CHAPTER XXXIV. WEIRD SISTERS.
Fanchon walked into the house to see her uncle Dodier. When she wasgone, the countenance of La Corriveau put on a dark and terribleexpression. Her black eyes looked downwards, seeming to penetrate thevery earth, and to reflect in their glittering orbits the fires of theunderworld.
She stood for a few moments, buried in deep thought, with her armstightly folded across her breast. Her fingers moved nervously, as theykept time with the quick motions of her foot, which beat the ground.
"It is for death, and no lost jewels, that girl sends for me!" mutteredLa Corriveau through her teeth, which flashed white and cruel betweenher thin lips. "She has a rival in her love for the Intendant, and shewill lovingly, by my help, feed her with the manna of St. Nicholas!Angelique des Meloises has boldness, craft, and falseness for twentywomen, and can keep secrets like a nun. She is rich and ambitious, andwould poison half the world rather than miss the thing she sets her mindon. She is a girl after my own heart, and worth the risk I run with her.Her riches would be endless should she succeed in her designs; and withher in my power, nothing she has would henceforth be her own,--but mine!mine! Besides," added La Corriveau, her thoughts flashing back to thefate which had overtaken her progenitors, Exili and La Voisin, "Imay need help myself, some day, to plead with the Intendant on my ownaccount,--who knows?"
A strange thrill ran through the veins of La Corriveau, but sheinstantly threw it off. "I know what she wants," added she. "I will takeit with me. I am safe in trusting her with the secret of Beatrice Spara.That girl is worthy of it as Brinvilliers herself."
La Corriveau entered her own apartment. She locked the door behind her,drew a bunch of keys from her bosom, and turned towards a cabinet ofsingular shape and Italian workmanship which stood in a corner of theapartment. It was an antique piece of furniture, made of some darkoriental wood, carved over with fantastic figures from Etruscan designsby the cunning hand of an old Italian workman, who knew well how tomake secret drawers and invisible concealments for things dangerous andforbidden.
It had once belonged to Antonio Exili, who had caused it to be made,ostensibly for the safe-keeping of his cabalistic formulas and alchemicpreparations, when searching for the philosopher's stone and the elixirof life, really for the concealment of the subtle drugs out of which hisalembics distilled the aqua tofana and his crucibles prepared the poudrede succession.
In the most secret place of all were deposited, ready for use, a fewvials of the crystal liquid, every single drop of which contained thelife of a man, and which, administered in due proportion of time andmeasure, killed and left no sign, numbering its victim's days, hours,and minutes, exactly according to the will and malignity of hisdestroyer.
La Corriveau took out the vials, and placed them carefully in a casketof ebony not larger than a woman's hand. In it was a number of smallflaskets, each filled with pills like grains of mustard-seed, theessence and quintessence of various poisons, that put on the appearanceof natural diseases, and which, mixed in due proportion with the aquatofana, covered the foulest murders with the lawful ensigns of the angelof death.
In that box of ebony was the sublimated dust of deadly nightshade, whichkindles the red fires of fever and rots the roots of the tongue. Therewas the fetid powder of stramonium, that grips the lungs like an asthma;and quinia, that shakes its victims like the cold hand of the miasma ofthe Pontine marshes. The essence of poppies, ten times sublimated, a fewgrains of which bring on the stupor of apoplexy; and the sardonic plant,that kills its victim with the frightful laughter of madness on hiscountenance.
The knowledge of these and many more cursed herbs, once known to Medeain the Colchian land, and transplanted to Greece and Rome with theenchantments of their use, had been handed, by a long succession ofsorcerers and poisoners, down to Exili and Beatrice Spara, until theycame into the possession of La Corriveau, the legitimate inheritrix ofthis lore of hell.
Before closing the cabinet, La Corriveau opened one more secret drawer,and took out, with a hesitating hand, as if uncertain whether to do soor no, a glittering stiletto, sharp and cruel to see. She felt the pointof it mechanically with her thumb; and, as if fascinated by the touch,placed it under her robe. "I may have need of it," muttered she, "eitherto save myself OR to make sure of my work on another. Beatrice Sparawas the daughter of a Sicilian bravo, and she liked this poignard betterthan even the poisoned chalice."
La Corriveau rose up now, well satisfied with her foresight andpreparation. She placed the ebony casket carefully in her bosom,cherishing it like an only child, as she walked out of the room with herquiet, tiger-like tread. Her look into the future was pleasant to her atthis moment. There was the prospect of an ample reward for her troubleand risk, and the anticipated pleasure of practising her skill upon onewhose position she regarded as similar to that of the great dames of theCourt, whom Exili and La Voisin had poisoned during the high carnival ofdeath, in the days of Louis XIV.
