The Marchioness of Brinvilliers, the Poisoner of the Seventeenth Century: A Romance of Old Paris

One hundred and eighty years ago, on a sunny spring evening in the year of grace 1665, the space of ground which extended from the front of the Grand Châtelet in Paris to the rude wooden barrier which then formed the only safeguard between the public road and the river, at the northern foot of the Pont au Change, was crowded with a joyous and attentive mass of people, who had collected from their evening promenade to this spot, and now surrounded the temporary platform of an itinerant charlatan, erected in front of the ancient fortress.

Let us rest awhile on the steps of the Pont au Change, to become acquainted with the localities; for little of its ancient appearance now remains. The present resident at Paris, however well versed he might be in the topography of that city, might search in vain for even the vestiges of any part of the principal building, which rose, at the date above spoken of, on the banks of the River Seine. The Pont au Change still exists, but not as it then appeared. The visitor may call to mind this picturesque structure, with its seven arches crossing to the Marché aux Fleurs from the corner of the Quai de la Megisserie. In 1660 it was covered with houses, in common with most of the other bridges that spanned the Seine, with the exception of the Pont Neuf. These were now partly in ruins, from the ravages of time, and frequent conflagrations. Lower down the river might be seen the vestiges of the Pont Marchand—a wooden bridge, which had been burnt down nearly forty years before, some of whose charred and blackened timbers still obstructed the free course of the river. It had stood on the site of the Pont aux Meuniers—also a wooden bridge—to which six or seven boat-mills were attached; and these, in consequence of the flooding of the Seine, dragged the whole structure away in the winter of 1596.

The Grand Châtelet stood at the foot of the Pont au Change; its ground is now occupied by a square, and an elegant fountain. The origin of the Châtelet has been lost in antiquity. It had once been a strong fortress; and its massive round-towers still betokened its strength. Next it was a prison, where the still increasing city rendered its position of little value in guarding the gates; and afterwards it became the Court of Jurisdiction pertaining to the Provost of Paris. Part of its structure was now in ruins; wild foliage grew along the summits of its outer walls, and small buildings had been run up between the buttresses, occupied by retailers of wine and small merchandise. It was a great place of resort at all times; for a dark and noisome passage, which ran through it, was the only thoroughfare from the Pont au Change to the Rue St. Denis, and this was constantly crowded with foot-passengers.

The afternoon sunlight fell upon the many turrets and spires, and quivered on the vanes and casements of the fine old buildings that then surrounded the carrefour. Across the river the minarets of the Palais de Justice rose in sharp outline against the blue sky, glowing in the ruddy tint; together with the campanile at the corner of the quay, and the blackened towers of Notre Dame, farther in the Ile de la Cité, round which flocks of birds were wheeling in the clear spring air, who had their dwellings amidst the corbels, spouts, and belfries of the cathedral. There was not an old gray gable or corroded spire which, steeped in the rays of the setting sun, did not blush into light and warmth. And the mild season had drawn all the inhabitants of the houses who were not abroad to their windows, whence they gazed upon the gay crowd below, through pleasant trellises of climbing vegetation, which crept along the pieces of twine latticing the casements. Humble things, indeed, the plants were,—hops, common beans, wild convolvuli, and the like, spreading from a rude cruche of mould upon the sill; but the beams of the sun came through them cheerfully; and their shadows danced and trembled on the rude tiled floor as sportively as on the costly inlaidparquets of the richer quarters of the city.