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Celebrated Claimants from Perkin Warbeck to Arthur Orton

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Title: Celebrated Claimants from Perkin Warbeck to Arthur Orton

Author: Anonymous


        
Release date: August 8, 2005 [eBook #16486]
                Most recently updated: December 12, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CELEBRATED CLAIMANTS FROM PERKIN WARBECK TO ARTHUR ORTON ***




Produced by Steven Gibbs, Sankar Viswanathan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net









                              CELEBRATED

                               CLAIMANTS

                                 FROM

                    PERKIN WARBECK TO ARTHUR ORTON.





                           _SECOND EDITION._


                                London:
                    CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY.

                                 1874.








PREFACE.


This book is intended much less to gratify a temporary curiosity than
to fill an empty page in our literature. In our own and in other
countries Claimants have been by no means rare. Wandering heirs to
great possessions have not unfrequently concealed themselves for many
years until their friends have forgotten them, and have suddenly and
inopportunely reappeared to demand restitution of their rights; and
unscrupulous rogues have very often advanced pretensions to titles and
estates which did not appertain to them, in the hope that they would
be able to deceive the rightful possessors and the legal tribunals.
When such cases have occurred they have created more or less
excitement in proportion to the magnitude of the claim, the audacity
of the imposture, or the romance which has surrounded them. But the
interest which they have aroused has been evanescent, and the only
records which remain of the vast majority are buried in ponderous
legal tomes, which are rarely seen, and are still more rarely read, by
non-professional men. The compiler of the present collection has
endeavoured to disinter the most noteworthy claims which have been
made either to honours or property, at home or abroad, and, while he
has passed over those which present few remarkable features, has
spared no research to render his work as perfect as possible, and to
supply a reliable history of those which are entitled to rank as
_causes célèbres_. The book must speak for itself. It is put forward
in the hope that, while it may serve to amuse the hasty reader in a
leisure hour, it may also be deemed worthy of a modest resting-place
in the libraries of those who like to watch the march of events, and
who have the prudent habit, when information is found, of preserving a
note of it.




CONTENTS




      JACK CADE--THE PRETENDED MORTIMER,

      LAMBERT SIMNEL--THE FALSE EARL OF WARWICK,

      PERKIN WARBECK--THE SHAM DUKE OF YORK,

      DON SEBASTIAN--THE LOST KING OF PORTUGAL,

      JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEFF--THE SHAM PETER III.,

      OTREFIEF--THE SHAM PRINCE DIMITRI,

      PADRE OTTOMANO--THE SUPPOSED HEIR OF SULTAN
          IBRAHIM,

      MOHAMMED BEY--THE COUNTERFEIT VISCOUNT DE
          CIGALA,

      THE SELF-STYLED PRINCE OF MODENA,

      JOSEPH--THE FALSE COUNT SOLAR,

      JOHN LINDSAY CRAWFURD--CLAIMING TO BE EARL
          OF CRAWFURD,

      JOHN NICHOLS THOM--_ALIAS_ SIR WILLIAM COURTENAY,

      JAMES ANNESLEY--CALLING HIMSELF EARL OF
          ANGLESEA,

      CAPTAIN HANS-FRANCIS HASTINGS--CLAIMING TO
      BE EARL OF HUNTINGDON,

      REBOK--THE COUNTERFEIT VOLDEMAR, ELECTOR
      OF BRANDENBURG,

      ARNOLD DU TILH--THE PRETENDED MARTIN
      GUERRE,

      PIERRE MEGE--THE FICTITIOUS DE CAILLE,

      MICHAEL FEYDY--THE SHAM CLAUDE DE VERRE,

      THE BANBURY PEERAGE CASE,

      JAMES PERCY--THE SO-CALLED EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND,

      THE DOUGLAS PEERAGE CASE,

      ALEXANDER HUMPHREYS--THE PRETENDED EARL
      OF STIRLING,

      THE SO-CALLED HEIRS OF THE STUARTS,

      JOHN HATFIELD--THE SHAM HONOURABLE ALEXANDER
      HOPE,

      HERVAGAULT--_SOI-DISANT_ LOUIS XVII. OF FRANCE,

      MATURIN BRUNEAU--_SOI-DISANT_ LOUIS XVII. OF
      FRANCE,

      NAÜNDORFF--_SOI-DISANT_ LOUIS XVII. OF FRANCE,

      AUGUSTUS MEVES--_SOI-DISANT_ LOUIS XVII. OF
      FRANCE,

      RICHEMONT--_SOI-DISANT_ LOUIS XVII. OF FRANCE,

      THE REV. ELEAZAR WILLIAMS--_SOI-DISANT_ LOUIS
      XVII. OF FRANCE,

      THOMAS PROVIS  CALLING HIMSELF SIR RICHARD
          HUGH SMYTH,

      LAVINIA JANNETTA HORTON RYVES--THE PRETENDED
          PRINCESS OF CUMBERLAND,

      WILLIAM GEORGE HOWARD--THE PRETENDED
          EARL OF WICKLOW,

      AMELIA RADCLIFFE--THE SO-CALLED COUNTESS
          OF DERWENTWATER,

      ARTHUR ORTON--WHO CLAIMED TO BE SIR ROGER
          CHARLES DOUGHTY TICHBORNE, BART.,






JACK CADE--THE PRETENDED MORTIMER.


