Strange Tales of French Crimes

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 579, 8 October 1932, Page 29 (Supplement)

Strange Tales of French Crimes

By ...

DR. EDMOND LOCARD and H. ASHTON-WOLFE.

TWENTIETH OF SERIES.

THE GALLEY SLAVE WHO STOLE A TITLE.

The amazing itory of Pierre Coig- I nard’s career is taken from the records In the archives of the French police, j Vidocq in hia memoirs describes the : long battle of wits that culminated in { the capture of the handsome and reck- : less adventurer. By an odd coinci- j dence Vidocq himself had begun as a • dangerous bandit, and it was proof of j his queer mentality that lie should | afterwards offer bis services to the . police as chief of a brigade of detec- I tives —an offer that was accepted, and f the success of the experiment proved j the truth of the saying, “Set a thief : to catch a thief.” Pierre Coignard was born at Langeais in 1776. His father was a saddler and esteemed by all in the village. Pierre was the eldest of six boys. Three of these, since they remained honest and laborious, have nothing to do with this story, but Louis and Alexandre followed the leadership of Pierre and equalled him in criminal instincts, although they did not possess his superb audacity and unshakable optimism. The sedition and lawlessness which preceded the French Revolution gave the three brothers many opportunities t 6 satisfy their craving for wild deeds, and they were able at an early age to develop their talents for pillage and thefts of every description. Pierre, a tall, curly-haired youngster, with flashing black eyes, to whom fear was unknown, first served as a soldier in the royal armies of Louis XVL; but regular service was not to his taste. Soldier thieves were severely punished, and when later the Normandy and Brittany peasants revolted and carried on that terrible guerilla warfare named the War of the Chouans, he at once entered their ranks. Thus he gathered a considerable experience of hand-to-band fighting and ambuscades and, by leading small independent skirmishes, increased the natural aptitude for command which served him so well in later years. His polished manners, acquired heaven knows how, his handsome features and soldierly bearing, gained for him the protection and friendship of the Count and Countess Martausier. He became their permanent guest, and with his extraordinary powers of assimilation was Boon able to ape the speech and ways of a true aristocrat. He did not rob these kindly people himself, but gave his brother Louis an impress of the various locks in the house.

Unfortunately* Louis was seen when escaping with the jewels of the countess and a large sum in gold, and Pierre was again compelled to take to the road. His career at that time was one long series of daring frauds and thefts. His brother Louis was captured during one of their expeditions and sent to the galleys at Brest, but escaped and fled to Spain. Not long after, Pierre was also arrested and sentenced to 14 years’ hard labour in the chain gangs—a pretty debut! During his imprisonment at Bicetre, while waiting to be transferred to Toulon, Pierre Coignard attempted to regain his freedom, together with nine other convicts. Every morning from ten to eleven the prisoners were allowed to exercise in.-the court, surrounding tire main building. His keen eyes at once espied a hollow in the high and apparently unscalable wall, the only barrier between him and the outer world. A stone had crumbled and fallen, leaving just enough room for a foot. By a lucky coincidence, above it, some five feet away, was a projecting angle. Pierre approached as near as he darfed, since the warders watched every move of the prisoners, and he perceived that several *gile~men ' could assist each "other ~to reach the broad summit, along which numerous sentries patrolled at night, Bounding their monotonous refrain: “We are keeping watch!” every 15 minutes, according to regulations. The attempt, therefore, would have to be made at dusk, before these sentries came on duty. Pierre was an adept at picking locks, and he already possessed a stout iron hook. A week before the date fixed for the departure of the chain gang, at the moment when most of the warders were at their evening meal, Pierre emerged noiselessly from his cell. Only a few minutes were required to liberate the men he had chosen as companions. Before the single guard had time to sound the alarm he was knocked senseless and shut in the cell Pierre had occupied.

The convicts reached the wall without trouble. Pierre was the first to gain the summit, where, hanging from his knees, he assisted the others to clamber to the ledge beside him. Already freedom was in sight, when soldiers rushed toward them from all sides with loaded guns.

