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."