Henry VI. was one of the most unpopular of our English monarchs.
During his reign the nobles were awed by his austerity towards some
members of their own high estate, and divided between the claims of
Lancaster and York; and the peasantry, who cared little for the claims
of the rival Roses, were maddened by the extortions and indignities to
which they were subjected. The feebleness and corruption of the
Government, and the disasters in France, combined with the murder of
the Duke of Suffolk, added to the general discontent; and the result
was, that in the year 1450 the country was ripe for revolution. In
June of that year, and immediately after the death of Suffolk, a body
of 20,000 of the men of Kent; assembled on Blackheath, under the
leadership of a reputed Irishman, calling himself John Cade, but who
is said in reality to have been an English physician named Aylmere.
This person, whatever his real cognomen, assumed the name of Mortimer
(with manifest allusion to the claims of the House of Mortimer to the
succession), and forwarded two papers to the king, entitled "The
Complaint of the Commons of Kent," and "The Requests of the Captain of
the Great Assembly in Kent." Henry replied by despatching a small
force against the rioters. Cade unhesitatingly gave battle to the
royal troops, and having defeated them and killed their leader, Sir
Humphrey Stafford, at Seven Oaks, advanced towards London. Still
preserving an appearance of moderation, he forwarded to the court a
plausible list of grievances, asserting that when these were
redressed, and Lord Say, the treasurer, and Cromer, the sheriff of
Kent, had been punished for their malversations, he and his men would
lay down their arms. These demands were so reasonable that the king's
troops, who were far from loyal, refused to fight against the
insurgents; and Henry, finding his cause desperate, retired for safety
to Kenilworth, Lord Scales with a thousand men remaining to defend the
Tower. Hearing of the flight of his majesty, Cade advanced to
Southwark, which he reached on the 1st of July, and, the citizens
offering no resistance, he entered London two days afterwards. Strict
orders had been given to his men to refrain from pillage, and on the
same evening they were led back to Southwark. On the following day he
returned, and having compelled the Lord Mayor and the people to sit at
Guildhall, brought Say and Cromer before them, and these victims of
the popular spite were condemned, after a sham trial, and were
beheaded in Cheapside. This exhibition of personal ill-will on the
part of their chief seemed the signal for the commencement of outrages
by his followers. On the next day the unruly mob began to plunder, and
the citizens, repenting of their disloyalty, joined with Lord Scales
in resisting their re-entry. After a sturdy fight, the Londoners held
the position, and the Kentishmen, discouraged by their reverse, began
to scatter. Cade, not slow to perceive the danger which threatened
him, fled towards Lewis, but was overtaken by Iden, the sheriff of
Kent, who killed him in a garden in which he had taken shelter. A
reward of 1000 marks followed this deed of bravery. Some of the
insurgents were afterwards executed as traitors; but the majority even
of the ringleaders escaped unpunished, for Henry's seat upon the
throne was so unstable, that it was deemed better to win the people by
a manifestation of clemency, rather than to provoke them by an
exhibition of severity.




LAMBERT SIMNEL--THE FALSE EARL OF WARWICK.


After the downfall of the Plantagenet dynasty, and the accession of
Henry VII. to the English throne, the evident favour shown by the king
to the Lancastrian party greatly provoked the adherents of the House
of York, and led some of the malcontents to devise one of the most
extraordinary impostures recorded in history.

An ambitious Oxford priest, named Richard Simon, had among his pupils
a handsome youth, fifteen years of age, named Lambert Simnel. This
lad, who was the son of a baker, and, according to Lord Bacon, was
possessed of "very pregnant parts," was selected to disturb the
usurper's government, by appearing as a pretender to his crown. At
first it was the intention of the conspirators that he should
personate Richard, duke of York, the second son of Edward IV., who was
supposed to have escaped from the assassins of the Tower, and to be
concealed somewhere in England. Accordingly, the monk Simon, who was
the tool of higher persons, carefully instructed young Simnel in the
_rôle_ which he was to play, and in a short time had rendered him
thoroughly proficient in his part. But just as the plot was ripe for
execution a rumour spread abroad that Edward Plantagenet, earl of
Warwick, and only male heir of the House of York, had effected his
escape from the Tower, and the plan of the imposture was changed.
Simnel was set to learn another lesson, and in a very brief time had
acquired a vast amount of information respecting the private life of
the royal family, and the adventures of the Earl of Warwick. When he
was accounted thoroughly proficient, he was despatched to Ireland in
the company of Simon--the expectation of the plotters being that the
imposition would be less likely to be detected on the other side of
the channel, and that the English settlers in Ireland, who were known
to be attached to the Yorkist cause, would support his pretensions.

These anticipations were amply fulfilled. On his arrival in the
island, Simnel at once presented himself to the Earl of Kildare, then
viceroy, and claimed his protection as the unfortunate Warwick. The
credulous nobleman listened to his story, and repeated it to others of
the nobility, who in time diffused it throughout all ranks of society.
Everywhere the escape of the Plantagenet was received with
satisfaction, and at last the people of Dublin unanimously tendered
their allegiance to the pretender, as the rightful heir to the throne.
Their homage was of course accepted, and Simnel was solemnly crowned
(May 24, 1487), with a crown taken from an effigy of the Virgin Mary,
in Christ Church Cathedral. After the coronation, he was publicly
proclaimed king, and, as Speed tells us, "was carried to the castle on
tall men's shoulders, that he might be seen and known." With the
exception of the Butlers of Ormond, a few of the prelates, and the
inhabitants of Waterford, the whole island followed the example of the
capital, and not a voice was raised in protest, or a sword drawn in
favour of King Henry. Ireland was in revolt.

