WONDERFUL ESCAPES.
[Illustration: Osmond carrying off Duke Richard.]
WONDERFUL ESCAPES
_REVISED FROM THE FRENCH OF F. BERNARD
AND ORIGINAL CHAPTERS ADDED._
BY
RICHARD WHITEING.
With Twenty-six Plates.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER & CO.
1871.
Illustrated Library of Wonders.
PUBLISHED BY
Messrs. Charles Scribner & Co.,
654 BROADWAY, NEW YORK.
Each one volume 12mo. Price per volume, $1.50.
_Titles of Books._ _No. of Illustrations_
THUNDER AND LIGHTNING, 39
WONDERS OF OPTICS, 70
WONDERS OF HEAT, 90
INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS, 54
GREAT HUNTS, 22
EGYPT 3,300 YEARS AGO, 40
WONDERS OF POMPEII, 22
THE SUN, BY A. GUILLEMIN, 53
SUBLIME IN NATURE, 50
WONDERS OF GLASS MAKING, 63
WONDERS OF ITALIAN ART, 28
WONDERS OF THE HUMAN BODY, 45
WONDERS OF ARCHITECTURE, 50
LIGHTHOUSES AND LIGHTSHIPS, 60
BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN, 68
WONDERS OF BODILY STRENGTH AND SKILL, 70
WONDERFUL BALLOON ASCENTS, 30
ACOUSTICS, 114
WONDERS OF THE HEAVENS, 48
* THE MOON, BY A. GUILLEMIN, 60
* WONDERS OF SCULPTURE, 61
* WONDERS OF ENGRAVING, 32
* WONDERS OF VEGETATION, 45
* WONDERS OF THE INVISIBLE WORLD, 97
CELEBRATED ESCAPES, 26
* WATER, 77
* HYDRAULICS, 40
* ELECTRICITY, 71
* SUBTERRANEAN WORLD, 27
* In Press for early Publication.
_The above works sent to any address, post paid, upon receipt of the
price by the publishers._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Aristomenes the Messenian 1
Hegesistratus 2
Demetrius Soter 4
Marius 6
Attalus 10
Richard, Duke of Normandy 15
Louis II., Count of Flanders 17
The Duke of Albany 19
James V., King of Scotland 22
Secundus Curion 25
Benvenuto Cellini 26
Mary, Queen of Scots 41
Caumont de la Force 45
Charles de Guise 54
Mary de Medicis 56
Grotius 60
Isaac Arnauld 63
The Duke of Beaufort 65
Cardinal de Retz 69
Quiquéran de Beaujeu 76
Charles II. 78
Blanche Gamond 90
Jean Bart and the Chevalier de Forbin 96
Duguay Trouin 99
The Abbé Count de Bucquoy 101
Jacobite Insurrectionists 108
Charles Edward 111
Stanislaus Leczinski 118
Baron Trenck 122
Cassanova de Seingalt 160
Latude 214
Beniowski 229
Twelve Priests saved by Geoffroy St. Hilaire 236
De Chateaubrun 238
Sydney Smith 239
Pichegru, Ramel, Barthelemy, etc. 241
Colonel de Richemont 248
Captain Grivel 254
Lavalette 255
Giovanni Arrivabene, Ugoni, and Scalvini 262
Political Prisoners, 1834 265
Monsieur Rufin Piotrowski 267
Prince Louis Napoleon 284
James Stephens 298
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
I. They came at last to an opening, 2
II. Marius sent away from Minturnæ, 10
III. I then tore them up into long bands, 29
IV. Cellini attacked by the dogs, 36
V. Escape of Mary, Queen of Scots, from Loch Leven
Castle, 44
VI. “Hush!” said the man, “keep quiet, they are
still there,” 48
VII. She lifted the lid of the chest, and her master
leaped out safe and sound, 62
VIII. He let himself drop into the sea, 78
IX. They grew very angry at my rudeness, 88
X. I was obliged to support myself with one arm, 92
XI. My foot got stuck, and the sentinel seized it, 127
XII. Trenck escaping with Lieutenant Schell, 138
XIII. The first grenadier I knocked down, 155
XIV. I heard the sound of a door being unbolted, 174
XV. I told him to be very careful not to spill the sauce, 186
XVI. Balbi rolled down into my arms, 197
XVII. The monk clung to my waistband, 202
XVIII. I told him I was going to bury him, 213
XIX. I saw on the parapet the soldiers of the grand round, 224
XX. Stop, thief! 228
XXI. The woodman pulled out a knife and did so, 239
XXII. He affected great surprise, 241
XXIII. I held my handkerchief to my eyes, 258
XXIV. They fell exhausted to the ground, 264
XXV. The sight of the seal was sufficient, 278
XXVI. Osmond carrying off Duke Richard, _Frontispiece_.
WONDERFUL ESCAPES.
_ARISTOMENES THE MESSENIAN._
ABOUT 684 B.C.
