nourishment, that you may have sufficient strength to support the fatigue
of your journey. PEOPLE are now intent upon changing your condition.
Speak your wishes, and mention the day you are willing to depart, that
a post-chaise may be prepared, which you will find at the corner of
the king’s garden. Be discreet; ’tis your interest to be so. Confide
implicitly in the bearer, without entertaining the smallest suspicion.’
“Judge of my astonishment on perusing this mysterious paper! Surely, said
I to myself, I am awake, and in sober certainty of the truth of what I
see. But who can be the persons who have thus interested themselves in
my misfortunes? This singular expression, ‘It is understood,’ was never
used by any person but myself, the cardinal, and the queen. Perhaps they
both, repenting of what they have done, ashamed of having the weakness
to suffer me to be sacrificed, at this moment wish to give me liberty.”
To this letter Madame de la Motte tells us she wrote an answer to the
effect that she was anxious to escape from her confinement, and begged
her unknown correspondent to aid her in the attempt. In due course, she
received the following reply:
“PEOPLE have reflected; endeavour to procure the model of the key that
will open easily that side where you wish to go out. Act for the best,
and compose yourself.”
“For two months,” she says, “I laboured at the attempt, and at length
succeeded in making two designs—one small and the other large—in which I
thought I had fortunately delineated the wards of the key, and which, the
moment I perceived to be perfect, I enclosed in a letter, which I gave
to Angelica to convey to the soldier, who, about a fortnight afterwards,
brought a key made exactly after the paper model. I had the patience to
wait two whole days without sufficient resolution to make the experiment;
but on Sunday, between six and seven in the morning, when Angelica and
myself were together in the gallery, the opportunity seeming favourable,
with a trembling hand and palpitating heart I applied the key to the
lock, when, gracious heaven! what was my surprise and joy at finding
the door open! We both endeavoured as much as possible to conceal our
emotions, and proceeded to try whether this same key would open the other
three doors. In the afternoon of the same day I pulled off my shoes and
crept softly along to the second door, which, to my great joy, was also
obsequious to my touch. I shut it again, ascended the steps softly by
three at a time, all in a tremble for fear of discovery, found, as I
wished, all was fast and everything quiet. I then attempted to open the
door on the other side of the gallery near the second dormitory. This I
did with wonderful facility, and with as little trouble as I had opened
the others.”[381]
Strange to say that although, according to the countess’s own account,
she was in possession of the means of escape by the end of February
(1787) at the latest, she took no steps to profit by them until three
months afterwards, pretending that, in the interim, she had been engaged
in using her influence with persons of condition to procure the release
of her attendant, Angelica, when all the while she had the means of
releasing her in her own possession. However, the girl eventually obtains
her pardon, and madame has now leisure to attend to her own affairs.
It was on the 1st of May that Angelica was set at liberty. On the
13th the countess, who has long since found means of carrying on
communications with her former friends, sends a letter by the hands
of “a young _confidante_,” whom she has managed to gain over, to an
old lover of hers, the Baron de Crussol, the same who procured the
Count de la Motte his post in the Count d’Artois’ body-guard, and who,
with his brother, the Bailli de Crussol, were of the queen’s set at
Little Trianon. The baron played _Basile_ in Beaumarchais’ comedy, “The
Barber of Seville,” at the private theatre there, when Marie-Antoinette
performed the part of _Rosina_. This letter, which is all love and
tenderness, contains the customary appeal of the De Valois for pecuniary
assistance. In the course of it the countess tells the baron that the
Duchess de Duras, “_dame du palais_” to the queen, “a very virtuous and
worthy woman,” is going to pay her a visit next week, and then follows
this characteristic passage: “I shall see her alone; the public must not
know of it, as it might get talked about on account of my being forbidden
to see any one _for fear I should speak_.”[382] To return, however, to
the countess’s narrative. “I reflected within myself,” says she, “that
if I should run the hazard of going out in the dress of the Salpêtrière,
I should be easily discovered in the event of being met by any of the
sisters. I conceived also that a male habit would be more favourable for
my escape, and communicated this to my unknown correspondent, to whom I
wrote:
“‘I wish to have a large blue coat, a flannel waistcoat, black breeches,
a pair of half-boots, a round high-crowned hat, to make me appear taller,
a switch, and a pair of leather gloves.’
“All these the guard brought me about ten or twelve days after; he
carried the great-coat under his cloak, the waistcoat in his pocket,
and the switch in the barrel of his musket; and about two nights after
he brought the half-boots and a man’s shirt. Thus furnished with wings
for my flight, I was wholly intent on my game, and, what is not a little
singular, without the least fear of not being able to effect my escape;
not one shadow of doubt presented itself to my imagination, nothing gave
me the least uneasiness; I felt myself quite confident of success, and I
found myself much happier than I had been for a long time. I reflected
that I was under the immediate protection of the queen, and would not
suffer myself to entertain a doubt that it was the queen herself, and no
one else, who had taken this interest in my behalf.