When news of these proceedings reached London, Henry summoned the
peers and bishops, and devised measures for the punishment of his
secret enemies and the maintenance of his authority. His first act was
to proclaim a free pardon to all his former opponents; his next, to
lead the real Earl of Warwick in procession from the Tower to St.
Paul's, and thence to the palace of Shene, where the nobility and
gentry had daily opportunities of meeting him and conversing with him.
Suspecting, not without cause, that the Queen-Dowager was implicated
in the conspiracy, Henry seized her lands and revenues, and shut her
up in the Convent of Bermondsey. But he failed to reach the active
agents; and although the English people were satisfied that the Earl
of Warwick was still a prisoner, the Irish persisted in their revolt,
and declared that the person who had been shown to the public at St.
Paul's was a counterfeit. By the orders of the Government a strict
watch was kept at the English ports, that fugitives, malcontents, or
suspected persons might not pass over into Ireland or Flanders; and a
thousand pounds reward was offered to any one who would present the
State with the body of the sham Plantagenet.

Meanwhile John, earl of Lincoln, whom Richard had declared heir to the
throne, and whom Henry had treated with favour, took the side of the
pretender, and having established a correspondence with Sir Thomas
Broughton of Lancashire, proceeded to the court of Margaret,
dowager-duchess of Burgundy--a woman described by Lord Bacon as
"possessing the spirit of a man and the malice of a woman," and whose
great aim it was to see the sovereignty of England once more held by
the house of which she was a member. She readily consented to abet the
sham Earl of Warwick, and furnished Lincoln and Lord Lovel with a body
of 2000 German veterans, commanded by an able officer named Martin
Schwartz. The countenance given to the movement by persons of such
high rank, and the accession of this military force, greatly raised
the courage of Simnel's Irish adherents, and led them to conceive the
project of invading England, where they believed the spirit of
disaffection to be as general as it was in their own island.

The news of the intended invasion came early to the ears of King
Henry, who promptly prepared to resist it. Having always felt or
affected great devotion, after mustering his army, he made a
pilgrimage to the shrine of our Lady of Walsingham, famous for
miracles, and there offered up prayers for success and for the
overthrow of his enemies. Being informed that Simnel and his gathering
had landed at Foudrey, in Lancashire, the king advanced to Coventry to
meet them. The rebels had anticipated that the disaffected provinces
of the north would rise and join them, but in this they were
disappointed; for the cautious northerners were not only convinced of
Simnel's imposture, but were afraid of the king's strength, and were
averse to league themselves with a horde of Irishmen and Germans. The
Earl of Lincoln, therefore, who commanded the invading force, finding
no hopes but in victory, determined to bring the matter to a speedy
decision. The hostile armies met at Stoke, in Nottinghamshire, and
after a hardly-contested day, the victory remained with the king.
Lincoln, Broughton, and Schwartz perished on the field of battle, with
four thousand of their followers. As Lord Lovel was never more heard
of, it was supposed that he shared the same fate. Lambert Simnel, with
his tutor the monk Simon, were taken prisoners. The latter, as an
ecclesiastic, escaped the doom he merited, and, not being tried at
law, was only committed to close custody for the rest of his life. As
for Simnel, when he was questioned, he revealed his real parentage;
and being deemed too contemptible to be an object either of
apprehension or resentment, Henry pardoned him, and made him first a
scullion in the royal kitchen, and afterwards promoted him to the
lofty position of a falconer.




PERKIN WARBECK--THE SHAM DUKE OF YORK.


Although Lambert Simnel's enterprise had miscarried, Margaret,
dowager-duchess of Burgundy, did not despair of seeing the crown of
England wrested from the House of Lancaster, and determined at least
to disturb King Henry's government if she could not subvert it. To
this end she sedulously spread abroad a report that Richard, duke of
York, the second son of Edward IV., had escaped the cruelty of his
uncle Richard III., and had been set at liberty by the assassins who
had been sent to despatch him. This rumour, although improbable, was
eagerly received by the people, and they were consequently prepared to
welcome the new pretender whenever he made his appearance.

After some search, the duchess found a stripling whom she thought had
all the qualities requisite to personate the unfortunate prince. This
youth is described as being "of visage beautiful, of countenance
majestical, of wit subtile and crafty; in education pregnant, in
languages skilful; a lad, in short, of a fine shape, bewitching
behaviour, and very audacious." The name of this admirable prodigy was
Peterkin, or Perkin Warbeck, and he was the son of John Warbeck, a
renegade Jew of Tournay. Some writers, and among others Lord Bacon,
suggest that he had certain grounds for his pretensions to royal
descent, and hint that King Edward, in the course of his amorous
adventures, had been intimate with Catherine de Faro, Warbeck's wife;
and Bacon says "it was pretty extraordinary, or at least very
suspicious, that so wanton a prince should become gossip in so mean a
house." But be this as it may, the lad was both handsome and crafty,
and was well suited for the part which he was destined to play.