Aristomenes, the Messenian general, fighting at the head of his troops
against very superior numbers of the Lacedemonians, commanded by the two
kings of Sparta, received a severe blow on the head from a stone, and
fell insensible and to all appearance dead. He was taken prisoner, with
fifty of his soldiers, and dragged to Sparta, where the Lacedemonians
condemned them all to be thrown into the Cœada, a hideous gulf formed
by a fissure in the earth, in whose depths already lay the bones of
hundreds of criminals who had been put to death. The barbarous sentence
was actually carried out; and Aristomenes, with all his surviving
soldiers, was hurled into the gulf. The latter perished to a man in the
fall; but their general, on this as on so many other occasions, was
saved--as the historian Pausanias has it, by the favour of a god. The
most enthusiastic chroniclers of his exploits say that an eagle flying
towards him sustained his body on its extended wings, and thus bore him
unharmed to the bottom of the ravine. A happy chance revealed to him a
means of egress from this dismal prison. When he reached the bottom, he
lay for some time on the ground, wrapped in his mantle, and in momentary
expectation of death. He scarcely stirred from this position for two
days; on the third day of his entombment, however, he heard a noise, and
uncovering his face, saw a fox creeping along in the gloom towards a
heap of corpses. Judging from this that there must be an opening in the
ravine, he waited until the animal approached him, and then seized its
leg with one hand, thrust his mantle into its mouth with the other when
it turned to bite, and suffered himself to be dragged through the
passages of his subterranean prison. They came at last to an opening
just large enough to give a passage to the fox and to admit a feeble ray
of light into the cavern. The animal bounded forward into the daylight,
and disappeared as soon as Aristomenes let go his hold, leaving the
captive general to follow after he had enlarged the opening with his
hands. This escape of Aristomenes was considered a manifest proof of the
favour and protection of the gods. (_Pausanias: Description of Greece_,
bk. iv., ch. xviii.)
_HEGESISTRATUS._
ABOUT 475 B.C.
Mardonias had for an augur, according to the Greek rites, Hegesistratus
of Elea. This man, at one time, was in the power of the Spartans, to
whom he had wrought very great harm, and he lay heavily ironed in
prison, and condemned to death. In this extremity, knowing that he had
to expect, not only to lose his life, but to suffer the most frightful
tortures before his execution, he performed an incredible exploit. He
was fastened to a heavy wooden fetter bound with iron, and by the aid of
a scrap of the same metal which he found by accident in his prison, he
accomplished the
[Illustration: They came at last to an opening.]
most courageous action ever recorded; for, having carefully measured off
as much of his foot as he could manage to drag out of the fetters, he
cut it away from the rest by the tarsal bone. He then contrived,
although the prison was strictly guarded, to pick a hole in the wall of
his dungeon, and escape to Tegea, walking, or rather hobbling along, by
night, and hiding during the day. He arrived at Tegea on the third
night, after eluding all the vigilance of the Lacedemonians, who had,
indeed, been struck with almost ludicrous astonishment when they found
only the half of the man’s foot in their safe keeping and the owner
gone. As soon as Hegesistratus was cured, he provided himself with a
wooden foot, and became the declared enemy of the Lacedemonians. His
hatred of them was about equalled by his love of gain; and he was
enabled to gratify both passions by sacrificing, and by drawing
divinations for the Persians at the battle of Platea, for which he was
most liberally paid by Mardonius. But his enmity to the Spartans brought
him to a bad end, for he was captured by them at Zacynthus, where he was
following his trade of divination, and put to death. (_Herodotus_, bk.
ix., § xxxvii.)
In the time of Herodotus, the term “tarsus” was applied, not only to
that part of the foot so designated by modern anatomists, but also to
that immediately above the toes. It would even seem to follow, from a
passage in Hippocrates, that the term tarsus was employed specially to
designate those portions now called metatarsal, and to the second row of
the bones of the tarsus, from which he distinguishes those in direct
communication with the leg. From the text of Herodotus, however, it is
sufficiently clear that Hegesistratus cut off his foot at the part where
the tarsus and metatarsus join.
It would at first seem incredible that a man could have the resolution
to mutilate himself in this way, and, above all, to do subsequently what
is here recorded by the Greek author; but facts certainly as
extraordinary have been observed among the North American Indians. It is
but rarely, however, that among stories of the kind we have collected,
even though they may be taken from the gravest historians, some details
are not found open to at least the suspicion of exaggeration. We give
the name of our authority: the reader must take the story for what it is
worth.
_DEMETRIUS SOTER._
162 B.C.
Demetrius had been sent to Rome as a hostage by his father, Seleucus
Philopater. Antiochus having afterwards assassinated Seleucus, and made
himself King of Syria, Demetrius asked the Senate to restore him his
liberty and his throne. But, according to Polybius, although the
senators were touched by the words of the young prince, they thought it
more to the interest of the Republic to detain him in Rome, and to
recognise the son of Antiochus.
Some time after, Demetrius wished to renew his appeal to the Senate, and
he consulted Polybius, who tried to dissuade him from it: “Do not,” said
the historian, “bruise yourself a second time against the same stone.
Believe in yourself and in yourself alone, and prove by your own
boldness that you deserve to be king.”
The prince, expecting no doubt advice more in harmony with his
intentions, did not follow the counsel of Polybius till he was taught
the value of it by a second refusal from the Senate; and then he
prepared for flight. Diodorus, who had educated him, arrived very
opportunely at that moment from Syria, and assured him that if he were
to present himself to his people with but one attendant at his back he
would be immediately proclaimed king.
