“Well, it’s all over and done with. Brinvilliers is in the air…”, a famously quoted declaration written by Madame de Sévigné to her daughter after witnessing the burning of the beheaded body of the Marquise de Brinvilliers, to indicate that her foul ashes had finally been dispersed into the wind, perhaps to afflict those breathing it in with the same poisoning proclivity that had brought the malevolent Marquise to such a well-deserved fate.
Across the street from Monsieur L’s building is an unassuming hôtel particulier signified only by a macabre history involving this infamous female serial killer who was willingly and skillfully mentored by her resourceful but depraved lover. This was big freakish news back in the 17th century and apparently inspired some copy-cat murders amongst certain unhappy aristocratic wives, [headlined then as “Affair of the Poisons”].
Marie Madeleine Marguerite d’Aubray was born in Paris in 1630 and married off to the Marquis de Brinvilliers in 1651. She was not particularly fond of her husband and just as well that he was away often. She soon fell under the spell of one Godin de Sainte-Croix, a calvary officer, who was quickly dispatched to the Bastille prison by her father to end their affair. As destiny would have it, Sainte-Croix learned a new trick from an Italian poisoner while languishing in jail, and as soon as he got out, quickly brought the little Marquise up to speed. They experimented with various concoctions and even managed to administer them to some patients of a nearby hospital to observe the effects.
Their first target victim was the Marquise’s own father who had forced her into a loveless marriage and then so rudely had Sainte-Croix incarcerated for pleasuring her. It took a few attempts, but when it finally worked on her father, she decided to dispatch her brothers as well to inherit the whole family fortune herself. With that successful double poisoning committed, her husband was next in line. However, Sainte-Croix had a change of heart because he did not wish to be burdened with the Marquise any further, and thereby quickly provided some antidote to the poor husband before the poison could work its magic.
Soon after, Sainte-Croix mysteriously died, apparently of natural causes, but really?? Who would have thought…and coincidentally, documents were found amongst his possessions that meticulously noted his ingenious collaboration with the Marquise. She managed to elude capture in France but was eventually found hiding in a convent in Belgium and brought back to Paris to be executed at the Place de Grève in July, 1676.
Today the Hôtel de Brinvilliers has been divided into several apartments, some of which are occupied by distinguished but discreet families. There is a large courtyard with a magnificent private garden belonging to one of the owners and we used to hear the calls of an exotic bird coming from it. Sometimes it seemed to be answering the practice notes of our in-house concert violinist, and the spontaneous duet that filled the stillness of a Paris dusk was always sublimely heart-felt.
Every so often we are invited over to friends’ apartment on the top floor facing our building for card games and dinner parties. I have never broached the subject of lingering spirits and ghostly presences with them, partly because I don’t really believe… and yet I have felt what could be called “energy fields”, and even quite sure that I had seen smoky puffs of unexplainable origins. I do love a skin-tingling ghost story and will suspend my disbelief for certain experientially “proven” haunted buildings.
Late one evening as we were descending the grand staircase in the Hôtel de Brinvilliers, I distinctly felt something in the air…the shadows cast from the lone chandelier over the stairs were long and deep, and the air chilled and sharp. There were dark, dark corners and disappearing hallways…
Monsieur L was somewhat skeptical [but I could tell that he was a little spooked as well]. I had my little camera with me and decided to take some quick shots all around to see what will appear…
Was the Marquise hiding in the lacy shadows that night, her repentant spirit still seeking forgiveness for her wicked misdeeds from her long departed descendants, or is it an unrepentant wraith unable to find a peaceful rest from her terrible murderous spree?
Our friends had already shut and locked their door before we had reached the stairway and we did not want to return and disturb them with our sensations. We have kept this to ourselves, and perhaps on another evening, when the mood strikes, the lovely and long-dead Marquise may be felt hovering in her namesake domain…casting her malignity into the air once again…
[Addendum: If one is ever kindly offered “les poudres de succession“, please do not snort it, nor mix it into a cocktail drink, nor dust it upon one’s clean body after a bath! Or one could find oneself the fallen victim of a trend begun once long ago by one brazen and decadent Marquise.]
Parigigi 