THE FLIGHT OF A PRINCESS.

A voluminous parcel of letters and official documents quite recently brought to light in one of the continental court archives[1] invalidates in many material points the short notices which historians have given us of the captivity and flight from Innsbruck of Princess Clementina Sobiesky, the elder Pretender's wife, and supplies us with an ample and interesting account of this episode in the lives of the two most persecuted men of the day, the Pretender and his father-in-law, Prince James Sobiesky of Poland.

It will be remembered that after the failure of his Scotch expedition of 1715 the Pretender—or, as he was then commonly styled, the Chevalier de St. George—was obliged to quit France and Germany and retire to Italy, where the misfortunes of his family, proceeding in part from its devotion to the Roman Catholic Church, gave him the best right to expect a hospitable reception. Here he opened a negotiation with Prince James Sobiesky which had for its object his marriage with Princess Clementina, Sobiesky's daughter. Sobiesky was the son of John, king of Poland, the heroic deliverer of Vienna and Christendom from the Turks. This unfortunate prince, having signally failed in his repeated attempts to instal himself upon the Polish throne, vacated by his father's death, had retired to Ohlau, a large estate near Breslau in Silesia belonging to the emperor Charles VI., and with which the latter had invested him.

The negotiations carried on between the two parties ended in the formal betrothal of the Princess Clementina to James III., king of Great Britain and Ireland, as the Pretender styled himself.

Meanwhile, the English government had exhibited great solicitude to frustrate the Pretender's intention of strengthening his cause by contracting a marriage likely to yield an heir to his pretensions to the crown of Great Britain. The Pretender and Sobiesky were both perfectly well aware of this, and hence Sobiesky's anxiety that the union should be completed as soon as possible. Through the vacillating character of the bridegroom valuable time was lost at the last moment, and before the project could be carried out the petty court at Ohlau was surrounded by English spies. We know that in August, 1718, the English government was acquainted with the whole plot, and was using to the utmost the influence which its friendly relationship with the emperor of Germany gave it. A prohibition was obtained from him forbidding all further intercourse between the Pretender and Sobiesky, whose wife, it should be mentioned, was the emperor's aunt.

Sobiesky vainly expostulated with his imperial kinsman. He reminded him that although he was then residing within the frontiers of the empire, he was nevertheless an independent prince; and he begged him to consider that his conduct was unworthy of their close relationship and incompatible with every feeling of gratitude toward the memory of his father, the brave deliverer of Vienna and of Christendom. Charles, who had at this time very good reasons for wishing to keep on a good footing with England, not only turned a deaf ear to the expostulations of Prince Sobiesky, but actually threatened him with his highest displeasure if he did not sever his connection with that "worthless vagabond princeling." Sobiesky, convinced that nothing was to be gained by delay, and quite prepared to sacrifice the favor of his mighty kinsman for the sake of compassing his object, determined to send his daughter to Italy to join her betrothed, with a view to the consummation of the marriage.

In the latter half of September, 1718, Princess Clementina and her mother, accompanied by a suite consisting of a lady-in-waiting, a confidential maid, Monsieur Châteaudoux, a gentleman of the household, with his servant, and Monsieur la Haye,[2] gentleman-in-waiting of the Pretender, left Ohlau for Innsbruck en route for Italy. Secret as the preparations for the journey had been kept, they had not escaped the notice of the English agent at Breslau; and a few hours after the departure of the princess and her party an English and a German courier left that town—the one for London, the other for Warsaw. In a remarkably short time the former had accomplished his journey, and was back again in Vienna, the bearer of an autograph letter from the king, George I., to the emperor Charles. The immediate upshot was a despatch sent off in hot haste to the provincial government of Tyrol, ordering that body to stop the princely party wherever they could lay hands on them, "be it in Innsbruck or any other part of our empire."

The twelve privy councillors who constituted the government of Tyrol were "sorely perplexed and harassed by this order;" for it appears that so little time had been lost by the courier on his way to and from London that the order actually reached Innsbruck two days before the arrival of the party, who, as we must presume, accomplished their journey from Breslau to Augsburg, and from thence to Innsbruck, by very easy stages. The first despatch from the emperor was short, and was couched in somewhat mysterious terms, so that the bewildered privy councillors, exaggerating the importance of their commission, caused the most portentous precautions to be taken. Bodies of armed men were despatched in all directions to watch the different mountain-passes and high-roads leading into the country from the North. To the astonishment of the zealous statesmen, the princely party arrived two days later (October 3d), "quietly and properly mannered." They took rooms at the principal hostelry, swinging the signboard of the Golden Rose.[3]