“After a time, however, a feeling of apprehension came across my mind and
led me to suspect the sincerity of my unknown correspondent. Surely, I
thought to myself, this cannot be a plot concerted to lull me to security
that I may afterwards be more easily got rid of. It cannot be so; they
really wish to render me service, there can be no doubt of it, since I
have the key and the proper dress; but whither will this post-chaise
conduct me?—probably to some convent; and does the queen suppose that I
can be happy there? I will never consent to go to a convent, and only to
some place where I can be free—where I am at liberty.
“About this time I was not a little surprised by a visit from M. de
Crosne, lieutenant of police. About six o’clock one afternoon I was
conducted to Sister Martha’s apartment, where I saw M. de Crosne, with M.
Martin, secretary, and another person who was a stranger. M. de Crosne
at first did not know me; he appeared much surprised and affected to
find me so reduced, so altered for the worse, and his sensibility deeply
affected me. I read in his face, as in a mirror, how different I then
was from what I had been when he formerly knew me. Affliction had worn
me down almost to a skeleton; my eyes were languid and inanimate. [The
countess used to pride herself on the killing effect of her eyes.] I was,
as it were, but the fleeting shadow of what I had once been in the days
of my prosperity. I stood for some moments unable to articulate a single
syllable. At length, awaking from my reverie, I saluted him, when the
amiable man kindly inquired if there was anything I was in want of, as if
so, he would give the necessary orders.
“At these words I quite lost myself, and forgetting every consideration
that should have restrained me, I drew near him, and repeated, ‘Want
anything? Oh, sir, it is too much to bear—that I should be thus
confined!’ M. de Crosne, greatly affected, would not suffer me to recite
the melancholy catalogue of my woes, which I was entering into with all
the energy that grief inspired.
“I could not help thinking that M. de Crosne was sent hither expressly
to see me, and the more I reflected upon this visit of his, the more
suspicious I became. I began to see that they were fearful I should
say too much, and that it was judged expedient rather to endeavour to
soothe than drive me to extremities; for if I had really any ill-will,
any grudge towards the queen, I thought to myself, neither the Baron de
Breteuil nor the lieutenant of police would take the pains to favour me
with the slightest attention.”[383]
It should be noted that it was at this period, namely, early in the month
of May, that the Duchess de Polignac and her sister-in-law, the Countess
Diane, went to England, ostensibly to drink the Bath waters, but really,
it is believed, to come to terms with Count de la Motte through the
medium of their intimate friend the Duchess of Devonshire.[384] One may
here quote a bit of court gossip contained in a letter dated Versailles,
June 27, 1787, and written to Stanislaus Poniatowski, king of Poland, to
the effect that, on the occasion of this visit, the Duchess de Polignac
paid Count de la Motte four thousand louis for certain letters said to
have been written by the queen. If there is any truth in the story,
these were in all probability copies of the letters purporting to have
been written by Marie-Antoinette, together with the cardinal’s replies,
and which were afterwards published in the Appendix to the Countess’s
Life.[385] Of this visit of the Duchess de Polignac we shall again have
occasion to speak.
At length the countess takes her final resolution, and fixes upon some
day between the 8th and the 11th of June, either at eleven o’clock in the
morning or six o’clock in the evening, for her escape. The arrangement
was this: the guard was to disguise himself as a waggoner, and with a
whip in his hand, was to walk round the King’s garden (the Jardin des
Plantes) at the times specified on each of the above-mentioned four days.
The attendant who had succeeded Angelica, and whom the countess was
obliged to take into her confidence, begged that she might be permitted
to accompany her. After some hesitation, the countess gave her consent.
XXXVIII.
1787. JUNE–JULY.
THE COUNTESS’S ESCAPE.—A LAST VISIT TO THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF BAR-SUR-AUBE.
On the morning of the 11th of June, the last of the four appointed, days,
“Marianne and I, before our departure, took each of us a cup of coffee
to revive our spirits and give us courage. I then proceeded to open
the doors, three of which I fastened again with my key, and the fourth
Marianne pulled towards her. Marianne, who knew the house perfectly
well, took the shortest turnings she could find, believing that I was
following her. I, however, managed to lose sight of her; nevertheless, I
did not lose my courage, but passed on until I found myself in a large
hall wherein were a great number of small beds in each of which was a
child. After having cast my eyes round me, I inquired of the sisters
the way out. I did not well understand the directions they gave me,
but, after traversing many courts, found myself at length in a spacious
court among a number of people who had come to gratify their curiosity
with a sight of this prison. I followed a party who entered the chapel
to view it, taking care to mix myself up with the rest of the company.
