“Alas, good godfather, I am the most unhappy woman alive.  I love my husband better than myself, and do nothing but think of how I may serve and obey him; but all my labour is wasted, for he prefers the wickedest, foulest, vilest woman in the town to me.  So, godfather, if you know of any drug that will change his humour, prithee give it me, and, if I be well treated by him, I promise to reward you by all means in my power.”

The apothecary, to comfort her, said that he knew of a powder which, if she gave it to her husband with his broth or roast, after the fashion of Duke’s powder, (2) would induce him to entertain her in the best possible manner.  The poor woman, wishing to behold this miracle, asked him what the powder was, and whether she could have some of it.  He declared that there was nothing like powder of cantharides, of which he had a goodly store; and before they parted she made him prepare this powder, and took as much of it as was needful for her purpose.  And afterwards she often thanked the apothecary, for her husband, who was strong and lusty, and did not take too much, was none the worse for it.

2 Boaistuau and Gruget call this preparation poudre de Dun, as enigmatical an appellation as poudre de Duc.  As for the specific supplied by the apothecary, the context shows that this was the same aphrodisiac as the Marquis de Sades put to such a detestable use at Marseilles in 1772, when, after fleeing from justice, he was formally sentenced to death, and broken, in effigy, upon the wheel.  See P. Lacroix’s Curiosites de l’histoire de France, IIeme Serie, Paris, 1858.—­Ed.

The apothecary’s wife heard all this talk, and thought within herself that she had no less need of the recipe than her husband’s “commere.”  Observing, therefore, the place where her husband put the remainder of the powder, she resolved that she would use some of it when she found an opportunity; and this she did within three or four days.  Her husband, who felt a coldness of the stomach, begged her to make him some good soup, but she replied that a roast with Duke’s powder would be better for him; whereupon he bade her go quickly and prepare it, and take cinnamon and sugar from the shop.  This she did, not forgetting also to take the remainder of the powder given to the “commere,” without any heed to dose, weight or measure.

The husband ate the roast, and thought it very good.  Before long, however, he felt its effects, and sought to soothe them with his wife, but this he found was impossible, for he felt all on fire, in such wise that he knew not which way to turn.  He then told his wife that she had poisoned him, and demanded to know what she had put into the roast.  She forthwith confessed the truth, telling him that she herself required the recipe quite as much as his “commere.”  By reason of his evil plight, the poor apothecary could belabour her only with hard words; however,