Some years after his birth, the elder Warbeck returned to Tournay,
carrying the child with him; but Perkin did not long remain in the
paternal domicile, but by different accidents was carried from place
to place, until his birth and fortunes became difficult to trace by
the most diligent inquiry. No better tool could have been found for
the ambitious Duchess of Burgundy; and when he was brought to her
palace, she at once set herself to instruct him thoroughly with
respect to the person whom he was to represent. She so often described
to him the features, figures, and peculiarities of his deceased--or
presumedly deceased--parents, Edward IV. and his queen, and informed
him so minutely of all circumstances relating to the family history,
that in a short time he was able to talk as familiarly of the court of
his pretended father as the real Duke of York could have done. She
took especial care to warn him against certain leading questions which
might be put to him, and to render him perfect in his narration of the
occurrences which took place while he was in sanctuary with the queen,
and particularly to be consistent in repeating the story of his escape
from his executioners. After he had learnt his lesson thoroughly, he
was despatched under the care of Lady Brampton to Portugal, there to
wait till the fitting time arrived for his presentation to the English
people.

At length, when war between France and England was imminent, a proper
opportunity seemed to present itself, and he was ordered to repair to
Ireland, which still retained its old attachment to the House of York.
He landed at Cork, and at once assuming the name of Richard
Plantagenet, succeeded in attracting many partizans. The news of his
presence in Ireland reached France; and Charles VIII., prompted by the
Burgundian duchess, sent him an invitation to repair to Paris. The
chance of recognition by the French king was too good to be idly cast
away. He went, and was received with every possible mark of honour.
Magnificent lodgings were provided for his reception; a handsome
pension was settled upon him; and a strong guard was appointed to
secure him against the emissaries of the English king. The French
courtiers readily imitated their master, and paid the respect to
Perkin which was due to the real Duke of York; and he, in turn, both
by his deportment and personal qualities, well supported his claims to
a royal pedigree. For a time nothing was talked of but the
accomplishments, the misfortunes, and the adventures of the young
Plantagenet; and the curiosity and credulity of England became
thoroughly aroused by the strange tidings which continued to arrive
from France. Sir George Nevill, Sir John Taylor, and many English
gentlemen who entertained no love for the king, repaired to the French
capital to satisfy themselves as to the pretensions of this young man;
and so well had Warbeck's lesson been acquired, that he succeeded in
convincing them of his identity, and in inducing them to pledge
themselves to aid him in his attempt to recover his inheritance.

About this time, however, the breach between France and England was
lessened, and when friendly relations were restored, Henry applied to
have the impostor put into his hands. Charles, refusing to break faith
with a youth who had come to Paris by his own solicitation, refused to
give him up, and contented himself with ordering him to quit the
kingdom. Warbeck thereupon in all haste repaired to the court of
Margaret of Burgundy; but she at first astutely pretended ignorance
of his person and ridiculed his claims, saying that she had been
deceived by Simnel, and was resolved never again to be cajoled by
another impostor. Perkin, who admitted that she had reason to be
suspicious, nevertheless persisted that he was her nephew, the Duke of
York. The duchess, feigning a desire to convict him of imposture
before the whole of her attendants, put several questions to him which
she knew he could readily answer, affected astonishment at his
replies, and, at last, no longer able to control her feelings, "threw
herself on his neck, and embraced him as her nephew, the true image of
Edward, the sole heir of the Plantagenets, and the legitimate
successor to the English throne." She immediately assigned to him an
equipage suited to his supposed rank, appointed a guard of thirty
halberdiers to wait upon him, and gave him the title of "The White
Rose of England"--the symbol of the House of York.

When the news reached England, in the beginning of 1493, that the Duke
of York was alive in Flanders, and had been acknowledged by the
Duchess of Burgundy, many people credited the story; and men of the
highest rank began to turn their eyes towards the new claimant. Lord
Fitzwater, Sir Simon Mountfort, and Sir Thomas Thwaites, made little
secret of their inclination towards him; Sir William Stanley, King
Henry's chamberlain, who had been active in raising the usurper to the
throne, was ready to adopt his cause whenever he set foot on English
soil, and Sir Robert Clifford and William Barley openly gave their
adhesion to the pretender, and went over to Flanders to concert
measures with the duchess and the sham duke. After his arrival,
Clifford wrote to his friends in England, that knowing the person of
Richard, duke of York, perfectly well, he had no doubt that this young
man was the prince himself, and that his story was compatible with the
truth. Such positive intelligence from a person of Clifford's rank
greatly strengthened the popular belief, and the whole English nation
was seriously discomposed and gravely disaffected towards the king.

When Henry was informed of this new plot, he set himself cautiously
but steadily and resolutely to foil it. His first object was to
ascertain the reality of the death of the young prince, and to confirm
the opinion which had always prevailed with regard to that event.
Richard had engaged five persons to murder his nephews--viz., Sir
James Tirrel, whom he made custodian of the Tower while his nefarious
scheme was in course of execution, and who had seen the bodies of the
princes after their assassination; Forrest, Dighton, and Slater, who
perpetrated the crime; and the priest who buried the bodies. Tirrel
and Dighton were still alive; but although their stories agreed, as
the priest was dead, and as the bodies were supposed to have been
removed by Richard's orders, and could not be found, it was impossible
to prove conclusively that the young princes really had been put to
death.