Polybius, Diodorus, and some other friends of the young prince, devoted
themselves to his service. They bought a Carthaginian ship lying at the
mouth of the Tiber, without much hindrance it would seem from the
vigilance of the authorities; for the sale and all the arrangements,
including the settlement of the very hour of departure, were effected
with the utmost publicity. When the time came Demetrius assembled his
friends around him, a limited number of them only being in the secret,
and standing pledged to embark with their slaves at a given signal.
Polybius was ill, and could not leave his house, but he became
apprehensive lest the young man should abandon himself to the pleasures
of the table, and forget the hour fixed for his setting out. He
therefore sent a slave to him towards nightfall, with orders to approach
him as though on business of importance, and to place a letter in his
hand reminding him of his duty. Demetrius read the letter, invented a
pretext for withdrawing from the table, and returned with his confidants
to his own house, whence he sent away his servants to Anagnia with
orders to get everything in readiness for a boar hunt on the next day
but one--this being his favourite sport, and the one which had first
brought him into contact with Polybius. His friends also gave the same
orders to their slaves, and in due time all the confederates assembled
at Ostia. Demetrius still pretended that he meant to stay at Rome, and
that he was merely sending out some trusted friends of his own age with
instructions to his brother. The captain of the ship, for his part, was
not disposed to be too particular in his inquiries about anything except
the money for the voyage; and towards night Demetrius and his companions
quietly embarked. At daybreak the anchors were raised, the vessel stood
out to sea, and the fugitives were free. (_Polybius_, bk. xxxi., frag.
xii.)
MARIUS.
85 B.C.
When Marius felt himself menaced by Sylla’s march on Rome he tried to
raise the slaves in his favour, but on the failure of the attempt, he
took to flight, knowing that he had no mercy to expect from his rival,
whose friends he had so remorselessly slain. He had hardly left the city
when his attendants dispersed, and he was obliged to seek refuge alone
at Solonium, one of his country retreats. From this place he sent his
son to collect food in the grounds of his father-in-law, Mucius, which
were not far off. The hunted man at the same time hurried away to Ostia,
and without waiting for his son’s return, embarked with his son-in-law,
Granius, in a vessel kept in readiness for him by Numerius, one of his
friends. The young Marius had meanwhile got a store of provisions; but
at daybreak he was alarmed by the approach of the horsemen of Sylla,
whose suspicions had led them to the place. They were seen, however, at
a distance by Mucius’s faithful steward, who hid the youth in a cart
laden with beans, and harnessing his oxen to it, pushed boldly on before
the horsemen into the city. The fugitive was then conveyed to his wife’s
house, where he waited till nightfall, and then took ship, and reached
Africa in safety.
The elder Marius had weighed anchor, and was carried along the coasts
of Italy by a favourable wind; but he ordered the sailors to stand off
from Terracina, because he feared his enemy Geminius, one of the
principal inhabitants of that place. They were in the act of obeying him
when a gale began to blow, which soon swelled to such a furious tempest
that it seemed impossible for the boat to live. This, joined to the
illness of Marius, who was prostrated by sea-sickness, obliged them to
make for the coast of Circæi, where they landed with great difficulty.
They were scarcely a league from Minturnæ when they saw a troop of
horsemen approaching, and quite by chance perceived a couple of barks
afloat. They at once turned in terror from the horsemen, and plunged
into the sea to swim to the barks. Granius easily reached one of the
boats and made for the island of Enaria, situated opposite to this point
of the coast; but Marius, who was then seventy years of age, was dragged
with great difficulty towards the other by two slaves, and had hardly
been placed in it when his pursuers reached the bank and ordered the
sailors to row him ashore, or else to throw him overboard and go
wherever they pleased without him. Marius had recourse to supplications
and to tears, and his companions, after hesitating a little while,
refused to abandon him. But his enraged pursuers had hardly left the
shore when the sailors again changed their minds and steered towards the
land. They cast anchor at the mouth of the Liris (the Garigliano), the
waters of which formed a marsh, and they urged Marius to land in order
to take some nourishment and recover from his sea-sickness and to await
a more favourable wind. He confided in them and followed their advice;
and when they had put him ashore he hid himself in a meadow, little
thinking of what was to follow, for he had hardly left the vessel when
they weighed anchor again and left the place, as though thinking it
would neither be honest in them to deliver him to his enemies, nor safe
to try to save his life.
Left thus alone and abandoned by all, Marius for a time lay stretched
upon the shore, without the power to rise or to utter a single word; but
at length, lifting himself up with difficulty, he began to totter
painfully along a pathless waste of land. After crossing several deep
marshes he came by chance to the cottage of an old labouring man, and
falling at his feet he besought him to save one who, if he escaped from
his present dangers, would have it in his power to bestow an unhoped-for
recompense upon his deliverer. The old man, either knowing him or
detecting something of his real importance in his bearing, replied that
if he wished for rest he might find it in the cottage, but if he sought
for safety from his enemies he would hide him in a more secret place.