When their arrival became known, a privy council was immediately convoked, and the councillors, who had received that morning minute instructions from the emperor, sent to their noble visitors a deputation consisting of two of their number, Count Lodron and Count Sonnenburg. Their request for an interview was at first refused, on the plea that the illustrious travellers were at the time engaged in their devotions and very much fatigued by their journey. The lady-in-waiting, who in the absence of a chamberlain acted as spokesman, was then informed by the two counts that they came by the express order of His Majesty "to convey a certain message to the princess and her daughter."[4] Thereupon they were allowed to enter and present themselves to the princess-mother. "After humbly offering their congratulations on their safe arrival," the two councillors acquainted the princess-mother with the desire of the emperor that she and her daughter should take up their residence at Innsbruck. On receiving this startling news, "the princess seemed a bit frightened, and stood silent for a little time." Presently she replied that she was quite willing to comply with His Majesty's order, strange as it seemed to her, "for," said she, "our journey had for its sole object a visit to the holy shrine at Loretto, there to perform our prayers." Bowing humbly, the deputation assured her of their ignorance of the whole matter, whereupon the princess dismissed them. They had hardly reached the council-hall, where their ten comrades were awaiting them, as we may presume, full of eagerness and curious to hear how they had fared, when the gentleman-in-waiting of the princess overtook them and acquainted them with her wish to be allowed to inspect the imperial cabinet order. The councillors, "though in our character," said they to the emperor, "as representatives of your most exalted person, we were surely not obliged to produce our credentials," forthwith returned and complied with the princess's request. The minute résumé sent by them to the emperor, and from which we make these verbatim extracts, then says: "The inspection of the document seemed to satisfy the princess, especially when Your Majesty's humble servants pointed out to her the autograph signature of Your exalted Majesty."

Upon a hint of the princess the two councillors placed at her service the court courier; and we hear that this personage left for Vienna that same night as the bearer of two letters from the princess—one to her sister, mother of Charles VI., the other to the emperor himself—as well as of a minute protocol in which the privy councillors detailed the occurrences of this eventful day.

The Pretender, it seems, must have awaited the party from Ohlau near the Austrian-Italian frontier, for on the 9th of October, six days after their arrival at Innsbruck, a Scotch nobleman appears on the scene. According to the declaration of the postmaster-general of Tyrol, Count Taxis, this gentleman had travelled with the greatest despatch the night through from Trent to Innsbruck. At Innsbruck he seems suddenly to have lost the desire to continue his journey, for after stopping two days in the town, during which time he was seen conversing with a person in the suite of Princess Sobiesky, he was about to start for Italy, whence he had come, when the privy councillors, whose suspicion had been aroused by his strange conduct, had him arrested and brought before them. On being asked for his passport, he maintained that he had none, and declared himself "to be a Scotch nobleman, his name Robert Seiberg [sic], thirty-six years of age, and travelling for his amusement." When pressed to give further information, he told them that he had been on the Continent for the last two years, that he had been travelling in France and Italy, and that he was on his way to Vienna when he accidentally met a friend and countryman of his named La Haye, who was travelling in the suite of Princess Sobiesky. More pressure being brought to bear upon him, he produced a passport which he said he had received from the Irish Capuchin monks at Prague, and which bore the name of Count John Wirmann. He was then asked if he possessed any letters or documents bearing upon the Pretender or the Sobiesky family. He declined to answer this question; and when force was threatened he requested a private interview with the president of the council. To him he ultimately acknowledged that "he was a servant of King James of England." He was then asked to produce the letters and documents in his possession. Amongst them was found a letter in English, but without address, heading or signature. It was a communication from the Princess Clementina to her affianced, and in it she informed him of the misfortune that had befallen them, and warned him not to entrust any letters to couriers or messengers. She told him that her mother had written to her sister and to the emperor, but that she feared their efforts would be in vain. The closing sentence of the letter is: "We receive much honor and politeness. Adieu."

This letter, with the rest of the papers found upon Fremont,[5] was sent to the emperor, and the bearer himself was taken to a second-class hostelry. Here he was closely watched, and although he had given his word of honor not to escape, he was not allowed even to go out alone.

To the mortification of the privy council, the emperor discountenanced their rigorous proceeding, for the next courier from Vienna brought an imperial order commanding them to set the "Stuart messenger" at liberty, and forthwith to provide suitable lodgings in a private house, as befitted their rank, for the two illustrious ladies and their suite. The emperor had at first intended to place the imperial palace at their disposal, but he subsequently ordered "that a more respectable private house in or out of the town" should be prepared for the ladies, adding "that he did not wish the noble ladies to know that this was done by his order, but rather that it should seem an act of politeness on the part of the privy council."

