune: unhappily for themarquis, such a woman, whom he thought impossible, did exist, and washis wife. 

The page was so anxious to obey his master, that from that very day hismistress remarked the alteration that arose from the permission givenhim--his prompt obedience to her orders and his speed in executing them, in order to return a few moments the sooner to her presence. She wasgrateful to him, and in the simplicity of her heart she thanked him. Twodays later the page appeared before her splendidly dressed; she observedand remarked upon his improved appearance, and amused herself in conningover all the parts of his dress, as she might have done with a new doll. All this familiarity doubled the poor young man's passion, but he stoodbefore his mistress, nevertheless, abashed and trembling, like Cherubinobefore his fair godmother. Every evening the marquis inquired into hisprogress, and every evening the page confessed that he was no fartheradvanced than the day before; then the marquis scolded, threatened totake away his fine clothes, to withdraw his own promises, and finallyto address himself to some other person. At this last threat the youthwould again call up his courage, and promise to be bolder to-morrow; andon the morrow would spend the day in making a thousand compliments tohis mistress's eyes, which she, in her innocence, did not understand. At last, one day, Madame de Perrant asked him what made him look at herthus, and he ventured to confess his love; but then Madame de Perrant, changing her whole demeanour, assumed a face of sternness and bade himgo out of her room. 

The poor lover obeyed, and ran, in despair, to confide his grief to thehusband, who appeared sincerely to share it, but consoled him by sayingthat he had no doubt chosen his moment badly; that all women, even theleast severe, had inauspicious hours in which they would not yield toattack, and that he must let a few days pass, which he must employ inmaking his peace, and then must take advantage of a better opportunity, and not allow himself to be rebuffed by a few refusals; and to thesewords the marquis added a purse of gold, in order that the page might, if necessary, win over the marquise's waiting-woman. 

Guided thus by the older experience of the husband, the page began toappear very much ashamed and very penitent; but for a day or two themarquise, in spite of his apparent humility, kept him at a distance: atlast, reflecting no doubt, with the assistance of her mirror and of hermaid, that the crime was not absolutely unpardonable, and after havingreprimanded the culprit at some length, while he stood listening witheyes cast down, she gave a him her hand, forgave him, and admitted himto her companionship as before. 

Things went on in this way for a week. The page no longer raisedhis eyes and did not venture to open his mouth, and the marquise wasbeginning to regret the time in which he used to look and to speak, when, one fine day while she was at her toilet, at which she had allowedhim to be present, he seized a moment when the maid had left her alone, to cast himself at her feet and tell her that he had vainly tried tostifle his love, and that, even although he were to die under the weightof her anger, he must tell her that this love was immense, eternal, stronger than his life. The marquise upon this wished to send him away, as on the former occasion, but instead of obeying her, the page, betterinstructed, took her in his arms. The marquise called, screamed, brokeher bell-rope; the waiting-maid, who had been bought over, according tothe marquis's advice, had kept the other women out of the way, andwas careful not to come herself. Then the marquise, resisting force byforce, freed herself from the page's arms, rushed to her husband's room, and there, bare-necked, with floating hair, and looking lovelier thanever, flung herself into his arms and begged his protection against theinsolent fellow who had just insulted her. But what was the amazement ofthe marquise, when, instead of the anger which she expected to seebreak forth, the marquis answered coldly that what she was saying wasincredible, that he had always found the young man very well behaved, and that, no doubt, having taken up some frivolous ground of resentmentagainst him, she was employing this means to get rid of him; but, he added, whatever might be his love for her, and his desire to doeverything that was agreeable to her, he begged her not to require thisof him, the young man being his friend's son, and consequently hisown adopted child. It was now the marquise who, in her turn, retiredabashed, not knowing what to make of such a reply, and fully resolving, since her husband's protection failed her, to keep herself well guardedby her own severity. 

Indeed, from that moment the marquise behaved to the poor youth with somuch prudery, that, loving her as he did, sincerely, he would havedied of grief, if he had not had the marquis at hand to encourage andstrengthen him. Nevertheless, the latter himself began to despair, andto be more troubled by the virtue of his wife than another man mighthave been by the levity of his. Finally, he resolved, seeing thatmatters remained at the same point and that the marquise did not relaxin the smallest degree, to take extreme measures. He hid his page ina closet of his wife's bedchamber, and, rising during her first sleep, left empty his own place beside her, went out softly, double-locked thedoor, and listened attentively to hear what would happen. 