Marius begged him to do so, and the peasant, leading him into the marsh,
told him to crouch in a hole on the bank of a river, and covered him up
with reeds and other light things, which effectually concealed him,
without oppressing him with their weight.
He had not lain there long when he heard a slight uproar and the sound
of voices coming from the cottage. Geminius of Terracina had, in fact,
sent a number of people in pursuit of him, and some of them, who had
penetrated to that place, were trying to frighten the old man by
charging him with having harboured the enemy of Rome. Marius then
foolishly revealed himself by crawling out of his hiding-place and
plunging naked into the filthy waters of the marsh, where he was at once
seen by his pursuers. They dragged him out half suffocated and covered
with mud, and took him to Minturnæ, where the magistrates thought it
prudent to deliberate on his fate, although the decree ordering his
pursuit and immediate execution when captured had been published in all
the cities. They decided at last on placing him for safe custody in the
house of a woman named Fannia, whom he had formerly injured, and who, it
was thought, would be very evilly disposed towards him. Fannia, however,
on this occasion showed him no animosity; indeed, the sight of her
supposed enemy did not appear to recall one bitter feeling to her mind,
for she placed food before him and exhorted him to take courage. He told
her he had just seen a favourable omen and was full of confidence, and
ordered her to close the door of his chamber, as he wished for repose.
Meanwhile, the authorities of Minturnæ had decided that he should be put
to death without delay, but not one citizen could be found to undertake
his execution. At length a horse-soldier--a Gaul according to some, and
according to others a Cimbrian--took a sword and entered the woman’s
dwelling. The room in which the captive lay was very badly lit, and was
indeed in almost total darkness; and the Cimbrian (so runs the story)
thought he saw two fierce eyes darting flames, and heard a terrible
voice calling to him out of the gloom, “Wretch! darest thou slay Caius
Marius?” At all events, he at once threw down his sword in terror and
ran away, exclaiming, as he leaped headlong over the threshold, “No, I
dare not kill Caius Marius.” The whole city was seized with
astonishment, and then with pity and repentance, and the people
reproached themselves for their cruel and ungrateful resolution against
a man who had saved Italy, and whom it had once been a crime to refuse
to aid. “Let him go where he will to meet his destiny,” they said; “and,
for our part, let us supplicate the gods to pardon us for having cast
him out naked and helpless from our midst.”
A number of the citizens then went to Fannia’s house, and forming in
procession before the proscribed man led him to the sea. As each had
some useful thing to present to him for his journey, he lost some time
in receiving and acknowledging their attention, and this delay
threatened to be further prolonged by the fact that the sacred grove,
called Marica, lay in the way of their direct passage to the shore. An
old man, however, had the courage to enter the wood, observing that
where the safety of Marius was concerned there should be no forbidden
path, and the rest followed his example. On reaching the shore Marius
found a ship ready to receive him, which had been thoroughly equipped
and provisioned for his service by a citizen named Beleus. In this
manner he made his escape.
He afterwards ordered all these incidents to be made the subject of a
grand picture, which he placed as an offering in the temple standing
near the place of his embarkation.
_ATTALUS._
SIXTH CENTURY.
Theodoric and Childebert entered into an alliance, took oath not to
march against one another, and mutually received hostages for the better
observance of the terms of their treaty. Among these hostages were many
of the sons of senators, who, when the kings unfortunately began to
quarrel again, were reduced to servitude, and became the slaves of those
in whose guardianship they had been placed. Many of them, however,
contrived to escape, and but a few
[Illustration: Marius sent away from Minturnæ.]
were kept in servitude for any length of time. Among the latter was
Attalus, nephew of Gregory, Bishop of Langres. He had been sold as a
slave to the State, and had been employed in the care of horses under a
certain barbarian in the district of Treves. Some servants of Bishop
Gregory, who had been sent in search of the youth, and had discovered
his whereabouts, tried to buy his freedom from the barbarian; but he
refused their modest offerings, on the ground that a person so
illustrious as his captive ought to pay at least ten pounds’ weight of
gold for his ransom. On the return of these emissaries, one of them
named Leon, employed in the bishop’s kitchen, said to his master, “God
grant that your lordship give me permission to make the attempt, and
perhaps I shall be able to redeem Attalus yet.”
The bishop consented, and Leon set out for Treves. He tried at first to
get the young man away secretly, but this was impossible. He then
deliberately caused himself to be sold to the barbarian, offering the
price of the transaction as a reward to the man who had pretended to be
his owner. The buyer asked what the new slave could do. “I am a very
clever cook,” replied Leon; “I can serve everything fit for the table of
a great lord; and I don’t believe that my equal in this science is to be
found anywhere. I dare venture to say that if my master wanted to
entertain the king, he could not do better than order me to invent him a
right royal feast.”
“Sunday is coming,” said the barbarian, “and on that day I am going to
invite my friends and relations. I want you to prepare a banquet for me
which will excite their admiration.”
The Sunday came, and the new slave served one of his choicest repasts,
which so pleased his master that he at once took him into high favour,
and made him almost the second person in the household. At the end of
about a year he was so trusted that he was enabled one day, without
exciting suspicion, to walk after Attalus into a meadow near the house,
and to begin a conversation with him, though they took the precaution of
sitting back to back and at some distance from one another. “It is
time,” said Leon to the young man, “that we began to think of our
country; and I have come to you to give you warning not to go to sleep
to-night after you have put up your horses, but to be ready to leave
this place the moment you hear me call.”