After addressing a fervent prayer to heaven to inspire me with courage,
I soon had the gratification of finding myself outside those doors which
I had always looked on as impassable. Here I saw no one but the sisters,
to whom I gave some money as though I were an ordinary visitor, and
at length fortunately reached the high road. Here after some delay I
discovered my good Marianne waiting for me near the river.[386]
“The King’s garden was crowded with people, but I fortunately managed
to escape observation, and leaped into the boat to Marianne, who was
already there with two strange gentlemen. Fearful of a discovery, I made
signs to her not to speak to me. The two gentlemen were seated; but lest
my awkwardness in my new habiliments should be discovered, I remained
standing. At length we gained the opposite bank, and upon our landing
near the arsenal, that hideous place, the Bastille, opposed itself to my
view. Marianne conducted me through byways and narrow streets until we
found a hackney-coach which took us to Charenton. On arriving there we
stopped at a bootmaker’s to exchange my half-boots for a pair of shoes,
after which we hired a cabriolet, which conveyed us a distance of seven
leagues. We then alighted, and walked till half-past eleven o’clock at
night.
“We slept at a village called Maison-Rouge, and at six the next
morning pursued our journey on foot till ten in the evening, when we
stopped a few hours to repose ourselves. Here I inquired whether I
could have a cabriolet. I could not, however, be thus accommodated. We
were, therefore, obliged to take a cart, which conducted us about two
miles from Provins. About five in the evening we stopped at the first
cabaret and dined, and after dinner, fearful of being suspected by the
marshalsea, I despatched Marianne to purchase women’s apparel. She
returned with a jacket of narrow-striped red cotton, an apron of the same
stuff, a petticoat striped blue and white, a pair of leather shoes, such
as are worn by peasants, and a pair of very small buckles. We departed
from this inn at six the same evening.
“The town of Provins was about sixteen leagues from Paris, but I did
not judge it prudent to take the coach from here, there being no other
conveyance besides the post, which I wished as much as possible to avoid.
We proceeded towards the back of the town, where we met a great number
of officers walking together, one of whom I overheard say: ‘Oh! there’s
a woman in man’s clothes.’ When they drew nearer they pulled off their
hats, and begged permission to accompany me. One of these gentlemen’s
professions of service were so very profuse that I found it extremely
difficult to engage him to desist from following me. ‘You are,’ said
he, ‘some young girl but just escaped from a convent, and your lover is
certainly near at hand waiting for you in a post-chaise.’ ‘If such is
your opinion, sir,’ replied I, ‘it is very impolite of you to think of
following me, particularly as you have no right to expect that I should
confess to you, if you should be right in your conjecture.’ At this he
withdrew. I turned towards the left, under a hill, and not being able to
find a place more retired, we concealed ourselves under a verdant recess,
where a brook of water ran down towards the meadow. Here Marianne and I
assumed our new disguise, which made us appear exactly like peasants,
each of us holding in our arms a little basket of eggs, and a pound of
butter neatly covered with a piece of linen, which was bought for that
purpose. I threw my former apparel into the brook, putting stones into
the coat pockets and the hat, that they might sink more easily, and
that no trace of my flight might be discovered. We went five leagues on
foot the same evening, and stopped, about eleven o’clock, at the first
house of entertainment in the suburbs of Nogent,[387] which is about
two-and-twenty leagues from Paris. Here again I was so much fatigued
that, after our supper, poor Marianne was obliged to put me upon her
shoulders, and bring me into the cow-house, and lay me on the straw, for
there was neither bed nor chamber.
“The day after, about seven, we hired a cart, which conveyed us directly
to Troyes, about nine leagues from Nogent, where we slept till four the
next morning, when we again pursued our journey on foot. On our road we
met a waggoner, who civilly asked us to get up into his cart, a proposal
which we readily accepted. He conveyed us to the town where he lived,
about two leagues distant, but this honest rustic would receive no
money;[388] he would have no other recompense than a promise of marriage,
which I was constrained to give him. I told him that I and my cousin
Marianne had lived at Chaumont, in Champagne, and gave him a fictitious
name and address. On parting with him we were fortunate enough to procure
a farmer’s cart, which took us to Vendeuvre, where we dined, and about
two we set forward again in a covered carriage, which conveyed us seven
leagues further. We passed through Bar-sur-Aube, and at six we were put
down at a village about three leagues from there.
“When I arrived at this place I wrote letters to some of my husband’s
relations, with which I sent Marianne, who could not find many of the
persons in whom I confided. She went to seek a friend of Madame de la
Tour, sister of M. de la Motte, to whom she sent in my note. This lady
immediately knew my writing, and ran to her wardrobe, and gave Marianne
petticoats, shifts, handkerchiefs, with half a louis, which was all she
had in her pocket, and greatly regretted that she had it not in her
power to do more. She then accompanied her to M. de Suremont, M. de la
Motte’s uncle. This gentleman’s wife, after having coldly received Mdlle.
