The History and Romance of Crime 4

The History and Romance of Crime 4

La Valette then went out into the great lodge, where half a dozen

officials lounged idly or were seated, watching the lady pass. The

gatekeeper only made the remark: “You are leaving earlier than usual,

Madame. It is a sad occasion.” He thought she had taken a last farewell

of her husband, for the execution was fixed for the following day. The

disguised La Valette counterfeited poignant grief extraordinarily well,

with handkerchief to eyes and heart-rending __EXPRESSION__s of sorrow.

 

They reached the outer gate at length, where the last guardian sat,

keys in hand, one for the iron grating, the other for the wicket

beyond, and La Valette was soon outside but not yet free. The sedan

chair was there, but no chairmen, no servants. The fugitive got inside

under the sentry’s eyes, and shrunk back behind the curtains to avoid

observation, but still a prey to the keenest anxiety and ready for

any desperate act. Two minutes passed, and seemed a whole year. Then

a voice cried, “The fellow has disappeared, but I have got another

chairman,” and the sedan was now lifted from the ground and carried

across the street, to where a carriage was in waiting on the Quai des

Orfevrés. The transfer was quickly effected, the horses whipped up

and started at a rapid trot across the Saint Michel Bridge, and so by

the rue de la Harpe to the rue Vaugirard behind the Odéon. La Valette

began at last to have hope of liberty, which grew when he recognised

in the coachman a devoted friend, the Comte de Chasseuon, who spoke to

him encouragingly, saying there were pistols in the carriage and that

they must be used if required. As the carriage drove on, La Valette

exchanged his woman’s clothes for a groom’s suit, and when it stopped

he jumped out at the bidding of his friend, M. Baudus, who was to act

as his new master.

 

It was now eight in the evening, pitch dark and the rain falling in

torrents; the neighborhood was deserted and silent save when the sound

of galloping horses’ hoofs were heard, and several gensdarmes passed

at a hard gallop. No doubt the escape had been discovered, and pursuit

had begun. La Valette, wearied and agitated, having lost one shoe,

walked on as best he could, through the mud, following his master into

the door of a house in the rue de Grenelle, which was actually the

Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the residence of the Duc de Richelieu.

M. Baudus stopped to speak a few words to the Swiss after bidding La

Valette to run up-stairs. “Who is that?” asked the Swiss. “My servant,”

replied M. Baudus, “going up to his own room.” This was enough for La

Valette, who hastened to the third floor, where some one met him, and

without speaking led him into a room, the door of which was immediately

closed on him. There was a stove alight, giving out heat and flame,

and La Valette, stretching out his hands to warm them, touched a match

box and a candle. He at once accepted this as permission to light

up. He found himself in a good sized garret, furnished comfortably

with bed, chest of drawers and a table, on which was a scrap of paper

with a few words. “Make no noise, only open the window at night time,

put on slippers and have patience.” On this table was also a bottle

of excellent Burgundy, several books and a basket containing toilet

appliances. He had fallen among friends certainly, but why in this

house, under the same roof as a department of State, presided over by a

perfect stranger, the Duc de Richelieu? But M. Baudus was an employee

in the office, and he remembered perhaps the Eastern proverb that

“the thief in hiding is safest under the walls of the King’s castle.”

It seemed, however, that a certain Madame Bresson, whose husband was

cashier in the Foreign Office, had resolved to help the first fugitive

seeking safety, in gratitude for the escape of M. Bresson on a previous

occasion. The two were now moved to pity and indignation at the ignoble

spite vented by the government, and their cruel treatment of political

enemies.

 

La Valette’s escape from the Conciergerie spread fear and dismay among

the adherents of Louis XVIII. No one went to bed that night in the

Tuileries. Reports were circulated that a vast conspiracy had been

formed, and the escape was to be a signal for the storm to burst.

Some time elapsed before the alarm was given from within the prison.

The warder attendant had entered the prisoner’s room as usual, but,

deceived by the noise made behind the screen, had again withdrawn,

to return five minutes later and make closer investigation. He saw

Madame de La Valette standing there alone, and the truth broke in upon

him. He turned to run out, but the devoted wife clung to him crying,

“Wait, wait, give my husband time, let him get further away.” “Leave

go, leave go,” he replied, roughly shaking her off, “I am a lost man;”

and he rushed away shouting, “He is gone; the prisoner has escaped!”