By means of his spies, Henry, after a time, succeeded in tracing the
true pedigree of Warbeck, and immediately published it for the
satisfaction of the nation. At the same time he remonstrated with the
Archduke Philip on account of the protection which was afforded to the
impostor, and demanded that "the theatrical king formed by the Duchess
of Burgundy" should be given up to him. The ambassadors were received
with all outward respect, but their request was refused, and they were
sent home with the answer, that "the Duchess of Burgundy being
absolute sovereign in the lands of her dowry, the archduke could not
meddle with her affairs, or hinder her from doing what she thought
fit." Henry in resentment cut off all intercourse with the Low
Countries, banished the Flemings, and recalled his own subjects from
these provinces. At the same time, Sir Robert Clifford having proved
traitorous to Warbeck's cause, and having revealed the names of its
supporters in England, the king pounced upon the leading conspirators.
Almost at the same instant he arrested Fitzwater, Mountfort, and
Thwaites, together with William D'Aubeney, Thomas Cressener, Robert
Ratcliff, and Thomas Astwood. Lord Fitzwater was sent as a prisoner to
Calais with some hopes of pardon; but being detected in an attempt to
bribe his gaolers, he was beheaded. Sir Simon Mountfort, Robert
Ratcliff, and William D'Aubeney were tried, condemned, and executed,
and the others were pardoned.

Stanley, the chamberlain, was reserved for a more impressive fate. His
domestic connection with the king and his former services seemed to
render him safe against any punishment; but Henry, thoroughly aroused
by his perfidy, determined to bring the full weight of his vengeance
upon him. Clifford was directed to come privately to England, and cast
himself at the foot of the throne, imploring pardon for his past
offences, and offering to condone his folly by any services which
should be required of him. Henry, accepting his penitence, informed
him that the only reparation he could now make was by disclosing the
names of his abettors; and the turncoat at once denounced Stanley,
then present, as, his chief colleague. The chamberlain indignantly
repudiated the accusation; and Henry, with well-feigned disbelief,
begged Clifford to be careful in making his charges, for it was
absolutely incredible "that a man, to whom he was in a great measure
beholden for his crown, and even for his life; a man to whom, by every
honour and favour, he had endeavoured to express his gratitude; whose
brother, the Earl of Derby, was his own father-in-law; to whom he had
even committed the trust of his person by creating him lord
chamberlain; that this man, enjoying his full confidence and
affection, not actuated by any motive of discontent or apprehension,
should engage in a conspiracy against him." But Clifford persisted in
his charges and statements. Stanley was placed under arrest, and was
subsequently tried, condemned, and beheaded.

The fate of the unfortunate chamberlain, and the defection of
Clifford, created the greatest consternation in the camp of Perkin
Warbeck. The king's authority was greatly strengthened by the
promptness and severity of his measures, and the pretender soon
discovered that unless he were content to sink into obscurity, he must
speedily make a bold move. Accordingly, having collected a band of
outlaws, criminals, and adventurers, he set sail for England. Having
received intelligence that Henry was at that time in the north, he
cast anchor off the coast of Kent, and despatched some of his
principal adherents to invite the gentlemen of Kent to join his
standard. The southern landowners, who were staunchly loyal, invited
him to come on shore and place himself at their head. But the wary
impostor was not to be entrapped so easily. He declined to trust
himself in the hands of the well-disciplined bands which expressed so
much readiness to follow him to death or victory; and the Kentish
troops, despairing of success in their stratagem, fell upon such of
his retainers as had already landed, and took 150 of them prisoners.
These were tried, sentenced, and executed by order of the king, who
was determined to show no lenity to the rebels. Perkin being an
eye-witness of the capture of his people, immediately weighed anchor,
and returned to Flanders.

Hampered, however, by his horde of desperadoes, he could not again
settle quietly down under the protecting wing of the Duchess Margaret.
Work and food had to be found for his lawless followers; and in 1495
an attempt was made upon Ireland, which still retained its preference
for the House of York. But the people of Ireland had learnt a salutary
lesson at the battle of Stoke, and Perkin, meeting with little
success, withdrew to Scotland. At this time there was a coolness
between the Scottish and English courts, and King James gave him a
favourable reception, being so completely deceived by his specious
story, that he bestowed upon him in marriage the beautiful and
virtuous Lady Catherine Gordon, the daughter of the Earl of Huntly,
and his own kinswoman. Not content with this, the King of Scots, with
Perkin in his company, invaded England, in the hope that the adherents
of the York family would rise in favour of the pretender. In this
expectation he was disappointed, and what at first seemed likely to
prove a dangerous insurrection ended in a mere border raid.

For a time Warbeck remained in Scotland; but when King James
discovered that his continued presence at his court completely
prevented all hope of a lasting peace with England, he requested him
to leave the country. The Flemings meanwhile had passed a law barring
his retreat into the Low Countries. Therefore, after hiding for a time
in the wilds of Ireland, he resolved to try the affections of the men
of Cornwall. No sooner did he land at Bodmin, than the people crowded
to his banners in such numbers, that the pretender, hopeful of
success, took upon himself for the first time the title of Richard
IV., king of England. Not to suffer the expectation of his followers
to languish, he laid siege to Exeter; but the men of Exeter, having
shut their gates in his face, waited with confidence for the coming of
the king. Nor were they disappointed. The Lords D'Aubeney and Broke
were despatched with a small body of troops to the relief of the city.
The leading nobles offered their services as volunteers, and the king,
at the head of a considerable army, prepared to follow his advanced
guard. Perkin's followers, who numbered about 7000 men, would have
stood by him; but the cowardly Fleming, despairing of success,
secretly withdrew to the sanctuary of Beaulieu. The Cornish rebels
accepted the king's clemency, and Lady Gordon, the wife of the
pretender, fell into the hands of the royalists. To Henry's credit it
must be mentioned that he did not visit the sins of the husband upon
the poor deluded wife, but placed her in attendance upon the queen,
and bestowed upon her a pension which she continued to enjoy
throughout his reign, and even after his death.