She was now ready, and waited impatiently to depart.
The goodman Dodier brought the caleche to the door. It was asubstantial, two-wheeled vehicle, with a curious arrangement of springs,made out of the elastic wood of the hickory. The horse, a stout Normanpony, well harnessed, sleek and glossy, was lightly held by the handof the goodman, who patted it kindly as an old friend; and the pony,in some sort, after an equine fashion, returned the affection of itsmaster.
La Corriveau, with an agility hardly to be expected from her years,seated herself beside Fanchon in the caleche, and giving her willinghorse a sharp cut with the lash for spite, not for need,--goodman Dodiersaid, only to anger him,--they set off at a rapid pace, and were soonout of sight at the turn of the dark pine-woods, on their way to thecity of Quebec.
Angelique des Meloises had remained all day in her house, counting thehours as they flew by, laden with the fate of her unsuspecting rival atBeaumanoir.
Night had now closed in; the lamps were lit, the fire again burned redupon the hearth. Her door was inexorably shut against all visitors.Lizette had been sent away until the morrow; Angelique sat alone andexpectant of the arrival of La Corriveau.
The gay dress in which she had outshone all her sex at the ball on theprevious night lay still in a heap upon the floor, where last night shehad thrown it aside, like the robe of innocence which once invested her.Her face was beautiful, but cruel, and in its expression terrible asMedea's brooding over her vengeance sworn against Creusa for her sinwith Jason. She sat in a careless dishabille, with one white arm partlybare. Her long golden locks flowed loosely down her back and touchedthe floor, as she sat on her chair and watched and waited for the comingfootsteps of La Corriveau. Her lips were compressed with a terribleresolution; her eyes glanced red as they alternately reflected the glowof the fire within them and of the fire without. Her hands were claspednervously together, with a grip like iron, and lay in her lap, while herdainty foot marked the rhythm of the tragical thoughts that swept like asong of doom through her soul.
The few compunctious feelings which struggled up into her mind wereinstantly overborne by the passionate reflection that the lady ofBeaumanoir must die! "I must, or she must--one or other! We cannot bothlive and marry this man!" exclaimed she, passionately. "Has it come tothis: which of us shall be the wife, which the mistress? By God, I wouldkill him too, if I thought he hesitated in his choice; but he shall soonhave no choice but one! Her death be on her own head and on Bigot's--noton mine!"
And the wretched girl strove to throw the guilt of the sin shepremeditated upon her victim, upon the Intendant, upon fate, and, witha last subterfuge to hide the enormity of it from her own eyes, upon LaCorriveau, whom she would lead on to suggest the crime and commit it!--acourse which Angelique tried to believe would be more venial than if itwere suggested by herself! less heinous in her own eyes, and less wickedin the sight of God.
"Why did that mysterious woman go to Beaumanoir and place herself in thepath of Angelique des Meloises?" exclaimed she angrily. "Why did Bigotreje
ct my earnest prayer, for it was earnest, for a lettre de cachet tosend her unharmed away out of New France?"
Then Angelique sat and listened without moving for a long time. Theclock ticked loud and warningly. There was a sighing of the wind aboutthe windows, as if it sought admittance to reason and remonstrate withher. A cricket sang his monotonous song on the hearth. In the wainscotof the room a deathwatch ticked its doleful omen. The dog in thecourtyard howled plaintively as the hour of midnight sounded uponthe Convent bell, close by. The bell had scarcely ceased ere she wasstartled by a slight creaking like the opening of a door, followed by awhispering and the rustle of a woman's garments, as of one approachingwith cautious steps up the stair. A thrill of expectation, not unmingledwith fear, shot through the breast of Angelique. She sprang up,exclaiming to herself, "She is come, and all the demons that wait onmurder come with her into my chamber!" A knock followed on the door.Angelique, very agitated in spite of her fierce efforts to appear calm,bade them come in.
Fanchon opened the door, and, with a courtesy to her mistress, usheredin La Corriveau, who walked straight into the room and stood face toface with Angelique.
The eyes of the two women instantly met in a searching glance that tookin the whole look, bearing, dress, and almost the very thoughts of eachother. In that one glance each knew and understood the other, and couldtrust each other in evil, if not in good.
And there was trust between them. The evil spirits that possessed eachof their hearts shook hands together, and a silent league was sworn toin their souls before a word was spoken.