The barbarian was in the meanwhile feasting at his own table with a
number of his relations and a son-in-law, to whom he wished to do
especial honour. As they left the table at midnight to go to bed, Leon
followed this son-in-law to his apartment, and presented him with a cup
of wine.
“You are very high in the confidence of my father-in-law,” said the
son-in-law, jocularly; “but, suppose you had the power, when would you
have the will to jump on the back of one of his horses, and make a dash
for your own country?”
“I hope to do it to-night, please God,” said Leon, adopting the same
tone of pleasantry, with great self-possession.
“Then, please God too,” returned the other, laughing, “my servants will
keep a sharp look out, for I must see that you don’t take away any
property of mine;” and they left one another in this pleasant way.
When the whole household was asleep, Leon softly called Attalus, whose
horses were ready saddled, and asked him if he had a sword. “I have
nothing but a small spear,” said Attalus.
Leon went straight into his master’s room, and took down his sword and
buckler, not without awakening him, however, for he called out to know
who was there. “Only Leon,” replied the slave; “I am going to wake
Attalus, to make sure of his being up in time to take the horses to
grass, for he is as sound asleep as a drunken man.”
“Oh! is that all?” murmured the master; “very well,” and he turned over
and went to sleep again.
Leon stole out, and gave the weapons to the young man; and, by nothing
less than a miracle, found the doors of the court-yard open, though they
had been closed at nightfall, with heavy iron wedges, for the better
security of the horses. They both gave thanks to God, and at once made
off, taking with them all the horses, and their few personal effects as
slaves. But at Moselle they were obliged to leave both horses and
effects behind for fear of awakening the suspicion of some persons they
overtook there; and once rid of these encumbrances, they easily gained
the opposite bank of the river by floating over on their bucklers. The
darkness favoured them; and they soon found shelter and concealment in a
forest. They stayed there till they had been three whole days and nights
without tasting food, till at length, by the special favour of
Providence, they found a plum-tree, the fruit of which served to satisfy
their more pressing and immediate wants. They then started with renewed
strength on their journey, and took the road to Champagne. They had not
gone far when they heard the sound of hoofs, and they hastily hid
themselves in a thicket of brier, taking care, however, to draw their
swords, so as to be ready to defend themselves in the last extremity. A
moment after a number of horsemen drew up at the thicket, and one of
them was heard to say, “Why cannot we find these wretches? I swear if I
came across them, I would hang the one and hack the other in pieces with
my sword.” It was the voice of the barbarian, their master, who had
ridden from Rheims in search of them, and who would certainly have found
them on the way if the darkness had not been in their favour. The troop
then pushed forward again, and the sound of their hoofs was soon lost in
the distance.
The two fugitives resumed their journey, reached Rheims at nightfall,
and asked the first person they met in the city the way to the house of
the priest Pantellus. It was Sunday, and as they went through the great
square on their way to the house, the bell sounded for matins. When they
entered the priest’s dwelling, Leon disclosed to the good man the name
and rank of Attalus. “My dream is made out,” said the overjoyed father;
“for this very night in my sleep I saw two doves fly towards my
threshold, and perch upon my hand, and one of them was a white one and
the other black.” (The reader will bear in mind that Leon was a negro).
“God forgive us,” replied the slave, “for not paying due observance to
his holy day.” (On Sunday no one took nourishment till after mass.) “But
we entreat you give us something to eat, for this is the fourth time we
have seen the sun rise without breaking our fast.”
The priest hid the two young men, gave them some bread steeped in wine,
and went to matins.
The barbarian, by-and-by, appeared on the scene, still in hot and eager
pursuit of his slaves; but he had to go away again without them, for the
priest deliberately put him on a wrong scent, out of his great
friendship for Bishop Gregory. They then sat down to the uninterrupted
enjoyment of a good meal; and they remained two days with the good
priest until they had quite recruited their strength, and were enabled
to pursue their journey towards their own home, which they reached
without any further trouble. The bishop, transported with joy at the
sight of them, fell weeping on the neck of Attalus: and as a special
mark of his gratitude to the preserver of his nephew, he gave Leon and
all his family their freedom, with as much land as sufficed for their
subsistence for the rest of their days. (_Histoire Ecclésiastique des
Francs_, bk. iii., ch. xv., translated by M. Henri Bordier.)
Attalus afterwards became Count of Autun.
_RICHARD, DUKE OF NORMANDY._
TENTH CENTURY.
After the assassination of William Longsword, Duke of Normandy, near
Pecquigny, on the Somme, his infant son Richard was called to the
succession. Louis d’Outre-Mer, who had fixed his eyes on the throne,
contrived to get the young prince in his power, and to have him sent to
Laon, under pretence of giving him an education suited to his rank. The
arch-plotter placed the child under the most rigorous espionage, and
treated him with great cruelty. He even threatened to hamstring his
innocent victim by fire, a frightful torture which the policy of the
Middle Ages did not disdain to use as a means for depriving princes of
their thrones.