It was a difficult matter to know how to deal with the impostor
himself. It would have been easy to make the privileges of the church
yield to reasons of state, and to take him by violence from the
sanctuary; but at the same time it was wise to respect the rights of
the clergy and the prejudices of the people. Therefore agents were
appointed to treat with the counterfeit prince, and succeeded in
inducing him, by promises that his life would be spared, to deliver
himself up to King Henry. Once a captive, he was treated with derision
rather than with extreme severity, and was led in a kind of mock
triumph to London. As he passed along the road, and through the
streets of the city, men of all grades assembled to see the impostor,
and cast ridicule upon his fallen fortunes; and the farce was ended by
the publication of a confession in which Warbeck narrated his real
parentage, and the chief causes of his presumption to royal honours.

But although his life was spared, he was still detained in custody.
After a time he escaped from prison, and fled to the Priory of Sheen,
near Richmond, where he desired the prior, who was a favourite with
the king, to petition for his life and a pardon. If Henry had listened
to the advice of his counsellors he would have taken advantage of the
opportunity to rid himself of this persistent disturber of his peace;
but he was content to give orders that "the knave should be taken out
and set in the stocks." Accordingly, on the 14th of June 1499, Warbeck
was exposed on a scaffold, erected in the Palace Court, Westminster,
as he was on the day following at the Cross on Cheapside, and at both
these places he read a confession of his imposture. Notwithstanding
this additional disgrace, no sooner was he again under lock and key,
than his restless spirit induced him to concoct another plot for
liberty and the crown. Insinuating himself into the intimacy of four
servants of Sir John Digby, lieutenant of the Tower, by their means he
succeeded in opening a correspondence with the Earl of Warwick, who
was confined in the same prison. The unfortunate prince listened
readily to his fatal proposals, and a new plan was laid. Henry was
apprised of it, and was not sorry that the last of the Plantagenets
had thus thrust himself into his hands. Warbeck and Warwick were
brought to trial, condemned, and executed. Perkin Warbeck died very
penitently on the gallows at Tyburn. "Such," says Bacon, "was the end
of this little cockatrice of a king." The Earl of Warwick was beheaded
on Tower Hill, on the 28th of November 1499.




DON SEBASTIAN--THE LOST KING OF PORTUGAL.


King Sebastian of Portugal, who inherited the throne in 1557, seems,
even from his infancy, to have exhibited a remarkable love of warlike
exercises, and at an early age to have given promise of distinguishing
himself as a warrior. At the time of his accession, Portugal had lost
much of her old military prestige; the Moors had proved too strong for
her diminished armies; the four strongholds of Arzilla,
Alcazar-Sequer, Saphin, and Azamor, had been wrested from her; and
Mazagan, Ceuta, and Tangier alone remained to her of all her African
possessions. Consequently, the tutors of the boy-king were delighted
to see his warlike instinct, and carefully instilled into his mind a
hatred of the Paynim conquerors.

The lesson was well learnt, and from the moment King Sebastian reached
his 14th year (the period of his majority), it was evident that all
his thoughts centred on an expedition to Africa, to revive the former
glories of his house, and to extend his empire even beyond its former
limits. In 1574 he set out, not to conquer the land, but simply to
view it, and with youthful audacity landed at Tangier, accompanied by
only 1500 men. Finding no opposition to his progress, he organized a
hunting expedition among the mountains, and actually put his project
into execution. The Moors, by this time thoroughly incensed by his
audacity, mustered a force and attacked his escort, but he succeeded
in beating them off, and escaped in safety to his ships, and reached
his kingdom unharmed.

This peculiar reconnaissance only strengthened his resolution to wrest
his former possessions from the Moslems; and although Portugal was
impoverished and weak, he resolved at once to enter on a crusade
against Muley Moluc and the Moors. The protests of his ministers were
unheeded; he laid new and exorbitant imposts on his people, caused
mercenaries to be levied in Italy and the Low Countries, and
reluctantly persuaded his uncle, Philip I. of Spain, to promise a
contingent. His preparations being at last completed, and a regency
established, he put to sea in June 1578. His armament consisted of
9000 Portuguese, 2000 Spaniards, 3000 Germans, and some 600
Italians--in all, about 15,000 men, with twelve pieces of artillery,
embarked on fifty-five vessels.

On the 4th of August the opposing forces met. The Moorish monarch, who
was stricken with a fatal disorder, was carried on a litter to the
field, and died while struggling with his attendants, who refused to
allow him to rush into the thick of the fight. The Portuguese were
routed with great slaughter, notwithstanding the valour with which
they were led by Don Sebastian. Two horses were killed under the
Christian king; the steed on which he rode was exhausted, and the
handful of followers who remained with him entreated him to surrender.
Sebastian indignantly refused, and again dashed into the middle of the
fray. From this moment his fate is uncertain. Some suppose that he was
taken prisoner, and that his captors beginning to dispute among
themselves as to the possession of so rich a prize, one of the Moorish
officers slew him to prevent the rivalry ending in bloodshed. Another
account, however, affirms that he was seen after the battle, alone and
unattended, and apparently seeking some means of crossing the river.
On the following day search was made for his body, Don Nuno
Mascarcuhas, his personal attendant, having stated that he saw him put
to death with his own eyes. At the spot which the Portuguese noble
indicated, a body was found, which, though naked, Resende, a valet of
Sebastian, recognised as that of his master. It was at once conveyed
to the tent of Muley Hamet, the brother and successor of Muley Moluc,
and was there identified by the captive Portuguese nobles. That their
grief was sincere there could be no doubt; and the Moorish king having
placed the royal remains in a handsome coffin, delivered them for a
heavy ransom to the Spanish ambassador, by whom they were forwarded to
Portugal, where they were buried with much pomp.