This exploit nearly cost the chief warder his position. He was a cruel and vindictive fellow, and when Pierre was securely chained to a wooden beam he revenged himself by so belabouring him with a heavy stick that soon the unfortunate prisoner was nothing but a quivering mass of wouuds. Although deep scars remained to remind him of the escapade, Pierre recovered and was sent to Toulon in 1802. There, chained by the right leg to an iron ring in the wall of his cell, he began his preparations for flight.

It appeared impossible that men so fettered could escape, but, nevertheless, they did, almost regularly each month. Every convict in these terrible fortress prisons had only one thought, one hope—which gave him the strength to withstand the misery, the beatings and the cruel labour demanded of him —the possibility of flight. One and all, when they arrived, vowed to help each other, and those who escaped were bound by their oath to assist the unfortunates left behind. A powerful clandestine organisation had thus come into being. Means were always found to smuggle files and money into the prison, and the lucky prisoner whose turn it was to risk all in a desperate bid for freedom knew where he would find shelter, clothes and food while hiding until the first hue and cry was past.

Three years passed before at last an opportunity came for Pierre to make his escape. When lights were extinguished his chain was cut and dozens of willing hands helped him over the wall. A feigned revolt, timed to begin simultaneously, kept the guards busy elsewhere. Although the police searched for days, he was not recaptured, and a month later crossed into Spain, where his brother Louis was already established.

Notwithstanding the hardships he had undergone Pierre Coignard was still a handsome, tall and muscular man, of that type which has always attracted women. His voice was full and sonorous; his large black eyes glittered with & bold, alert, masterful light, and his

truculent bearing was well calculated to inspire fear and respect. When, after many miles of weary plodding, he at last stood on Spanish soil, hia gaze flickered over the pleasant countryside with the easy assurance and smiling contempt of a man come to conquer a strange land. France and the chain gang lay behind, a new life waited not far away. Swinging jauntily along through fields and woods, he came upon a young woman sitting at the foot of a gnarled oak. She was sobbing bitterly, her face sunk in her hands, but the shapely figure and silky hair attracted his attention. Pierre approached and asked the reason for her grief, expressing his willingness to assist her. At the sound of his voice the girl looked up and Pierre was astounded at the extraordinary beauty of the tear-stained face he now beheld. “Alas, senor foreigner, there is nothing you can do—but thank you, neverthe less,” she replied in Spanish, which fortunately he understood, for he had learnt the language from a fellow prisoner. Pierre Coignard stood fascinated. Never had he beheld such a woman nor heard such music in a human voice. Perhaps his soul dimly sensed that he had met his mate —the being who was to share his good and evil fortune for all his days and who would cling to him, braving all because of her great love, faithful to the last. He sat down atid with unusual gentleness wiped away two large tears still clinging to her long, beautiful lashes.