He had not been listening thus for ten minutes when he heard a greatnoise in the room, and the page trying in vain to appease it. Themarquis hoped that he might succeed, but the noise increasing, showedhim that he was again to be disappointed; soon came cries for help, forthe marquise could not ring, the bell-ropes having been lifted out ofher reach, and no one answering her cries, he heard her spring from herhigh bed, run to the door, and finding it locked rush to the window, which she tried to open: the scene had come to its climax. 

The marquis decided to go in, lest some tragedy should happen, or lesthis wife's screams should reach some belated passer-by, who next daywould make him the talk of the town. Scarcely did the marquise beholdhim when she threw herself into his arms, and pointing to the page, said:--

"Well, monsieur, will you still hesitate to free me from this insolentwretch?"

"Yes, madame, " replied the marquis; "for this insolent wretch has beenacting for the last three months not only with my sanction but even bymy orders. "

The marquise remained stupefied. Then the marquis, without sendingaway the page, gave his wife an explanation of all that had passed, andbesought her to yield to his desire of obtaining a successor, whom hewould regard as his own child, so long as it was hers; but young thoughshe was, the marquise answered with a dignity unusual at her age, thathis power over her had the limits that were set to it by law, and notthose that it might please him to set in their place, and that howevermuch she might wish to do what might be his pleasure, she would yetnever obey him at the expense of her soul and her honour. 

So positive an answer, while it filled her husband with despair, provedto him that he must renounce the hope of obtaining an heir; but sincethe page was not to blame for this, he fulfilled the promise that hehad made, bought him a regiment, and resigned himself to having themost virtuous wife in France. His repentance was not, however, of longduration; he died at the end of three months, after having confided tohis friend, the Marquis d'Urban, the cause of his sorrows. 

The Marquis d'Urban had a son of marriageable age; he thought that hecould find nothing more suitable for him than a wife whose virtue hadcome triumphantly through such a trial: he let her time of mourningpass, and then presented the young Marquis d'Urban, who succeeded inmaking his attentions acceptable to the beautiful widow, and soon becameher husband. More fortunate than his predecessor, the Marquis d'Urbanhad three heirs to oppose to his collaterals, when, some two years anda half later, the Chevalier de Bouillon arrived at the capital of thecounty of Venaissin. 

The Chevalier de Bouillon was a typical rake of the period, handsome, young, and well-grown; the nephew of a cardinal who was influentialat Rome, and proud of belonging to a house which had privileges ofsuzerainty. The chevalier, in his indiscreet fatuity, spared no woman;and his conduct had given some scandal in the circle of Madame deMaintenon, who was rising into power. One of his friends, havingwitnessed the displeasure exhibited towards him by Louis XIV, who wasbeginning to become devout, thought to do him a service by warning himthat the king "gardait une dent" against him. 

 [Translator's note. --"Garder une dent, " that is, to keep up a grudge, means literally "to keep a tooth" against him. ]

"Pardieu!" replied the chevalier, "I am indeed unlucky when the onlytooth left to him remains to bite me. "

This pun had been repeated, and had reached Louis XIV, so that thechevalier presently heard, directly enough this time, that theking desired him to travel for some years. He knew the danger ofneglecting--such intimations, and since he thought the country afterall preferable to the Bastille, he left Paris, and arrived at Avignon, surrounded by the halo of interest that naturally attends a handsomeyoung persecuted nobleman. 

The virtue of Madame d'Urban was as much cried up at Avignon asthe ill-behaviour of the chevalier had been reprobated in Paris. Areputation equal to his own, but so opposite in kind, could not failto be very offensive to him, therefore he determined immediately uponarriving to play one against the other. 

Nothing was easier than the attempt. M. D'Urban, sure of his wife'svirtue, allowed her entire liberty; the chevalier saw her wherever hechose to see her, and every time he saw her found means to express agrowing passion. Whether because the hour had come for Madame d'Urban, or whether because she was dazzled by the splendour of the chevalier'sbelonging to a princely house, her virtue, hitherto so fierce, meltedlike snow in the May sunshine; and the chevalier, luckier than the poorpage, took the husband's place without any attempt on Madame d'Urban'spart to cry for help. 