And yet how unlike to human eye were these two women!--how like in God'seye, that sees the heart and reads the Spirit, of what manner it is!Angelique, radiant in the bloom of youth and beauty, her golden hairfloating about her like a cloud of glory round a daughter of the sun,with her womanly perfections which made the world seem brighter forsuch a revelation of completeness in every external charm; La Corriveau,stern, dark, angular, her fine-cut features crossed with thin lines ofcruelty and cunning, no mercy in her eyes, still less on her lips, andnone at all in her heart, cold to every humane feeling, and warming onlyto wickedness and avarice: still these women recognized each other askindred spirits, crafty and void of conscience in the accomplishment oftheir ends.
Had fate exchanged the outward circumstances of their lives, each mighthave been the other easily and naturally. The proud beauty had nothingin her heart better than La Corriveau, and the witch of St. Valier, ifborn in luxury and endowed with beauty and wealth, would have rivalledAngelique in seductiveness, and hardly fallen below her in ambition andpower.
La Corriveau saluted Angelique, who made a sign to Fanchon to retire.The girl obeyed somewhat reluctantly. She had hoped to be present atthe interview between her aunt and her mistress, for her curiosity wasgreatly excited, and she now suspected there was more in this visit thanshe had been told.
Angelique invited La Corriveau to remove her cloak and broad hat.Seating her in her own luxurious chair, she sat down beside her, andbegan the conversation with the usual platitudes and commonplaces of thetime, dwelling longer upon them than need was, as if she hesitated orfeared to bring up the real subject of this midnight conference.
"My Lady is fair to look on. All women will admit that; all men swear toit!" said La Corriveau, in a harsh voice that grated ominously, likethe door of hell which she was opening with this commencement of herbusiness.
Angelique replied only with a smile. A compliment from La Corriveau evenwas not wasted upon her; but just now she was on the brink of an abyssof explanation, looking down into the dark pit, resolved, yet hesitatingto make the plunge.
"No witch or witchery but your own charms is needed, Mademoiselle,"continued La Corriveau, falling into the tone of flattery she often usedtowards her dupes, "to make what fortune you will in this world; whatpearl ever fished out of the sea could add a grace to this wondrous hairof yours? Permit me to touch it, Mademoiselle!"
La Corriveau took hold of a thick tress, and held it up to the light ofthe lamp, where it shone like gold. Angelique shrank back as from thetouch of fire. She withdrew her hair with a jerk from the hand of LaCorriveau. A shudder passed through her from head to foot. It was thelast parting effort of her good genius to save her.
"Do not touch it!" said she quickly; "I have set my life and soul ona desperate venture, but my hair--I have devoted it to our Lady of St.Foye; it is hers, not mine! Do not touch it, Dame Dodier."
Angelique was thinking of a vow she had once made before the shrine ofthe little church of Lorette. "My hair is the one thing belonging to methat I will keep pure," continued she; "so do not be angry with me," sheadded, apologetically.
"I am not angry," replied La Corriveau, with a sneer. "I am used tostrange humors in people who ask my aid; they always fall out withthemselves before they fall in with La Corriveau."
"Do you know why I have sent for you at this hour, good Dame Dodier?"asked Angelique, abruptly.
"Call me La Corriveau; I am not good Dame Dodier. Mine is an ill name,and I like it best, and so should you, Mademoiselle, for the businessyou sent me for is not what people who say their prayers call good. Itwas to find your lost jewels that Fanchon Dodier summoned me to yourabode, was it not?" La Corriveau uttered this with a suppressed smile ofincredulity.
"Ah! I bade Fanchon tell you that in order to deceive her, not you! Butyou know better, La Corriveau! It was not for the sake of paltry jewelsI desired you to come to the city to see me at this hour of midnight."
"I conjectured as much!" replied La Corriveau, with a sardonic smilewhich showed her small teeth, white, even, and cruel as those of awildcat. "The jewel you have lost is the heart of your lover, andyou thought La Corriveau had a charm to win it back; was not that it,Mademoiselle?"
Angelique sat upright, gazing boldly into the eyes of her visitor. "Yes,it was that and more than that I summoned you for. Can you not guess?You are wise, La Corriveau, you know a woman's desire better than shedare avow it to herself!"
"Ah!" replied La Corriveau, returning her scrutiny with the eyes of abasilisk; a green light flashed out of their dark depths. "You have alover, and you have a rival, too! A woman more potent than yourself,in spite of your beauty and your fascinations, has caught the eye andentangled the affections of the man you love, and you ask my counsel howto win him back and how to triumph over your rival. Is it not for thatyou have summoned La Corriveau?"