But although the nobles were well content to believe that Sebastian
was dead, the mob were by no means equally satisfied that the story of
his fate was true, and were prepared to receive any impostor with open
arms. Indeed, in some parts of Portugal, Don Sebastian is supposed by
the populace to be still alive, concealed like Roderick the Goth, or
our own Arthur, in some hermit's cell, or in some enchanted castle,
until the fitting time for his re-appearance arrives, when he will
break the spell which binds him, and will restore the faded glory of
the nation. During the incursions of Bonaparte, his appearance was
anxiously expected, but he delayed the day of his coming. But if the
real Sebastian remains silent, there have been numerous pretenders to
his throne and his name.

In 1585 a man appeared who personated the dead king. He was a native
of Alcazova, and a person of low birth and still lower morals. In his
earlier days he had been admitted into the monastic society of Our
Lady of Mount Carmel, but had been expelled from the fraternity on
account of his misconduct. Even in his later life, when, by pretended
penitence, he succeeded in gaining re-admission, his vices were found
so far to outweigh his virtues and his piety that it was necessary
again to confide him to the tender mercies of a sacrilegious world. He
fled to the hermitage of Albuquerque, and there devotees visited him.
Widows and full-blooded donnas especially frequented his cell; and the
results of his exercises were such that the Alcalde threatened to lay
hands upon him. Once more he disappeared, but only to turn up again in
the guise of Don Sebastian. Two of his accomplices who mixed among the
people pointed out his resemblance to the lost monarch: the credulous
crowd swallowed the story, and he soon had a respectable following.
Orders from Lisbon, however, checked his prosperous career. He was
arrested and escorted by 100 horsemen to the dungeons of the capital.
There he was tried and condemned to death. The sentence was not,
however, carried into effect; for the imposture was deemed too
transparent to merit the infliction of the extreme penalty. The
prisoner was carried to the galleys instead of the scaffold, and
exhibited to visitors as a contemptible curiosity rather than as a
dangerous criminal. So ended the first sham Sebastian.

In the same year another pretender appeared. This was Alvarez, the son
of a stone-cutter, and a native of the Azores. So far from originating
the imposture, it seems to have been thrust upon him. Like the youth
of Alcazova, after being a monk, he had become a hermit, and thousands
of the devout performed pilgrimages to his cell, which was situated on
the sea-coast, about two miles from Ericeira. The frequency and
severity of his penances gained him great celebrity, and at last it
began to be rumoured abroad that the recluse was King Sebastian, who,
by mortifying his own flesh, was atoning for the calamity he had
brought upon his kingdom. At first he repudiated all claim to such
distinction; but after a time his ambition seems to have been aroused;
he ceased to protest against the homage of the ignorant, and consented
to be treated as a king. Having made up his mind to the imposture,
Alvares resolved to carry it out boldly. He appointed officers of his
household, and despatched letters, sealed with the royal arms,
throughout the kingdom, commanding his subjects to rally round his
standard and aid him in restoring peace and prosperity to Portugal.
The local peasantry, in answer to the summons, hastened to place
themselves at his service, and were honoured by being allowed to kiss
his royal hand. Cardinal Henrique, the regent, being informed of his
proceedings, despatched an officer with a small force to arrest this
new disturber of the public tranquillity; but on the approach of the
troops Alvares and his followers took to the mountains. The cardinal's
representative, unable to pursue them into their inaccessible
fastnesses, left the alcalde of Torres Vedras at Ericeira with
instructions to capture the impostor dead or alive, and himself set
out for Lisbon. He had scarcely reached the plain when Alvares, at the
head of 700 men, swooped down upon the town and took the alcalde and
his soldiers prisoners. He next wrote to the cardinal regent,
ordering him to quit the palace and the kingdom. He then set out for
Torres Vedras, intending to release the criminals confined there, and
with their assistance to seize Cintra, and afterwards to attack the
capital. On the march he threw the unfortunate alcalde and the notary
of Torres Vedras, who had been captured at the same time, over a high
cliff into the sea, and executed another government official who had
the misfortune to fall into his clutches. The corregedor Fonseca, who
was not far off, hearing of these excesses, immediately started at the
head of eighty horsemen to oppose the rebel progress. Wisely
calculating that if he appeared with a larger force Alvares would
again flee to the hills, he ordered some companies to repair in
silence to a village in the rear, and aid him in case of need. He
first encountered a picked band of 200 rebels, whom he easily routed;
and then, being joined by his reinforcements, fell upon the main body,
which his also dispersed. Alvares succeeded in escaping for a time,
but at last he was taken and brought to Lisbon. Here, after being
exposed to public infamy, he was hanged amid the jeers of the
populace.