As all the chevalier desired was public triumph, he took care to makethe whole town acquainted at once with his success; then, as someinfidels of the neighbourhood still doubted, the chevalier ordered oneof his servants to wait for him at the marquise's door with a lanternand a bell. At one in the morning, the chevalier came out, and theservant walked before him, ringing the bell. At this unaccustomed sound, a great number of townspeople, who had been quietly asleep, awoke, and, curious to see what was happening, opened their windows. They beheld thechevalier, walking gravely behind his servant, who continued to lighthis master's way and to ring along the course of the street that laybetween Madame d'Urban's house and his own. As he had made no mysteryto anyone of his love affair, nobody took the trouble even to askhim whence he came. However, as there might possibly be persons stillunconvinced, he repeated this same jest, for his own satisfaction, threenights running; so that by the morning of the fourth day nobody had anydoubts left. 

As generally happens in such cases, M. D'Urban did not know a word ofwhat was going on until the moment when his friends warned him thathe was the talk of the town. Then he forbade his wife to see her loveragain. The prohibition produced the usual results: on the morrow, as, soon as M. D'Urban had gone out, the marquise sent for the chevalier toinform him of the catastrophe in which they were both involved; but shefound him far better prepared than herself for such blows, and he triedto prove to her, by reproaches for her imprudent conduct, that all thiswas her fault; so that at last the poor woman, convinced that it was shewho had brought these woes upon them, burst into tears. Meanwhile, M. D'Urban, who, being jealous for the first time, was the more seriouslyso, having learned that the chevalier was with his wife, shut the doors, and posted himself in the ante-chamber with his servants, in order toseize him as he came out. But the chevalier, who had ceased to troublehimself about Madame d'Urban's tears, heard all the preparations, and, suspecting some ambush, opened the window, and, although it was oneo'clock in the afternoon and the place was full of people, jumped out ofthe window into the street, and did not hurt himself at all, though theheight was twenty feet, but walked quietly home at a moderate pace. 

The same evening, the chevalier, intending to relate his new adventurein all its details, invited some of his friends to sup with him at thepastrycook Lecoq's. This man, who was a brother of the famous Lecoq ofthe rue Montorgueil, was the cleverest eating-house-keeper in Avignon;his own unusual corpulence commended his cookery, and, when he stood atthe door, constituted an advertisement for his restaurant. The good man, knowing with what delicate appetites he had to deal, did his very bestthat evening, and that nothing might be wanting, waited upon hisguests himself. They spent the night drinking, and towards morningthe chevalier and his companions, being then drunk, espied their hoststanding respectfully at the door, his face wreathed in smiles. Thechevalier called him nearer, poured him out a glass of wine and made himdrink with them; then, as the poor wretch, confused at such an honour, was thanking him with many bows, he said:--

"Pardieu, you are too fat for Lecoq, and I must make you a capon. "

This strange proposition was received as men would receive it who weredrunk and accustomed by their position to impunity. The unfortunatepastry-cook was seized, bound down upon the table, and died under theirtreatment. The vice-legate being informed of the murder by one of thewaiters, who had run in on hearing his master's shrieks, and had foundhim, covered with blood, in the hands of his butchers, was at firstinclined to arrest the chevalier and bring him conspicuously topunishment. But he was restrained by his regard for the Cardinal deBouillon, the chevalier's uncle, and contented himself with warning theculprit that unless he left the town instantly he would be put into thehands of the authorities. The chevalier, who was beginning to have hadenough of Avignon, did not wait to be told twice, ordered the wheelsof his chaise to be greased and horses to be brought. In the intervalbefore they were ready the fancy took him to go and see Madame d'Urbanagain. 