“It would be strange,” he said, with a bitter laugh, “if I, who have known what it means to be one of the damned in hell, should encounter someone even unhappicr. No, that is not possible! Whatever the cause of your tears, ma belle, I’ll wager that in an hour you’ll be smiling. Tell me your troubles.” “What is the use, senor? Besides, it would take too long.” “Never mind. Time is of no account. Tell me—” “Time is of account to me; I must reach the coast before night, for I am travelling to France.” “That is strange. I have just left France—for ever, I hope. Once more I am eager to hear your story. I have an idea that I may, perhaps, be able to help you.” “If you insist, senor—then listen. It is now many years since I became the servant and confidante of a great nobleman, the Count de Pontis de Sainte Helene, a fugitive from the French Revolution. He was a famous and valiant soldier and commanded a regiment in America. But the climate ruined his health. Since all his family were dead he settled down in Spain —there —in tl?£t town you see in the valley. Alas, his heimPNipft not improve. Instead, he became daily weaker, although I nursed him tenderly. And at last my master died. He was poor, and left mo only a few gold pieces and this iron box which I am taking to an old lady at Soissons, the only person left alive who knew him, he said. It appears that in it are important family papers, which he guarded jealously. So now that I am alone again, perhaps in return for these papers the lady will help me to find work. I am easily satisfied; so long as I have food and shelter I shall not require more.” “You are a strange girl, seuorita. What is your name?” “Maria Rosa Marcen.” “Rosa —a pretty name. Well, you sec. I was right. You have someone to go to—l have no one. You have several gold pieces; I have only one. You have a casket full of precious papers; I have not even a passport. You are infinitely more fortunate than I.” “Poor fellow,” the girl said, with a queer smile. “No, do not say that. I have been blessed to-day in that I have met you, and perhaps I can even render you a service. You say that in that box are merely family papers. Experience has taught me that apparently worthless documents aro sometimes of great value to those who know how to use them. Come, let me see what the box contains. I can tell you, at least, if your master told you the truth.” “Since the documents are probably in French, I agree —for my knowledge of that tongue is limited—but to read them you lnuat open the casket. It is of iron, and I have no key.” Without a word, Pierre Coignard seized the heavy metal box—a blow with a stone, a twist with the blade of his knife, and the lid flew back. With a quick movement that betrayed long habit, Pierre extracted papers and crackling parchments and began to read. “H’m, birth certificate, marriage lines —he was married, tfieal”

-Ob, yes, but bis wife bad been dead several years.” “Yes —ah, there is something even better! Titles of nobility and the official record of his military career. I perceive your Count de Sainte Helene was not only a great aristocrat, but a man of orderly habits.” And Pierre fell silent, his thoughts already leaping and dancing. Rosa watched him curiously. <f Well, what is your opinion of the papers, senor?” The man started and looked searchingly at the handsome girl. “The Count had no family nor friends left, you say ?” “No one but this old lady—he often told me so.” “Splendid! Splendid! Would you like to be rich Maria Rosa? Would you like to ride in your carriage, wear fine dresses, possess many jewels, and rise in one hour from poverty to splendour?” “I don’t understand, senor.” “Would you not wish to be the Countess Pontis de Sainte Helene and bury your charming but humble name tor ever? Let me persuade you. Your eyes are full of fire and intelligence. Together we may climb to great heights.” “I see,” the girl said thoughtfully, a flush of excitement tinging her cheeks. “You suggest that, since no one can cjdtradict us, we should take those papers and the position they confer. But suppose that when you had obtained your desire you w r ere to leave me?” “I do not think I shall ever do that, Maria Rosa. Already my heart beats fiercely at the witchery of your glance.

I feel that I shall soon love you madly?; At this moment had I chose between the tempting position these parchments offer and your red lips, I should take the kiss. But I believe I can have them both. I cannot guarantee that I am honest, but at least I am not treacherous —remember I could have taken your box and money, and left you half strangled to recover at your leisure.” Like a flash a long, keen blade set its point at Pierre’s throat, gently pressing on the great throbbing artery. For a moment neither moved. Pierre . looked steadily at the girl, his lips smiling sardonically while she crouched—rigid, breathing sibilantly. Then as abruptly the knife slithered with a backward fling somewhere into her long hair, and with a gurgling laugh Maria Rosa said: “You see, my friend, to leave me as you suggest would not be so easy. Besides, once we are Count and Countess you will not dare —for I shall hold your secret.’* Pierre sighed deeply, joyously, and ex-j claimed: “I am glad you did that. You will truly play your part well. Is it agreed?” In reply Rosa held out her hand. Pierre gripped it as he would a mans, instead of touching the fingers with his lips. Again the girl smiled her slow', enigmatic smile, obviously pleased. “How do they name you partner?” she inquired. “Count Andre de Pontis de Sainte Helene, inadame,” and in one breath he added the long list of honours and titlc3 inscribed on the dead man’s parchments, which his prodigious memory had already retained. Rosa Marcen rose to her feet with supple grace and curtsied. “Then senor count—let us go to seek an inn, for open fields do not suit people of our station.” (See next Wednesday for conclusion of story.)