Véronique Frantz was born around 1825 in the quiet village of Maisonsgoutte, nestled in the Bas‑Rhin department of Alsace, France. While we don’t know much about her early childhood, by about 1848 she had entered domestic service, finding work as a maid in the home of George Guntz, a local winemaker living in Nothalten with his wife, son, and extended family.  Though hired as a servant, Véronique quickly became more than just a help—her hard work and reliability earned her a degree of trust and acceptance that blurred the boundaries between employee and family member.

Still, beneath the surface of diligence lay a sharper edge. Frantz was often described as domineering and bold—her confidence toeing the line of brashness, a trait that may have set her apart in a household accustomed to quiet obedience.. Then came a fateful comment: when Guntz’s wife eventually recovered from illness, he reportedly said that, in the event of her death, he might consider Véronique as a possible future partner.

By late November 1852, Frantz had begun her calculated descent into murder. Using arsenic she’d discovered in the attic—a poison that was both accessible and insidious—she started slipping it into the food and drinks of the household. The initial attempt didn’t kill anyone, though it sickened most of the family with symptoms like violent nausea and vomiting. Still, they lived—and the incident stirred tension. Guntz’s 75-year-old mother-in-law, Marie-Anne Kobleth, demanded that Frantz be sacked, threatening to leave the home—and perhaps taking her threats seriously, Guntz kept Frantz on.

Not long after, on 1 December 1852, Kobleth succumbed to the poisoning—her resistance finally broken by Frantz’s slow, methodical dosing. Suddenly, Frantz held more unfettered control in the household: the others were weak, ill, and dependent. And from there, the pattern repeated.

On 6 July 1853, tragedy struck again. Guntz’s wife, Marie-Elisabeth Ruhlmann, died under eerily similar circumstances. Symptoms matched—rabid vomiting, weakness—but no inquest followed. Friends whispered, some suspected Frantz, but none had the proof to act.

Hope must have flicked back in Guntz’s heart, only to die again when news arrived: he had chosen someone else to be his wife. Consumed by betrayal, Frantz escalated. She continued poisoning meals and drinks, apparently ramping up the pressure to disrupt his upcoming marriage. Finally, on 27 January 1854, Guntz himself died aged 44—again from arsenic poisoning. His young son and father-in-law survived, though visibly ailing.

This time, enough suspicion gathered. In the wake of Guntz’s death, authorities ordered an autopsy. Lesions and inflammation typical of arsenic poisoning were found, and the University of Strasbourg’s Professor Caillot verified toxic arsenic traces. Bodies of Kobleth and Ruhlmann were exhumed and tested, confirming the same poisoning pattern.

Confronted with damning evidence, Frantz first denied wrongdoing—but eventually confessed. The formal charges: three counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder. Prosecutor Dubois questioned her extensively; she admitted the killings, though remained coy about her motive. Despite her lawyer Maurice Engelhardt’s efforts at persuasiveness, the jury delivered a verdict of guilty in just thirty minutes.

On 17 June 1854, she was sentenced to death—reportedly showing no visible emotion as the sentence was read aloud. While awaiting execution, she gave herself to religion, often seen in the prison chapel praying under the care of Abbot Guerber. Then, on 3 August 1854, she was taken to Barr to be executed—an event marking the town’s first guillotine execution in 62 years. Her final meal include a simple café au lait and a bread roll. She offered a last prayer, then met the blade.