Baron Greiffen, a member of that body, seems to have been the only one that took the hint to heart; for we find that the two princesses and their suite removed their domicil to the "palatial building"—in reality a quiet and by no means very magnificent house—of which the above-named nobleman was owner. The princely party entered upon their new residence, which was situated in the new town just outside the town-walls, on the 23d and 24th of October. Trained servants were now added to the princely household by the cautious privy councillors. Amongst these, however, as we see by the minutes sent to the emperor, were a couple of "trusty personages"—in other words, court spies. A handsome offering of choice game, fish and wine, the usual form of paying homage to distinguished guests, was presented to the princesses.

While the princesses are installing themselves in their new prison, we will turn for a moment to the Pretender, who had arrived on the 8th of October at Bologna, where he was to await the coming of the princess and her daughter. For seven days he remained without news, a prey to anxiety. On the 15th of October he received the first intimation of the fate that had befallen his bride, and the very next day he despatched two letters to the mother and daughter at Innsbruck.[6] From the answer to these missives we learn that the princesses had by no means given up the project of effecting their flight to Italy. The long, dreary winter evenings and the absence of all society in dull Innsbruck left them full time and opportunity to plan the best means of escape; and though they were surrounded by watchful spies and guarded by a morbidly cautious government, they yet found ways and means to communicate two or three times with their friends in the North and the South. Strange to say, the councillors themselves afforded them on one occasion the means of intercourse with the Pretender. Under the pretence that bills of exchange were awaiting her at Venice, Princess Sobiesky obtained permission to send her gentleman-in-waiting, La Haye, to the latter town to arrange "these necessary money-matters."

After the departure of the princess from Ohlau the English government concentrated its attention upon the unfortunate father of the bride, for it was obvious that as long as the head of the family continued to advocate the marriage, all efforts to dissolve the betrothal would prove abortive. He was therefore made the object of countless intrigues on the part of England's staunch ally the emperor. A special commissioner, Count Praschma, then governor of Silesia, was sent by the imperial court to Ohlau. On the 14th of October he met Prince Sobiesky, but, though the interview lasted from three o'clock in the afternoon till a late hour of the night, the count did not succeed in bringing Sobiesky to more reasonable views. Sobiesky refused to give him then and there a definite answer, and begged him to come again the next day. "The matter," he said, "was of too vital importance for him to give a decisive answer that day." The result of the next day's interview was that Count Praschma set down in writing, at the prince's dictation, two separate minutes—the one addressed to the emperor personally, the other also nominally addressed to him, but specially prepared for the scrutiny of the English ambassador at Vienna. Did we not know that the courier who left for Vienna the same evening with these two documents was also the bearer of a third, a private letter from Praschma to the emperor, we should naturally wonder at the count's willingness to comply with this whim of Sobiesky—a proceeding which would have been fraught with some danger for the imperial commissioner. These documents are not without interest, for they give us a picture of the political intrigues forming such unstable links between the courts of St. James and Vienna. The limited space of this paper, however, compels us to confine ourselves to a brief résumé of their contents. In the first, addressed to the emperor personally, Prince Sobiesky lays great stress upon "the certainty that the marriage with the Pretender would prove to be a source of great political advantage to Austria"—an argument which, we must confess, was well adapted to find favor in the eyes of Charles VI., the last male descendant of a house in the history of which marriage had played such a momentous rôle. He pointed out to the emperor that "His British Majesty" would find in the annulment of the betrothal no help in suppressing rebellion in his kingdom; and, moreover, that it would be quite impossible for the king by any means to prevent the Pretender's marrying. "It is well known," he goes on to say, "that the English"—meaning the rebels—"wait only for the marriage of the Pretender, and not for an alliance with a foreign power." He begs his imperial kinsman not to shut his eyes to the obvious precariousness of King George's tenure of the throne, nor to the well-known fact that dire necessity alone had impelled the king to come to his aid by sending the English fleet to Naples. The emperor is warned that the king of England would assuredly break off his alliance with him the moment he had no longer cause to dread the Pretender; and he is reminded that while the former was at best a cold and crafty ally, he would find the prince a staunch and powerful confederate. "It is therefore," he continues, "for Your Majesty's interest to bring about a marriage, and not to allow the royal house of Stuart to become extinct. And even, taking the worst for granted, if the Pretender did not succeed in realizing his pretensions to the British throne, it would be only fair on the part of Your Majesty to remind King George that the marriage would detract nothing from, and have no influence whatever upon, the alliance between him and Your Majesty." Sobiesky closes his letter by assuring the emperor how deeply he regretted his displeasure, and by declaring that he had acted in good faith to the emperor; "for," said he, "I would never have advocated this match without the consent of Your Majesty had I not received the written assurance of Her Majesty the empress Eleonora (the emperor's mother) that she had spoken to Your Majesty on this matter. To me this was sufficient; for, considering the course of European politics, I dared not hope to receive open signs of Your Majesty's approbation."