"Yes, it is that, and still more than that!" replied Angelique,clenching her hands hard together, and gazing earnestly at the fire witha look of merciless triumph at what she saw there reflected from her ownthoughts distinctly as if she looked at her own face in a mirror.
"It is all that, and still more than that,--cannot you guess yet why Ihave summoned you here?" continued Angelique, rising and laying her lefthand firmly upon the shoulder of La Corriveau, as she bent her head andwhispered with terrible distinctness in her ear.
La Corriveau heard her whisper and looked up eagerly. "Yes, I know now,Mademoiselle,--you would kill your rival! There is death in your eye,in your voice, in your heart, but not in your hand! You would kill thewoman who robs you of your lover, and you have sent for La Corriveau tohelp you in the good work! It is a good work in the eyes of a woman tokill her rival! but why should I do that to please you? What do I carefor your lover, Angelique des Meloises?"
Angelique was startled to hear from the lips of another, words whichgave free expression to her own secret thoughts. A denial was on herlips, but the lie remained unspoken. She trembled before La Corriveau,but her resolution was unchanged.
"It was not only to please me, but to profit yourself that I sentfor you!" Angelique replied eagerly, like one trying to outstrip herconscience and prevent it from overtaking her sin. "Hark you! you lovegold, La Corriveau! I will give you all you crave in return for yourhelp,--for help me you shall! you will never repent of it if you do; youwill never cease to regret it if you do not! I will make you rich, LaCorrivean! or else, by God! do you
hear? I swear it! I will have youburnt for a witch, and your ashes strewn all over St. Valier!"
La Corriveau spat contemptuously upon the floor at the holy name. "Youare a fool, Angelique des Meloises, to speak thus to me! Do you knowwho and what I am? You are a poor butterfly to flutter your gay wingsagainst La Corriveau; but still I like your spirit! women like you arerare. The blood of Exili could not have spoken bolder than you do; youwant the life of a woman who has kindled the hell-fire of jealousy inyour heart, and you want me to tell you how to get your revenge!"
"I do want you to do it, La Corriveau, and your reward shall be great!"answered Angelique with a burst of impatience. She could beat about thebush no longer.
"To kill a woman or a man were of itself a pleasure even without theprofit," replied La Corriveau, doggedly. "But why should I run myselfinto danger for you, Mademoiselle des Meloises? Have you gold enough tobalance the risk?"
Angelique had now fairly overleaped all barriers of reserve. "I willgive you more than your eyes ever beheld, if you will serve me in thismatter, Dame Dodier!"
"Perhaps so, but I am getting old and trust neither man nor woman. Givea pledge of your good faith, before you speak one word farther to meon this business, Mademoiselle des Meloises." La Corriveau held out herdouble hands significantly.
"A pledge? that is gold you want!" replied Angelique. "Yes, LaCorriveau; I will bind you to me with chains of gold; you shall have ituncounted, as I get it,--gold enough to make you the richest woman inSt. Valier, the richest peasant-woman in New France."
"I am no peasant-woman," replied La Corriveau, with a touch of pride,"I come of a race ancient and terrible as the Roman Caesars! But pshaw!what have you to do with that? Give me the pledge of your good faith andI will help you."
Angelique rose instantly, and, opening the drawer of an escritoire,took out a long silken purse filled with louis d'or, which peeped andglittered through the interstices of the net-work. She gave it with theair of one who cared nothing for money.
La Corriveau extended both hands eagerly, clutching as with the claws ofa harpy. She pressed the purse to her thin bloodless lips, and touchedwith the ends of her bony fingers the edges of the bright coin visiblethrough the silken net.
"This is indeed a rare earnest-penny!" exclaimed La Corriveau. "I willdo your whole bidding, Mademoiselle; only I must do it in my own way. Ihave guessed aright the nature of your trouble and the remedy you seek.But I cannot guess the name of your false lover, nor that of the womanwhose doom is sealed from this hour."
"I will not tell you the name of my lover," replied Angelique. Shewas reluctant to mention the name of Bigot as her lover. The idea washateful to her. "The name of the woman I cannot tell you, even if Iwould," added she.
"How, Mademoiselle? you put the death-mark upon one you do not know?"
"I do not know her name. Nevertheless, La Corriveau, that gold, and tentimes as much, are yours, if you relieve me of the torment of knowingthat the secret chamber of Beaumanoir contains a woman whose life isdeath to all my hopes, and disappointment to all my plans."