Dismay and confusion prevailed on all sides. Gaolers, attendants and

gensdarmes ran here and there. One or two hurried after the sedan

chair, which was still in sight, jogging along the quay, and fell upon

it savagely. It was empty, as we know, and his carriage had already

removed the fugitive to a distance.

 

A certain calm now fell upon the bewildered keepers, and more

systematic pursuit was organised. Visits were forthwith paid to all La

Valette’s friends and acquaintances. Orders were issued to close and

watch the barriers, hand-bills were hastily printed, giving particulars

of the escape. For half an hour Madame de La Valette was consumed

with the liveliest anxiety, but as her husband was not brought back

she was satisfied he had not been recaptured. But her situation was

painful in the extreme, for the gaolers bitterly reproached her, using

threats and curses. Then a high official appeared upon the scene, and,

interrogating her rudely, upbraided her angrily for the part she had

played. She was plainly told not to look for release and was committed

to a room, which she knew had been Marshal Ney’s last resting-place,

and was full of the saddest memories. Directly under her windows was

the courtyard of the female prison, and she was within earshot of the

conversation of the lowest of her own sex. There they kept her in the

strictest seclusion, her lady’s maid was not permitted to join her, and

she was waited upon by one of the female gaolers. She was not allowed

to write or receive letters, or see visitors. Not a syllable of news

reached her, and she was left in such increasing anxiety and agitation

of mind that she did not sleep for nearly three weeks. La Valette’s

little daughter had been received into a convent, where she was not

unkindly treated, although the mothers of other inmates objected to

their association with the child of a condemned and prosecuted man.

 

Meanwhile the fugitive had found safety and comparative comfort in the

hands of his loyal and devoted friend. He spent the first night at his

window, breathing the free air; then towards the small hours slept

the sleep of the just. When he woke he found a servant sweeping out

his room, and was visited by his host, who assured him he had nothing

whatever to fear. Neither the threats launched against those who gave

him an asylum nor the rewards promised to those who would betray had

the slightest weight with Madame Bresson, who was prepared to watch

over him with the most scrupulous fidelity--so much so, that when he

asked for small beer to quench his incurable thirst, he was refused.

“We are not in the habit of drinking beer here, and if it is ordered

it may suggest that we have some new lodger in the place.” M. Bresson

emphasised his caution by the story of a M. de Saint Morin, who was

betrayed and perished on the scaffold during the Terror because he

would eat a fowl, the bones of which he picked and threw out of the

window. They were seen by a neighbor, who knew that the old woman who

owned the house could not afford to eat fowls, and it was concluded

that she was giving shelter to some one of better class. This led

to the discovery and arrest of M. de Saint Morin. “No, no,” said M.

Bresson, “you can have as much drink as you please,--syrups and _eau

sucré_--but no beer.”

 

The days passed, the excitement in Paris did not diminish, the police

were increasingly active, and it became more and more necessary to

smuggle La Valette away. Various plans were suggested, one that he

should escape in the carriage of a Russian general, who would pass the

barrier, having La Valette concealed in the bottom of the coach. A

condition was that the general’s debts to the amount of 8,000 francs

should be paid, and the money would have been forthcoming, but he would

not move without knowing the name of the fugitive, and this was deemed

dangerous to divulge. Another plan was that La Valette should march

out of Paris, incorporated with a Bavarian Battalion on its way home.

The officer in command readily agreed, and the King of Bavaria, a warm

friend of La Valette’s, heartily approved. But the notion became known

to the police, and the Bavarian regiment was constantly surrounded by

spies enough to arrest the whole battalion.