The young prince’s steward, Osmond, hearing of the king’s determination,
and foreseeing the terrible lot in store for the child, sent messengers
to apprise the Normans of the perilous position of their lord. The news
excited the utmost anxiety and alarm throughout all Normandy; and during
a three days’ fast of the entire people, the clergy prayed continually
for the safety of the captive. Osmond, meanwhile, by the advice of
Yvon, the father of William de Belesme, found an opportunity to advise
the young prince to pretend to be very ill, and to take to his bed as if
he never hoped to rise from it again. The child, understanding the
object of his steward’s instructions, showed great intelligence in
following them, and stretched himself at full length on his bed, to all
appearance at the point of death. This naturally had the effect of
making his guardians less vigilant, and they soon began to neglect their
charge of the seeming invalid to look after their own affairs. When
Osmond judged that the fitting moment had arrived, he went into the
courtyard of the prince’s house, and, putting the child in a bundle of
grass which he found there, hoisted him on his shoulders as if he were
going to carry fodder to his horse, and scaled the walls of the city
while the king sat at supper and the streets were almost deserted. He
then took horse, and in due time arrived at Conci, where he placed the
child in the care of the governor, himself pushing forward, till he
reached Senlis by the break of day. Count Bernard showed some surprise
at the sight of him, and made many eager inquiries about the safety of
the child; and when he had received a full account of all that had been
done, he rode away with the brave steward to ask help of Hugo the Great.
The appeal was not in vain. Hugo remembered an oath by which he had
engaged to protect the prince, and sent a large army to Conci, whence
the fugitive was conducted in state to Senlis, to the great joy of the
entire people. (_Guillaume de Jumièges: Histoire des Normands_, bk. iv.,
ch. iv.)
_LOUIS II., COUNT OF FLANDERS._
1347.
When Louis II., Count of Flanders, had succeeded his father, Louis I.,
in 1346, at the age of sixteen years, the Flemings wished him to marry
Isabella, daughter of the King of England, while Duke John of Brabant
and Philip VI. of Valois, King of France, had come to an understanding
to unite the young count to the daughter of Duke John. Louis II., on his
part, refused the marriage which his subjects wished to force on him,
“Being,” says Froissart, “unwilling to marry the daughter of the man who
had murdered his father, even if she brought him half the kingdom of
England for her portion.” “When the Flemings heard that,” the old
chronicler continues, “they said their lord was too much of a Frenchman,
and was badly advised, and that he would not do for them at all if he
did not mean to take their counsel. So they laid hands upon him, though
with all courtesy and tenderness, and put him into prison, telling him
he must remain there until he saw fit to do as they wished.
“The young count was shut up by his subjects a long while, and he even
began to be in some danger, for his firmness provoked them. At last,
however, he gave way, or pretended to do so, and told those about him
that he would do as his people wished, since they were dearer to him
than any other. This rejoiced the Flemings mightily, and they at once
softened the excessive rigours of his captivity. They allowed him to
extend his walks as far as the river, to his great joy though he was
still attended by guards, who had orders never to leave him a moment out
of their sight. When this had lasted a pretty long while, the young
count seemed to yield absolutely, and told the Flemings that he was now
quite willing to marry the lady of their choice. They ran in great haste
with the news to the King and Queen of England, who were before Calais,
and signified to their majesties that if they would take their daughter
to the abbey of Bergues, the young count should be there to meet her,
and the preliminaries to the marriage should be at once concluded. This
arrangement was actually carried out; the young people were betrothed at
the abbey, and the Flemings once more took the count back to his prison
for safe keeping until the marriage.
“The count,” continues Froissart, “still went down to the river every
day with his guards, but he pretended to look forward to the marriage
with so much joy that they did not think it needful to watch him half so
narrowly as before. But they did not quite know the temper of their
young lord, for submissive as he was to outward seeming, he was soon to
prove that he had at heart all the courage of a Frenchman. It wanted
scarcely a week to the day fixed for the marriage, when he went out one
morning to fly his falcon by the river. His falconer started one bird,
himself another; and when the two falcons were seen in hot pursuit of
the same prey, the count ran forward as if carried away by the
excitement of the chase, and encouraged them with his cries. This ruse
enabled him to reach the open fields without suspicion, and, once there,
he clapped spurs to his horse, and in an instant was lost to view. He
hardly paused till he came to Artois, where he felt safe, and he lost no
time in laying his case before King Philip and the French people, and
telling them by what a fine stratagem he had escaped from his own people
and the English. The King of France was greatly overjoyed, and told the
young man he had done more than well, and the French people said the
same. The poor English, on the contrary, seemed to think that he had
betrayed them.” (_Froissart’s Chronicles_, bk. i., ch. xxxi.)
_THE DUKE OF ALBANY._
FIFTEENTH CENTURY.
James III., King of Scotland, saw, not without misgiving, that his two
brothers, the Duke of Albany and the Earl of Mar, were greatly beloved
by his subjects; and this feeling was soon changed into one of positive
hate, thanks to the whisperings of certain evil counsellors who were
about his person. These wretches, well knowing the feeble nature they
had to deal with, threw the King into a very sickness of terror with
impossible stories of his brothers’ design against his crown and life.