Count Praschma remarks, in his private report to the emperor, that he believes "Prince Sobiesky places great reliance on the assistance proffered by the Roman Curia, on the good-will displayed by the regent of France, no less than on the guarantee ensured to him by Sweden and Prussia, and on the concurrence of Russia."

In the second document Prince Sobiesky displays far more energy and spirit in resisting the overbearing demands of King George, whom he persistently styles throughout the whole of this second paper "elector of Hanover." He not only condemns the king's intrigues as perfidious, but also asserts with much emphasis that the marriage between his daughter and the Pretender had been consummated and stood irrevocable. He trusts that His Majesty will decline to uphold any further these grossly unjust concessions which the elector and his government had dared to exact of a monarch who was famed for his justice and benignity. He humbly reminds the emperor, his exalted kinsman, that the great services which his (Sobiesky's) father had rendered to Christendom deserved worthier recognition than the open persecution to which he and his family were then subjected. He declares with some asperity that the elector of Hanover has no right whatever over his person, and that he, an independent prince, reserves to himself the power to dispose of his own flesh and blood. The threats of England would never frighten him into submission, especially as he is sure of the aid of several potentates—a circumstance which ensures to him the safety of his estates in Poland and France. "The marriage," says he, "is not opposed to the interest of Your Majesty in respect to your alliance with the elector, for the union does not enrich the Pretender either in money or in land. And were it possible that the marriage could be still prevented, the Pretender would assuredly turn to some more powerful court, able to supply him not only with a wife, but also with ample funds and troops." Sobiesky closed his missive with the request to His Majesty to take back the investiture of Ohlau, "a place which had become unbearable to him through the ignominious treatment to which he was constantly exposed, no less than by the endless trouble and pecuniary losses which the management of that imperial estate entailed upon him." He was desirous of removing to some distant and secluded spot, far away from Poland, where he could end his days in peace.

These two important missives were followed a few days later (17th and 19th of October) by two more letters from the prince to Chancellor Count Zinzendorf at Vienna. Of their contents—which are generally a repetition of the arguments contained in the first two—we need not speak, except in reference to one point, which was evidently the result of an after-thought that had rushed through the bewildered prince's head. The reader will have observed that Sobiesky, while using the name of almost every potentate of Europe to strengthen his arguments, omits to mention the Pope, the staunchest and most powerful partisan he had. This omission he seeks to repair in his letters to Zinzendorf, in which he endeavors to persuade the emperor that the marriage ceremony had really been performed, though only by proxy, and that hence it was a matrimonium ratum, which, according to the canon law, could not be dissolved without drawing upon the parties concerned in the act the just wrath of the pontiff and of every good Catholic.

These four letters, but chiefly the first two, had evidently some effect in making the emperor waver. This appears from one of the most striking sentences in a letter from the imperial court to Monsieur de Peutenrieder, imperial ambassador at the court of St. James, which runs as follows: "In the mean while I beg you to remember that we are very desirous of extricating ourselves from this dilemma honesto et licito modo. We were, and are still, quite willing and prepared to do everything in this delicate affair according to the wishes of the king, to convince him of our love and friendship.... The emperor wishes you to convince the king, as politely and delicately as possible, that we fear our measures in this marriage affair will prove abortive."

Politicians in England, less scrupulous than their confrères on the Continent, persisted in their demand that no concessions should be made to Prince Sobiesky until the betrothal, the work of Alberoni and the Roman Curia, was formally dissolved. In a formal protest which the English ambassador at the imperial court handed in (9th of December) stress is laid upon the fact that Prince Sobiesky was not an independent prince, but rather a subject of the emperor, and that hence his conduct, culpable in the extreme, deserved to be visited by the emperor with severity. It was alleged to be ridiculous that he held out against the express wish of the allies, well knowing how easy it would be for the king of England to ruin him entirely. Even Venice, whither it was said Prince Sobiesky wished to retire, would not receive him for fear of annoying England. The duke of Modena, prompted by sincere consideration for England, had broken off his engagement with the eldest daughter of Prince Sobiesky, and it was very probable that the duke of Guastalla would follow this example.

We should tire the reader were we to repeat all the arguments employed by statesmen in defence of the English policy. Untenable as most of them were, they sufficed to dispel such slight qualms of conscience as had arisen in Charles's mind. England's powerful fleet and beef-fed troops were then far more important to Charles than the empty thanks of a thriftless princeling.