 

At last, after waiting eighteen days, Baudus came with the joyful news

that certain Englishmen in Paris were willing to give their help in

furthering the escape. A Mr. Michael Bruce was the first to move in the

business. He was well received in the best French society, and he was

approached by certain great ladies, chief among them the Princesse de

Vaudémont. Bruce was delighted when invited to assist a distinguished

but unfortunate person, unjustly condemned to death, and he at once

took into his confidence a British general, Sir Robert Wilson, who

had already chivalrously essayed to save the life of Marshal Ney. In

common with many of his countrymen he had felt that the hard fate meted

out to Napoleon’s chief adherents was a disgrace to the country which

had played so large a part in the Emperor’s overthrow. Wilson readily

agreed, and took upon himself to make the necessary arrangements. Bruce

did not appear; his known sympathy for Ney would have laid him open to

suspicion, and he might have drawn the attention of the police to his

movements and exposed La Valette to detection. Sir Robert Wilson sought

assistants among the younger officers of the Army of Occupation, and

finally chose Captain Allister of the Fifth Dragoon Guards and Captain

Hely-Hutchinson of the Grenadier Guards, afterwards the third Earl of

Donoughmae. After some discussion it was settled that La Valette should

assume the disguise of a British officer, and as such should travel to

the frontier by the Valenciennes road to Belgium, that generally taken

by the English officers then in Paris. Some little difficulty was

found in obtaining the necessary uniform, but it was at last made to La

Valette’s measure by the master tailors of his Majesty’s guards.

 

On the evening of the ninth of January, 1816, La Valette bade farewell

to the hosts, who had so nobly protected him and walked as far as the

rue de Grenelle, where he found a cabriolet awaiting him, driven by

the same faithful friend, the Comte de Chasseuon, by whose aid he had

escaped from the Conciergerie. They passed the tall railings of the

Tuileries gardens, and laughed at the long series of sentinels, any one

of whom would have gladly checked their progress, and at length reached

the rue du Hilder, where Captain Hely-Hutchinson had an apartment. His

three English friends, Sir Robert Wilson, Hely-Hutchinson and Michael

Bruce, were there to welcome him, and they all sat down to talk rapidly

over the important adventure fixed for the following day. The general

was very precise in his instructions. They must be moving early, awake

and up at 6 o’clock. La Valette was as spruce and smart as became a

captain in the guards. “I shall call for you at 8 A. M. in my own open

cabriolet, as I mean to drive you myself as far as Compiègne,” said he.

“Hutchinson, here, will accompany us on horseback.”

 

All happened as planned. Although some surprise was expressed at the

sight of a general officer in full uniform, driving in a gig, no

questions could be addressed to a person of his rank. The guards

turned out and saluted, and the barrier of Clichy was reached without

accident; then the first post-house at La Chapelle, where the horse was

changed. Here a party of gensdarmes seemed disposed to be inquisitive,

but Captain Hely-Hutchinson dismounted and gossiped with them on the

coming arrival of troops. More gensdarmes were encountered along the

road, but none accosted them, and La Valette hugged his pistol close

and would have resisted recapture. There was a long halt at Compiègne

awaiting the general’s large carriage, which Captain Ellister was

bringing after them from Paris. It was during this half that Sir Robert

Wilson, having caught sight of some straggling gray hairs beneath La

Valette’s wig, produced a pair of scissors and deftly acted as barber

in removing them. Taking the road in the new carriage they sped along

rapidly through the night, and reached Valenciennes, the last French

town, at 7 o’clock in the morning. Here the captain of gendarmerie

on duty summoned them to his presence to exhibit their passports,

but Sir Robert Wilson refused haughtily. “Let him come to me. It is

not the custom for a general officer to wait on captains. There are

the passports; he can do as he pleases.” It was bitterly cold, the

officer was abed and did not care to turn out, but gave the passports

his _visé_ without more ado. A last obstacle offered in the person

of an officious custom-house officer, but he was quickly satisfied,

and the frontier was passed in safety. Some close chances had been

surmounted on the way. They ran the risk of detection at the various

post-houses, where the carriage was examined closely and the passengers

interrogated. Once the identity of La Valette was questioned; he was

travelling under the assumed name of Colonel Losack, and no such name

could be found in the British army list, but Sir Robert Wilson carried

it off with a high hand. A nearer danger was that La Valette had very

marked features, and he was well known to many officials, having been

Napoleon’s Postmaster General, while the hand-bills notifying the

escape and describing him in detail had been very widely distributed.