Death Leap of Modem Villon

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 756, 31 August 1929, Page 22

Death Leap of Modem Villon

Belgian Adventurer Jumps from Third Storey of Brussels Hotel . . . Known All Over Europe by Many Aliases . . . Lived Well by His Wits . . .

aELGIAN newspapers report the death of a man known ail over the Continent as “the modern Francois Villon,” and in England as “the beloved vagabond.” At the age of 30 he came to his end by throwing himself from the third storey of a Brussels hotel. Although desired by the police of many countries, there had never been a distinct criminal charge against him, notwithstanding that all his activities, which supported him in comfort, sometimes in luxury, are admitted to have been outside the law. His real name was Otto de Beney. The best known of his aliases were “Prince de Tervueren,” “Captain de Lussac," “Captain Maeterlinck,” and “Commander Marbot, of the French Navy." The Belgian records show that he served with distinction on the Yser front in the World War. and emerged at the end. at the age of 19, with a few medals and a few wounds. Like the French Mirabeau, he is said to have possessed the “deadly gift of familiarity,” an insinuating manner. He was a proficient linguist, speaking

1 rench, English, German, Dutch, and I Italian almost without accent. He descended twice on London. The first time was in 1922. and the second five years later. According to Hie Brussels Press, he was the pseudo gelgiaa Csuutt official who had aI-

Leopold on General Allen, the officer In command of the American army of occupation, and had then borrowed a few hundred francs from him—he had “mislaid his portfolio”—in order to return to Brussels. In this case he represented himself as “Prince de Tervueren, Courrier du Roi.” His London sobriquet merely added a false rauk to his real name, Otto de Beney, “major in the Belgian Air Force.” Asked for the Duke of York

His first experience in London is interesting, because there, at New Scotland Yard, he told more about his struggle to lead a-life of luxury “without hard work and without crime” than he had up to that time imparted, although last year his name became attached as author to a book published in Brussels with the title “Memoirs of a Modern Villon.” In London he put up at the Savoy. Then, arrayed in a major’s uniform of the Belgian Air Force, and wearing all of his own medals—he had actually received two from the hands of King Albert —and some not his own, he ordered a cab, drove to Buckingham Palace, and asked for the Duke of York, whom he purposed to consult, he said, on aviation matters. He got no further than the inner gate, however, for just at that moment there was passing out an English officer who had formerly been military attache at Brussels. The doorman consulted him. He took one glance at the, “major’s” credentials, and then detained him in conversation while two constables were being rushed to the palace from the Yard. The “major” was taken there.

At Westminster Police Court he was sent to prison for three months, but was reprieved in a fortnight, and escorted to a Channel steamer.

Hoodwinked Rennes Warden

One of his most fantastic exploits was thrust upon him at Rennes, where he had been put off the St. Malo express for not having a ticket, and was taken to gaol. At the gaol he asked permission to telephone about his pro-

ready conferred the Grand Croix of

dicament to a friend. He spoke to his friend in Italian, and in a few minutes this friend, in perfect French, called up the warden and said to him: —“I am M. , the procureur de la Rgpublique. You know me? Yes. You have made a terrible mistake. Your fool gendarmes have arrested Captain Maeterlinck, the son of the distinguished Belgian dramatist. I would advise you to release him.” ’Beney was liberated at once, and £he warden assembled a guard of honour at the gate, who saluted him as he passed out. In Stamboui, in 192 G, he was living in apparent luxury, when again his nemesis, in the shape of a British officer, saw him, recognised him, unmasked him, and obliged him to take an airplane for Bukarest. From Bukarest he went to Vienna, and the next year he was on his second visit to London, this time as a cousin of King Albert. For the second time there he was arrested. He was convicted at Crewe under the Aliens Act, and then was escorted to a Channel steamer as before. The next record of him is at Ostend, where he is said to have won thousands at the casino, and borrowed more from credulous acquaintances. Here, as “Commander Marbot, of the French Navy,” his career was cut short by the appearance of a member of the French Surete Generale, or national detective force, who arrested him on a charge of a fraud committed in Paris. He fought extradition, however, and won, and then retired to his native Brussels. According to “L’lndependenee Beige,” he carefully set down in a notebook, which never left him, the sums he borrowed, and from whom, and on one page he had written: “When I am rich I shall repay.” According to this paper, the notebook shows that he borrowed money from more than 40u British and American officers in the occupied zone on the Rhine. At that time he was masquerading as “Captain de Lussac,” a French member of the Military Control Commissions