While the father was thus being made the centre of political intrigues, the lives of his wife and daughter, on whose account the courts of Europe had been thrown into a state of commotion, flowed on in the same dull routine which had marked them from the very beginning. Four long months were thus spent, and the rigorous winter of Tyrol was at its height, when the guardians of the princesses, the worthy privy councillors, were suddenly startled from their lethargic repose by the news that the friends of their noble prisoners in the North and the South were on the move. On the 11th of February, 1719, it became known in Vienna that Prince Sobiesky had mysteriously left Ohlau, and that it was supposed he had repaired to Augsburg. Ten days later the governor of Mantua (then part of the empire) reported that the Pretender had turned his back on Rome on the 8th of February, and had posted to Florence. These two highly suspicious movements convinced the emperor that the Sobiesky party was bent upon rescuing Princess Clementina. Strict injunctions were therefore despatched to Innsbruck, enforcing redoubled precautions against a surprise, while the governors of Mantua and Trent were at the same time commanded to keep a watchful eye on all travellers that passed through those towns, and were supplied with minute instructions for their conduct should the Pretender visit either of them. Force was not to be used in ejecting the person of the Pretender, but he was to be told quite politely "that the emperor had given strict orders not to allow him to proceed on his journey toward Innsbruck, and that hence his further stay in the town was useless."

Politely as this imperial decree was framed, the Pretender did not give the authorities occasion to make use of it, for his journey had Spain, and not Innsbruck, for its goal. Ignorant of this circumstance, government continued to maintain its cautious attitude. A staff officer and a body of men were under a plausible pretext quartered in the house adjoining the Sobiesky palace, and the two spies in the retinue of the Princess Clementina were ordered "to make it a point to catch sight of her at least once in every twenty-four hours." The privy councillors, indeed, deemed all these precautions superfluous, for they placed full reliance on the barrier, seemingly insurmountable by a delicate young woman, with which Nature had surrounded the prisoner in the shape of a severe winter blocking up all the Alpine passes leading to the South; and they now reported to the emperor that they had done everything in their power to make escape or rescue impossible.

Nothing of importance occurred for the next two months, save that the princess-mother wrote to the emperor, and informed the Innsbruck government that she desired to return to Ohlau—a request which the emperor immediately granted, little thinking it to be a mere ruse on the part of the ladies to lull their watchful guardians.

The night of the 27th of April was at last to witness the triumph of the artful prisoners over their vigilant jailers.

In the afternoon of that day Princess Clementina drove, as usual, to the church of the Franciscans (well known to all tourists for its celebrated monument to Maximilian I.), there to perform her devotions. From thence she drove home. It was the last time the sedate burghers of Innsbruck set eyes upon her. Mother and daughter passed the evening in the usual manner, as the spies witnessed with their own eyes. At eleven o'clock the servants retired, and none of them had observed, as they deposed upon their oath, anything in the least suspicious, save that Monsieur de Châteaudoux was seen under the gate by the scullery-maid half an hour later.

On the following morning the servants were told that Princess Clementina was ill, and that they must keep as quiet as possible in order that her fitful slumbers might not be disturbed. No suspicion was aroused by this incident for two whole days. The escape had taken place on Thursday night, and not till late in the evening of Saturday did the head-steward of the Sobiesky household, one of the court spies, think proper to inform one of the privy councillors of the fact that the young princess had remained invisible, shut up in her room, since Friday morning. The suspicions of the privy councillor were aroused, and notwithstanding the late hour a council was immediately convoked to deliberate on the best means of convincing themselves by actual inspection of the presence of their prisoner. It was decided that the doctor who had been in the habit of attending the Sobiesky family should be sent early the next morning to see her in person. The physician, on presenting himself to the lady-in-waiting, was politely informed that "he was only to come when called." Not a little startled, for hitherto he had had free access to the princess's room, he forthwith informed the privy councillors, who were spending their Sunday forenoon in debate, of the result of his visit. Upon hearing the physician's tale, they despatched Baron Greiffen, the owner of the house in which the Sobiesky family lived, to insist upon an interview with Princess Clementina, and thus pacify their minds. The lady-in-waiting vainly endeavored to rid herself of the inopportune visitor by pleading for her sick mistress; and when, finally, Baron Greiffen assumed a sterner tone, she pertly asked him, "And what if the princess has really given you the slip?" These words amounted, of course, to an open confession of the deplorable fact. No doubt they grated very harshly on the ears of the hapless councillors, whose commission now obliged the baron to break the news of the prisoner's escape to his confrères, who were anxiously awaiting his return in the Diet Hall.