The mention of Beaumanoir startled La Corriveau.
"The lady of Beaumanoir!" she exclaimed, "whom the Abenaquis broughtin from Acadia? I saw that lady in the woods of St. Valier, when I wasgathering mandrakes one summer day. She asked me for some water in God'sname. I cursed her silently, but I gave her milk. I had no water.She thanked me. Oh, how she thanked me! nobody ever before thanked LaCorriveau so sweetly as she did! I, even I, bade her a good journey,when she started on afresh with her Indian guides, after asking me thedistance and direction of Beaumanoir."
This unexpected touch of sympathy surprised and revolted Angelique alittle.
"You know her then! That is rare fortune, La Corriveau," said she; "shewill remember you, you will have less difficulty in gaining access toher and winning her confidence."
La Corriveau clapped her hands, laughing a strange laugh, that soundedas if it came from a deep well.
"Know her? That is all I know; she thanked me sweetly. I said so, did Inot? but I cursed her in my heart when she was gone. I saw she was bothbeautiful and good,--two things I hate."
"Do you call her beautiful? I care not whether she be good, that willavail nothing with him; but is she beautiful, La Corriveau? Is shefairer than I, think you?"
La Corriveau looked at Angelique intently and laughed. "Fairer than you?Listen! It was as if I had seen a vision. She was very beautiful, andvery sad. I could wish it were another than she, for oh, she spoke to methe sweetest I was ever spoken to since I came into the world."
Angelique ground her teeth with anger. "What did you do, La Corriveau?Did you not wish her dead? Did you think the Intendant or any man couldnot help loving her to the rejection of any other woman in the world?What did you do?"
"Do? I went on picking my mandrakes in the forest, and waited for youto send for La Corriveau. You desire to punish the Intendant for histreachery in forsaking you for one more beautiful and better!"
It was but a bold guess of La Corriveau, but she had divined the truth.The Intendant Bigot was the man who was playing false with Angelique.
Her words filled up the measure of Angelique's jealous hate, andconfirmed her terrible resolution. Jealousy is never so omnipotent aswhen its rank suspicions are fed and watered by the tales of others.
"There can be but one life between her and me!" replied the vehementgirl; "Angelique des Meloises would die a thousand deaths rather thanlive to feed on the crumbs of any man's love while another woman feastsat his table. I sent for you, La Corriveau, to take my gold and killthat woman!"
"Kill that woman! It is easily said, Mademoiselle; but I will notforsake you, were she the Madonna herself! I hate her for her goodness,as you hate her for her beauty. Lay another purse by the side of this,and in thrice three days there shall be weeping in the Chateau ofBeaumanoir, and no one shall know who has killed the cuckquean of theChevalier Intendant!"
Angelique sprang up with a cry of exultation, like a pantheress seizingher prey. She clasped La Corriveau in her arms and kissed her dark,withered cheek, exclaiming, "Yes, that is her name! His cuckquean sheis; his wife she is not and never shall be!--Thanks, a million goldenthanks, La Corriveau, if you fulfil your prophecy! In thrice three daysfrom this hour, was it not that you said?"
"Understand me!" said La Corriveau, "I serve you for your money, notfor your liking! but I have my own joy in making my hand felt in a worldwhich I hate and which hates me!" La Corriveau held out her hands asif the ends of her fingers were trickling poison. "Death drops onwhomsoever I send it," said she, "so secretly and so subtly that thevery spirits of air cannot detect the trace of the aqua tofana."
Angelique listened with amaze, yet trembled with eagerness to hear more."What! La Corriveau, have you the secret of the aqua tofana, which theworld believes was burnt with its possessors two generations ago, on thePlace de Greve?"
"Such secrets never die," replied the poisoner; "they are too precious!Few men, still fewer women, are there who would not listen at thedoor of hell to learn them. The king in his palace, the lady in hertapestried chamber, the nun in her cell, the very beggar on the street,would stand on a pavement of fire to read the tablets which record thesecret of the aqua tofana. Let me see your hand," added she abruptly,speaking to Angelique.
Angelique held out her hand; La Corriveau seized it. She looked intentlyupon the slender fingers and oval palm. "There is evil enough in theselong, sharp spatulae of yours," said she, "to ruin the world. You areworthy to be the inheritrix of all I know. These fingers would pickfruit off the forbidden tree for men to eat and die! The tempter only isneeded, and he is never far off! Angelique des Meloises, I may one dayteach you the grand secret; meantime I will show you that I possess it."