As the house of the marquise was the very last at which, after themanner of his leaving it the day before, the chevalier was expectedat such an hour, he got in with the greatest ease, and, meeting alady's-maid, who was in his interests, was taken to the room where themarquise was. She, who had not reckoned upon seeing the chevalier again, received him with all the raptures of which a woman in love is capable, especially when her love is a forbidden one. But the chevalier soon putan end to them by announcing that his visit was a visit of farewell, andby telling her the reason that obliged him to leave her. The marquisewas like the woman who pitied the fatigue of the poor horses that toreDamien limb from limb; all her commiseration was for the chevalier, whoon account of such a trifle was being forced to leave Avignon. At lastthe farewell had to be uttered, and as the chevalier, not knowing whatto say at the fatal moment, complained that he had no memento of her, the marquise took down the frame that contained a portrait of herselfcorresponding with one of her husband, and tearing out the canvas, rolled, it up and gave it to the chevalier. The latter, so far frombeing touched by this token of love, laid it down, as he went away, upona piece of furniture, where the marquise found it half an hour later. She imagined that his mind being so full of the original, he hadforgotten the copy, and representing to herself the sorrow which thediscovery of this forgetfulness would cause him, she sent for a servant, gave him the picture, and ordered him to take horse and ride after thechevalier's chaise. The man took a post-horse, and, making great speed, perceived the fugitive in the distance just as the latter had finishedchanging horses. He made violent signs and shouted loudly, in order tostop the postillion. But the postillion having told his fare that hesaw a man coming on at full speed, the chevalier supposed himself to bepursued, and bade him go on as fast as possible. This order was sowell obeyed that the unfortunate servant only came up with the chaise aleague and a half farther on; having stopped the postillion, he got offhis horse, and very respectfully presented to the chevalier the picturewhich he had been bidden to bring him. But the chevalier, havingrecovered from his first alarm, bade him go about his business, andtake back the portrait--which was of no use to him--to the sender. Theservant, however, like a faithful messenger, declared that his orderswere positive, and that he should not dare go back to Madame d'Urbanwithout fulfilling them. The chevalier, seeing that he could not conquerthe man's determination, sent his postillion to a farrier, whose houselay on the road, for a hammer and four nails, and with his own handsnailed the portrait to the back of his chaise; then he stepped in again, bade the postillion whip up his horses, and drove away, leaving Madamed'Urban's messenger greatly astonished at the manner in which thechevalier had used his mistress's portrait. 

At the next stage, the postillion, who was going back, asked for hismoney, and the chevalier answered that he had none. The postillionpersisted; then the chevalier got out of his chaise, unfastened Madamed'Urban's portrait, and told him that he need only put it up for salein Avignon and declare how it had come into his possession, in order toreceive twenty times the price of his stage; the postillion, seeing thatnothing else was to be got out of the chevalier, accepted the pledge, and, following his instructions precisely, exhibited it next morning atthe door of a dealer in the town, together with an exact statement ofthe story. The picture was bought back the same day for twenty-fiveLouis. 

As may be supposed, the adventure was much talked of throughout thetown. Next day, Madame d'Urban disappeared, no one knew whither, at thevery time when the relatives of the marquis were met together and haddecided to ask the king for a 'lettre-de-cachet'. One of the gentlemenpresent was entrusted with the duty of taking the necessary steps; butwhether because he was not active enough, or whether because he was inMadame d'Urban's interests, nothing further was heard in Avignon of anyconsequences ensuing from such steps. In the meantime, Madame d'Urban, who had gone to the house of an aunt, opened negotiations with herhusband that were entirely successful, and a month after this adventureshe returned triumphantly to the conjugal roof. 

Two hundred pistoles, given by the Cardinal de Bouillon, pacified thefamily of the unfortunate pastry-cook, who at first had given noticeof the affair to the police, but who soon afterwards withdrew theircomplaint, and gave out that they had taken action too hastily on thestrength of a story told in joke, and that further inquiries showedtheir relative to have died of an apoplectic stroke. 

Thanks--to this declaration, which exculpated the Chevalier de Bouillonin the eyes of the king, he was allowed, after travelling for two yearsin Italy and in Germany, to return undisturbed to France. 

Thus ends, not the family of Ganges, but the commotion which the familymade in the world. From time to time, indeed, the playwright or thenovelist calls up the pale and bloodstained figure of the marquise toappear either on the stage or in a book; but the evocation almost alwaysceases at her, and many persons who have written about the mother do noteven know what became of the children. Our intention has been to fillthis gap; that is why we have tried to tell what our predecessors leftout, and try offer to our readers what the stage--and often the actualworld--offers; comedy after melodrama.