We will not pry into the feelings of utter consternation and abject bewilderment which took possession of that solemn-faced company when they heard that their charge had so ignominiously duped them. These feelings are dimly reflected in the pile of long-winded minutes which followed each other in quick succession, and in which the councillors vainly endeavored to appease the wrath of their monarch.

Charles, on hearing of Princess Clementina's escape, is said to have burst out in a fit of laughter, which, however, soon gave way to a storm of rage. On this occasion, it is likewise reported, he made the only pun that ever passed his lips.

But to return to the twelve hapless councillors, whom we left staring blankly at each other in the Innsbruck Diet Hall. Two of their number—the very same who had had the honor of receiving the princess on her arrival in the town—were sent off to seek an interview with her mother. "They found her," as they state in one of the minutes, "bathed in tears, but quite willing and prepared to give them all the information she could respecting the mysterious and most deplorable flight of her daughter, of which, so she assured us, she had known absolutely nothing." Her words, confirmed by her tears, at first found ready credence with her gullible visitors. Later on they asked themselves, "If she really did not know anything of the flight, why did she not inform us at once?" and some revulsion in their feelings accordingly took place.

The princess-mother then handed to the deputies a letter which "she had found on her daughter's dressing-table on the morning of her flight." In this letter, the original of which is before us, Princess Clementina informs her mother, whom she addresses as "Your Royal Highness," that the day before she had received two letters—one from her father, and the other from her husband the king, in which they both begged her to entrust herself to the care of certain persons who would be sent to take her away as speedily as possible. High-flown passages, breathing the deepest regret for the step she is about to take without her mother's knowledge and consent, intermingled with quite unnatural expressions of humiliation before the august personage of "Madame, my dear mother, Your Royal Highness," make up the rest of this capital sham.

From the depositions of the various witnesses examined by the councillors it is easy to fit together the details of this remarkable escape—details which, as we have hinted in the beginning of this paper, differ on important points from the scanty notices on the subject which French and English historians have given us.

Sir Walter Scott, in his Tales of a Grandfather, gives us correctly the names at least of the persons who were immediately concerned in the abduction. Prominent among these persons was Charles Wogan, one of the prisoners of Preston, and one of the most devoted partisans of the Stuarts. It was he who devised the plan, and to whom the princess had been instructed by her father, in a letter which lies before us, to entrust herself. Major Misset, his wife, and Captain Toole, with two attendants, and finally the maid-servant of Mrs. Misset, who was to take the place of Princess Clementina, made up the rest of the company. These persons were divided into two distinct parties—the first consisting of three gentlemen, Wogan, Misset and Toole, and "two ladies," Mrs. Misset's maid being ranked with her mistress; and the second of Captain Toole's two attendants. It is unnecessary to speak of these again, for, as far as we can see, their aid was not called into requisition. Wogan's party travelled from Augsburg viâ Füssen and Reusse to Innsbruck, at that time the usual route to Italy from South Germany. To enable them to make frequent stoppages without arousing suspicion, "one of the ladies" (Mrs. Misset's maid) was reported to be enceinte. They stopped twenty-four hours at Nassereit, a post-station near the Bavarian frontier and a few hours' journey from Innsbruck, assigning as the reason for this strange proceeding the "precarious condition of the lady," who, as the postboy declared, was beautifully dressed and wore a red cloak, but kept her features hidden under a thick veil. In reality, they awaited at Nassereit the final orders of Châteaudoux. These were brought by his servant the morning after their arrival. The party set out in the afternoon, and after short stoppages at the intermediate post-stations arrived at Innsbruck at half-past 9 P.M. (27th of April). They drove to a second-class hostelry outside the town, whither one of the gentlemen (in all probability Captain Toole) had preceded them, ordering a comfortable room to be immediately heated. The Kellnerin (barmaid)—there were no waiters—seems to have had eyes for the gentlemen only, for while she deposed that the latter were "young, handsome and very well dressed," she could give very little information as to the appearance of the two ladies. In fact, all she remembered was that the smaller one had a black veil. Wogan, the smallest and stoutest of the three gentlemen, wore a handsome white coat, and nether garments to match, while his head was adorned with an aristocratic perruque. Captain Toole was, according to her account, a tall and very handsome man, clothed in light garments. On being shown into the apartment, the lady with the black veil threw herself upon the bed, while the other sat down near the table with the gentlemen. Supper was ordered and brought up. The so-called Herrenmahl or "gentlemen's meal," consisted of barley soup, roast meat, veal ragoût and salad, washed down by two mass or four bottles of wine. On the police-sheet, which was presented to them before they retired, they inscribed themselves as "Monsieur de Cernes, avec son épouse et famille, de Flandre, en voyage pour Loretto."