Charton, which was this young lady’s name, and Marianne, refused to come
and see me. M. de Suremont sent Marianne to desire me to meet him half
way. A place was appointed, and it was about midnight when we met. The
night was extremely dark, and we sat down on the bank of a ditch. M. de
Suremont appeared very glad to see me, but expressed his extreme regret
that he could not accommodate me with more than four louis, telling a
very lamentable story that his buildings had cost him so much money, and
that he was very much in debt. ‘But pray where are you going?’ said he
to me. ‘I am going to London,’ replied I, ‘for the English newspapers
have for a long time mentioned my husband’s name; I dare say he is
there.’”[389]
The countess makes no mention in her narrative of another of her
Bar-sur-Aube friends coming to see her while she lay concealed in the
stone quarries outside the town—the mother of young Beugnot, to whom, in
her days of affluence, the countess had given the surplus of twenty louis
for her poor pensioners. This noble-hearted lady came out at night to
comfort the wretched wanderer whom she believed to be innocent, and gave
her all the consolation which a pious mind could suggest in a case so
deplorable, returned her the twenty louis with some addition of her own,
and parted with her like a Christian sister.[390] Such was the singular
hold which this extraordinary woman seems to have had on the human heart,
which began when she was a barefooted beggar on the public highway, and
continued even when she was a branded outcast.
“I did not,” continues the countess, “consider it prudent to return to
the same inn which we had quitted at midnight, as I feared our being
suspected, or taken for thieves, with which all the environs of Chaumont
are greatly infested, I therefore chose to walk the remaining part of
the night. The moon, which was at full, made it extremely pleasant. We
proceeded nearly a mile and a half, but had not advanced far into the
forest before we determined to return again towards the town. We knocked
at the first carbaret we came to, but the people not only refused to open
the door, but threatened to shoot us, taking us, without question, for
thieves. Shivering with cold, we were necessitated to take up our lodging
on the steps of their door till the next morning, and at this season the
nights were extremely cold, and the country wore almost the appearance of
winter. About six in the morning three peasants and a woman passed by,
who had two large dogs with them. I related to them our situation, and we
traversed the forest together as far as Columbey, where we parted. Having
breakfasted, we took the post, which conveyed us seven leagues further.
At six the next morning we recommenced our journey on foot. The day was
terribly hot, and we suffered severely in climbing the mountain, which
is extremely steep, and very high, without any shelter from the intense
heat. Marianne, who was very much troubled with shortness of breath, and
incapable of proceeding any farther, sat down and wept bitterly till,
fortunately, a good old peasant, who was on horseback, offered to take
her behind him, to which she would not consent; but, as his house was
but a short distance, she agreed to take the good old man’s arm, while I
seated myself on the horse. Taking Marianne’s bundle, I gave the reins to
the horse, who brought me to the house before his master, where the old
man’s daughter, who was lately married, recognized the beast. I briefly
related to her the circumstance which procured me the pleasure of seeing
her, whereupon she despatched one of her sisters to the curate’s house
to fetch some fish, and some of the best wine from another neighbour.
Marianne was also well received. We were afterwards presented to the
husband; and this good family lodged us with kindness. Not only did
they regale us with a good supper of pigeons, and excellent fish, and
delicious wine, but they accommodated us with their own bed, where we
slept soundly for six hours. After a good breakfast we departed at ten in
their cart to reach Joinville, these good people refusing to receive a
single son for their entertainment.
“The keeper of a carbaret where we had sought shelter from a violent
storm consented to conduct us as far as Nancy; and the rain having
subsided, we availed ourselves of this proposal of our host, and
continued our journey till we came into the midst of the most dismal
forest I ever saw. It seemed a place perfectly adapted for the black
business of robbery or murder. Here another terrible storm came on, and
we travelled in the midst of a heavy shower for almost two hours and a
quarter. It was now near ten o’clock, and we were still in a hollow, one
side of which bordered another forest reputed to be most dangerous, and
along the skirts of which our road lay for a distance of some miles. I
could not but feel alarmed, and what added to my fears was, that I had
not the least knowledge of that road. Our conductor was also a very
ill-looking fellow, and his conduct was such, that though I cannot
say he had really any bad design, yet his behaviour was sufficiently
equivocal to make me suspicious. After a dreary ride of a couple of
hours I discovered a light: it is impossible to express how welcome that
discovery was, as it dispelled those apprehensions which the darkness
of the night had made more terrible. Our guide now composed himself a
little, and told me he was going to bait his horse, after which we might
pursue our journey. ‘Most certainly,’ replied I; but when we arrived at
the inn, which was at about midnight, I determined to take some rest.