The Earl of Mar, they told him, had obtained a positive assurance from
certain sorcerers that his royal kinsman would die by the hand of a near
relation, and they brought a sorcerer of their own to the palace to say
that there was a lion in Scotland which would be torn in pieces by its
own whelps. This was enough for the king; his cowardly spirit was
frightened into energy and decision, and he ordered the arrest of his
brothers. Albany was thrown into Edinburgh Castle, but the fate of Mar
was determined on at once. He was suffocated in a bath, according to
some historians; or, according to others, bled to the last drop of his
blood.
Albany was in great danger of the same miserable lot, but he had friends
both in France and in Scotland who were resolved not to let him perish
without making an effort to save his life. They were not long in forming
their plans. A little sloop sailed into Leith Roads with a cargo of
Gascony wines, of which two small casks were sent as a present to the
captive prince. The governor of the castle allowed them to be taken into
the chamber in which his prisoner was confined, and when the duke came
to dip into them, he found in one a ball of wax, containing a letter
urging him to escape and make his way to the water-side, where he would
find the little vessel waiting for him. In the other cask there was a
coil of rope, which would enable him to drop from the walls of his
prison to the rock on which the castle stands. His faithful chamberlain,
who shared his captivity, promised to aid him in the enterprise.
The main point was to make sure of the captain of the guard. Albany,
therefore, invited this officer to sup with him under the pretext of
wishing to have his judgment on the wine. The invitation was accepted,
and the captain, having as usual posted his men with due circumspection,
led three of them into the duke’s room with him, and took his place at
table.
The meal over, the duke proposed a game of _trictrac_, and took care
while it was going on to ply his guest freely with the wine, while his
chamberlain was no less attentive to the three soldiers. The drink, and
the heat of a great fire, near which they had artfully placed him, soon
made the officer very drowsy, and the men too began to nod their heads.
Their time was come: the duke, who was a strong man, suddenly jumped up,
and with one blow of a poniard laid the captain dead at his feet. In
another moment he had despatched two of the soldiers; while the
chamberlain with his own dagger finished the third. Their work was the
easier to do as the drink and the fire together had almost stupefied
the poor wretches before a blow was struck. After they had taken the
keys out of the captain’s pockets, they threw the bodies on the fire,
and making their way to an out-of-the-way corner of the wails, began
their perilous descent.
The chamberlain went down first to try the cord, but it was too short,
and he fell and broke his leg. He uttered no cry of pain, but simply
told his master the cause of the disaster. The duke went back to fetch
his bed-clothes, and finally made the descent in safety. His first care
was to provide for the injured man; and he did not bestow a thought on
himself till he had carried his faithful dependent to a hut where he
might remain in perfect security until his recovery. This done, he flew
to the sea-shore, and a boat answering to the hail--at the signal agreed
on--he boarded the sloop, which instantly set sail for France.
During the night, the guards, who knew that their officer had three men
with him in the duke’s room, had no suspicion of what was passing. But
when at daybreak they saw the cord hanging from the wall, they took the
alarm, and rushed hastily into the apartment, when they stumbled over
the body of one soldier lying across the doorway, and saw those of the
captain and the two other men smouldering amid the dying embers in the
large fireplace. The King expressed much surprise at this extraordinary
escape, and he could not be brought to believe in it till he had seen
the place with his own eyes. (_Sir Walter Scott’s History of Scotland_,
vol. i., ch. xix.)
_JAMES V., KING OF SCOTLAND._
SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
Sir George Douglas and his brother, the Earl of Angus, who had married
Queen Margaret of Scotland, had obtained possession of the person of the
young King James V., then a child; and the Earl of Angus administered
the kingdom, and discharged all the functions of a regent without
assuming the title. In a word, these two lords manœuvred so as to
substitute their family for the reigning one upon the throne of
Scotland. Several attempts for the King’s deliverance had failed, and
even two great battles had been fought without success by the partisans
of James V. At the commencement of the second battle, George Douglas,
seeing that the King was eagerly watching an opportunity to escape,
said, “It is useless for your Grace to think of getting out of our
hands; if our enemies held you by one arm, and we by the other, we would
see you torn in pieces rather than loosen our grip.” To make quite sure
of their prize, they appointed a hundred chosen men to guard the
youthful monarch, commanded by one of their own family, Douglas of
Parkhead.
Every attempt by open force having thus failed, James resolved to have
recourse to stratagem. He persuaded his mother, Queen Margaret, to give
up her castle of Stirling to him, and to place it under the command of a
gentleman in whom he had confidence. All this was done very secretly,
and the King, having thus prepared a possible retreat, began to seek an
opportunity of flying to it. The better to disarm the vigilance of the
Douglases, he showed such deference to the Earl of Angus, that people
began to think he had gone over to that nobleman’s party, and had become
resigned to the loss of his own liberty. He was then living at
Falkland, a royal residence very favourably situated for hunting and
falconry, his favourite amusements.