We have selected these few extracts from the enormous mass of evidence collected by the distracted councillors in order to give the reader some little idea of the consternation excited by this daring and well-planned escapade.

When the party had finished their repast the second lady joined her companion on the bed, while the "two" gentlemen—the third being evidently on the watch—left the room to take a stroll under the arched gateway of the house. Here the postilion, on coming to receive his orders, met them. He was told by the smaller of the two (that is, Wogan) that they would leave punctually at two o'clock that same night. This was, properly speaking, against the town laws, but the postilion, who had been told that they would proceed on their journey that night, had provided for the emergency by seeking the necessary permission from the postmaster-general, Count Taxis. This he had received in the shape of a message brought down by the lady's maid of the countess, "that he might drive on whenever he liked."

The most important part of the whole undertaking yet remained to be performed. This was the abduction of Princess Clementina from her house, situated in quite another part of the town, and conducting her through the streets to the hostelry. We have seen that on the night in question the servants of the Sobiesky household had retired at eleven o'clock, and that Monsieur Châteaudoux was seen loitering about the gate half an hour later, evidently for the purpose of choosing a propitious moment to let the princess out of the house. By one o'clock the princess was already in the hostelry. She had donned the same attire as the three gentlemen who accompanied her wore—viz., a long white cloak and a broad hat. The distance between the two houses was considerable; and, what was worse, the party had to pass the only bridge that led across the Inn, the hostelry being situated on the other side of the river. While they were groping their way through the crazy lanes and winding streets of the town an incident occurred which came near exemplifying the old adage about the cup and the lip. The party were placed for a quarter of an hour or thereabouts in the most imminent risk of detection. The minutes which proved such pleasant reading for the emperor contain such ample information, paraded in the most pompous style, of this most ludicrous adventure, that we do not hesitate to give the reader a short extract. We must premise that the night was extremely dark, and a violent storm of sleet and snow was raging at the time. This, however, did not prevent the Rumormeister—or, as we might translate the word, the "riotmaster," whose duties were those of a police sergeant and night watchman—from being out on patrol, accompanied by several trusty men, on the lookout, not for robbers and thieves, but for students. It seems that the frequenters of the Innsbruck University gave great and constant trouble to this most important of town functionaries. By all that we hear of their mad excesses and their riotous conduct, we can conclude that "Gown versus Town" was a constant war-cry in those dark days of Innsbruck. The "riotmaster"—evidently a most conscientious personage, judging from his conduct on that auspicious night—was of course constantly the object of the students' spite and revenge. To quote the words of this much-exposed individual, we find "that he completed his first round that night by ten o'clock. He had met some students, but they did not commence any riot or fight. At twelve o'clock, while on his second round, he was approaching the meat-booths"—a row of stalls of which some time previously the students had made a clean sweep—"when by the light of his lantern he and his men perceived some persons standing about. As the thought struck him that these might be students, he firmly advanced with the intention of catching the evil-doers and giving them a sound thrashing." On getting quite close to the booths he and his men heard a "subtile woman's voice." At this moment three figures issued from the gloom, while a fourth followed them at a little distance, and passing by him they turned the corner of the street leading to the Inn bridge. Our confidence in the courage of the riotmaster is rudely shaken by his next remark: "I called out Good-night! but they did not answer me; and after vainly searching behind the booths for the female whose voice we had heard, but whom we did not perceive among the four persons that left, we proceeded with due caution to follow these suspicious personages." When they reached the bridge, the butcher's man, leading three oxen and carrying a lantern, met them, and him the riotmaster asked if he had not seen four students on the bridge. Upon receiving a negative reply, the whole matter seemed more suspicious than ever, and he was just ordering his men to search below the bridge, where the students might have secreted themselves, when the butcher himself came up and told him he had met four persons on the other side of the bridge. "Thereupon," says the report, "we returned to our quarters, confident that they were only French people"—meaning outlandish or foreign folk.

But to return from this ludicrous interlude, the details of which the privy councillors narrate with the most self-assured satisfaction as evidence of the active zeal of their town functionary. The party on reaching the inn divided itself, the three gentlemen ascending the stairs, while the Princess Clementina hid herself in the carriage. Our friend the Kellnerin was still up, and met the gentlemen on the landing, "whereupon they seemed annoyed, and told me I might go to bed, for they did not require me any more." The girl once away in her bedroom, it was easy enough to bring the princess up stairs unobserved. Although we can without difficulty follow the whole undertaking from step to step, there is one point which the documents before us fail to clear up—when and where Mrs. Misset's maid took the place of the princess, and what became of her afterward.

It seems to us that Wogan exaggerated the difficulties of the scheme, or at least omitted to take into account the astounding stupidity of the Kellnerin, and in fact of everybody with whom the party came in contact. For all that the Kellnerin observed, they might have dispensed with the "sick lady" altogether, and yet have driven away from the house with two princesses instead of one. Of such an extraordinarily unsophisticated nature was this simple handmaiden that, when helping the sick lady down stairs to the carriage, she noticed that the skirt of her dress was wet, and that the dress itself was of brown taffeta, similar to the one the princess generally wore (proving thereby that she had frequently seen the princess). Nevertheless, no suspicion crossed her mind, though she knew that the party had arrived in a closed carriage, and that the ladies had not gone out.

Punctually at two o'clock the party drove off, the two ladies and two of the gentlemen inside, the third on horseback acting as outrider. At the very first station after Innsbruck, Schönberg on the Brenner road, some delay occurred, for the great depth of snow obliged them to add two more horses to the four they already had, and the whole house had to be roused. Nothing of importance seems to have occurred in crossing the high Brenner Pass, although the huge masses of snow on the slopes of the mountains threatened every minute to bury the travellers. At Trent they received the second check, which, from the results that seemed at first inevitable, was far more serious than that at Schönberg. That very morning the margravine of Baden had passed through Trent, and her numerous carriages had required every one of the post-horses stabled in the town. The postmaster, Count Wolkenstein, the very man whom the privy councillors had warned some months previously to keep a sharp lookout on all travellers, helped them out of the scrape by providing private horses—a matter of some difficulty.

On Saturday night (29th of April) at ten o'clock, Princess Clementina had reached Venetian territory at Peri, and was saved. This was half an hour before the privy councillors at Innsbruck had received the first intimation of her absence. The grand reward of liberty, we presume, fully compensated the youthful princess for the fatigues and absorbing excitement of the preceding eight and forty hours. Little as we may sympathize with the cause for which this brave little party were fighting, we cannot deny them the praise that in the face of the difficulties which stood in their way, much as they may have been lightened by the inordinate slowness of mind in general at Innsbruck, the undertaking was a decidedly plucky one and deserved the successful issue it had.

Princess Clementina's gentleman-in-waiting, the oft-mentioned Châteaudoux, fared less happily in his attempt to follow his mistress. The day after the princess's flight from Innsbruck, and before the slightest suspicion had been aroused in the minds of the privy councillors, Châteaudoux, having in due form received permission to undertake a journey to Italy on business matters, as on a former occasion, left Innsbruck. He had delayed his departure too long, however, for though he had a clear start of nearly twenty-four hours, the lieutenant who commanded the pursuit of the princess overtook him close to the frontier and led him back to Roveredo, where he remained eighty-five days in confinement. The important papers and his mistress's jewels were taken from him and sent to Innsbruck, whence the papers wandered by the usual route to the emperor: the jewels, however, were handed to the princess-mother.

From Peri the fugitives hastened to Bologna, where, as we know, the marriage ceremony was solemnized by proxy,[7] Lord Dunbar being the Pretender's representative. From Bologna the princess proceeded to Rome, where a royal reception was given her at the hands of the highest dignitaries of Church and State. A medal well known to numismatists commemorates the incident of the flight. On the obverse we see Princess Clementina's bust and the inscription "Clementina, Queen of Great Britain, France, Scotland and Ireland:" the reverse represents her riding in a car drawn by a spirited team and guided by Amor, the god of love, as coachman. The words, "I follow fortune and the good cause," and below, "To Deluded Guardians, 1719," surround this novel design, which reminds us somewhat of the incidents peculiar to a Gretna-Green runaway match.

At Rome, where the Pretender and his wife took up their permanent residence, and where they were treated as became their rank of titular king and queen of England, that gifted but foolish adventurer, Baron Pöllnitz, frequently met them. The description which he gives in his Mémoires of Princess Clementina's person and appearance is worth quoting. "The queen," so he styles her, "is a princess who really deserves to be a queen. Without being a beauty of the first rank, she combines in her person resistless charms. She has a sterling character, and never did one find greater humility and tender-heartedness. She is obliging, compassionate and charitable: her piety is sincere, and her life is that of a saint.... Did she possess a kingdom, she would assuredly make it her first aim to discharge conscientiously her queenly duties. Nature has bestowed upon her those gifts that would ensure her success. She has remarkable powers of comprehension and a truly wonderful memory. She speaks the Polish, German, French, Italian and English tongues so perfectly as to leave it an open question which of these is her mother-language. Of all royal personages with whom I have had the honor of coming into contact, she is the most worthy of general veneration, and I would wish to see her happy."

Unfortunately, Fate bereft this unhappy princess of the chance of proving the truth of the old adage about fools speaking the truth.[8]

W.A. Baillie-Grohman.