The Earl of Angus and Archibald and George Douglas had all three left
Falkland on various errands of business or pleasure, and no one remained
near the King but Douglas of Parkhead, with the hundred men on whose
vigilance the family knew they could rely. James saw the moment was
favourable. To allay the suspicions of his guards, he announced his
intention of rising early on a certain morning to hunt the stag, and
Douglas of Parkhead never doubting that this was said in good faith,
went to bed after posting his sentinels in the usual manner.
But the King no sooner found himself alone than he called his trusty
page, John Hart, and looking at him very earnestly, said, “John, do you
love me?”
“More than I love myself,” replied the page.
“And are you willing to risk everything for me?”
“My life, if needs be,” replied the youth.
The King then made him acquainted with his plan, and hastily putting on
a servant’s livery, went to the stables with him, as though to prepare
for the next day’s hunt. The guards, failing to recognise him in this
disguise, suffered him to pass without hindrance. The King had
previously taken another of his servants into his confidence, so that
when he and the page reached the stable they found three good horses,
ready saddled and bridled, awaiting them.
James mounted at once with his two faithful servants and galloped all
night, light as a bird just escaped from its cage. At break of day he
passed the bridge of Stirling, and as there was no other means of
crossing the Forth than by this bridge or by a boat, he ordered the
gates which barred the passage to be closed against all comers, without
exception. He was very tired when he reached Stirling Castle, where he
was received with joy by the governor, whom, as we have seen, he had
himself been the means of placing in that fortress. The drawbridge was
raised, the portcullis lowered, the guards were doubled--in fact, every
possible precaution was taken that prudence could dictate. But the King
was so much afraid of again falling into the power of the Douglas, that
in spite of his fatigue, he refused to go to bed until he had himself
placed the keys of the castle under his pillow.
There was great alarm at Falkland on the following morning. George
Douglas had returned on the very night of the King’s flight at about
eleven o’clock, and had at once asked for his prisoner. He was told that
James had gone to bed early, wishing to rise in good time for the hunt;
and he himself retired, perfectly satisfied that all was safe. But in
the morning he was destined to hear very different news, for a certain
Peter Carmichael, baillie of Abernethy, came rapping at his door, to ask
him if he knew where the King was at that moment.
“He is asleep in his bedchamber,” said Sir George.
“You are deceived,” replied Carmichael; “he passed over Stirling Bridge
last night.”
Douglas, jumping out of bed, ran to the King’s room, knocked loudly, and
receiving no answer, broke open the door. Finding the apartment empty,
he cried, “Treason! the King is gone!” dispatched couriers to his
brothers, and sent out in every direction to call his partisans together
for the recapture of James. But the King had by this time proclaimed by
sound of trumpet that he would declare traitor every person bearing the
name of Douglas who should approach within twelve miles of his person,
or take any part in the administration of the kingdom. The Douglases
were obliged to submit, and from that time commenced the decay of their
house, for James could not be brought to pardon them. (_Sir Walter
Scott’s History of Scotland_, ch. xxiii.)
_SECUNDUS CURION._
SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
Cœlius Secundus Curion, a zealous Lutheran, having dared to give the
lie in open church to a Jacobin who had heaped on him the most odious
calumnies from the pulpit, was immediately arrested by order of the
inquisitor of Turin. He was dragged from prison to prison, but he at
last made his escape so cleverly that his enemies could only account for
it by accusing him of magic. In order to exculpate himself from an
accusation extremely dangerous at that time, he published an account of
his escape in a little Latin dialogue, entitled “Probus,” from which we
select the following passages for translation:--
“I had been shut up for eight days in my new prison,” says Curion, “with
my feet fastened to enormous pieces of wood, when, by nothing less than
a sudden inspiration from Heaven, I was urged to supplicate the young
man in charge of me to release me from at least one of my fetters. The
other, as I pointed out to him, would be quite heavy enough to ensure my
safe custody. As he was merciful, and bore no malice against me, he at
length suffered himself to be persuaded, and set one of my feet at
liberty. He had no sooner left me than I set to work to carry out a plan
I had already formed for my escape. I tore my shirt into shreds, and
taking off my stocking and slipper, stuffed them with these rags till I
had made a very fair model of a leg and foot. But though the form and
contour of the flesh were there, you had only to touch the new limb to
find that it was lamentably deficient in bone. What was to be done? I
looked about everywhere, till at last my eye lighted on a stick hidden
away under a settle. I seized it eagerly and soon fashioned bones for my
leg; and then, hiding my real limb under my cloak, I sat calmly awaiting
the success of my ruse. After a time the young man came in to pay me his
usual visit and to ask me how I did. ‘I should feel better,’ I said,
pointing to my dummy, ‘if you would kindly fasten this leg to the fetter
and let me give the other a rest.’ He consented, and chained up my false
limb with all imaginable care.”
The rest is soon told. The prisoner waited till nightfall, and as soon
as he heard his attendants snoring, quietly parted company with his
fettered leg, undressed it, clothed himself again, and softly stole out
of his cell, which no one had taken the trouble to fasten on the
outside. Even then his difficulties were not at an end; but he at length
found means to scale the outer walls of his prison and to regain his
liberty. (_Ludovic Lalanne: Curiosities of Biography._)
_BENVENUTO CELLINI._
1538.