Nine years later, in 1594, another impostor appeared, this time in
Spain, under the very eyes of King Philip, who had seized the
Portuguese sovereignty. Again an ecclesiastic figured in the plot; but
on this occasion he concealed himself behind the scenes, and pulled
the strings which set the puppet-king in motion. Miguel dos Santos, an
Augustinian monk, who had been chaplain to Sebastian, after his
disappearance espoused the cause of Don Antonio, and conceived the
scheme of placing his new patron on the Lusitanian throne, by exciting
a revolution in favour of a stranger adventurer, who would run all the
risks of the rebellion, and resign his ill-gotten honours when the
real aspirant appeared. He found a suitable tool in Gabriel de
Spinosa, a native of Toledo. This man resembled Sebastian, was
naturally bold and unscrupulous, and was easily persuaded to undertake
the task of personating the missing monarch. The monk, Dos Santos, who
was confessor to the nunnery of Madrigal, introduced this person to
one of the nuns, Donna Anna of Austria, a niece of King Philip, and
informed her that he was the unfortunate King of Portugal. The lady,
believing her father-confessor, loaded the pretender with valuable
gifts; presented him with her jewels; and was so attracted by his
appearance that it was said she was willing to break her vows for his
sake, and to share his throne with him. Unfortunately for the
conspirators, before the plot was ripe, Spinosa's indiscretion ruined
it. Having repaired to Valladolid to sell some jewels, he formed a
criminal acquaintance with a female of doubtful repute, who informed
the authorities that he was possessed of a great number of gems which
she believed to be stolen. He was arrested, and on his correspondence
being searched, the whole scheme was discovered. The rack elicited a
full confession, and Spinosa was hung and quartered. Miguel dos Santos
shared the same fate; but the Donna Anna, in consideration of her
birth, was spared and condemned to perpetual seclusion.

The list of pretenders to regal honours was not even yet complete. In
1598, a Portuguese noble was accosted in the streets of Padua by a
tattered pilgrim, who addressed him by name, and asked if he knew him.
The nobleman answered that he did not. "Alas! have twenty years so
changed me," cried the stranger, "that you cannot recognise in me your
missing king, Sebastian?" He then proceeded to pour his past history
into the ears of the astonished hidalgo, narrating the chief events of
the African battle, detailing the circumstances of his own escape, and
mentioning the friends and events of his earlier life so fluently and
correctly that his listener had no hesitation in accepting him as the
true Sebastian. The news of the appearance of this pretender in Padua
soon reached Portugal, and spread with unexampled rapidity throughout
the country. Philip II. was gravely disturbed by the report, knowing
that his own rule was unpopular, and that the people would be disposed
to rally round any claimant who promised on his accession to the
throne to relieve them from the heavy burdens under which they
groaned. He therefore lost no time in forestalling any attempt to oust
him from the Portuguese sovereignty; and despatched a courier to
Venice, demanding the interference of the authorities. The governor of
Venice, anxious to please the powerful ruler of the Spanish peninsula,
issued an order for the immediate expulsion of "the man calling
himself Don Sebastian;" but the "man" had no intention of being
disposed of in this summary manner. Immediately on receipt of the
order he proceeded to Venice, presented himself at court, and declared
himself ready to prove his identity. The Spanish minister, acting upon
his instructions, denounced him as an impostor, and as a criminal who
had been guilty of heinous offences, and demanded his arrest. He was
thrown into prison; but when the charges of the Spanish minister were
investigated, they failed signally, and no crime could be proven
against him. At the solicitation of Philip, however, he was kept under
arrest, and was frequently submitted to examination by the
authorities, with a view of entrapping him into some damaging
admission. At first he answered readily, and astonished his
questioners by his intimate knowledge of the inner life of the
Portuguese court, not only mentioning the names of Sebastian's
ministers and the ambassadors who had been accredited to Lisbon, but
describing their appearance and peculiarities, and recounting the
chief measures of his government, and the contents of the letters
which had been written by the king. At length, after cheerfully
submitting to be examined on twenty-eight separate occasions, he grew
tired of being pestered by his questioners, and refused to answer
further interrogatories, exclaiming, "My Lords, I am Sebastian, king
of Portugal! If you doubt it, permit me to be seen by my subjects,
many of whom will remember me. If you can prove that I am an impostor,
I am willing to suffer death."

The Portuguese residents in Italy entertained no doubt that the
pretender was their countryman and their monarch, and made most
strenuous exertions to procure his release. One of their number, Dr.
Sampajo, a man of considerable eminence, and of known probity,
personally interceded with the governor of Venice on his behalf. He
was told that the prisoner could only be released upon the most ample
and satisfactory proof of his identity; and Sampajo, confident that he
could procure the necessary evidence, set out forthwith for Portugal.
After a brief stay in Lisbon, he returned with a mass of testimony
corroborating the pretender's story; and, what was naturally
considered of greater importance, with a list of the marks which were
on the person of King Sebastian. The accused was stripped, and on his
body marks were found similar to those which had been described to Dr.
Sampajo. Still the authorities hesitated; and explained that in a
matter of such importance, and where such weighty interests were
involved, they could not act on the representations of a private
individual; but if any of the European powers should demand the
release of their prisoner it would be granted.

Nothing daunted by their failure, the believers in the claims of the
so-called Sebastian endeavoured to enlist the sympathy of the foreign
potentates on behalf of one of their own order who was unjustly
incarcerated and deprived of his rights. In this they failed; but at
last the government of Holland, which had no love for Philip, espoused
the cause of his rival, and despatched an officer to Venice to see
that justice was done. A day was appointed for the trial, and the
prisoner being brought before the senate, presented his claims in
writing. Witnesses came forward who swore that the person before them
was indeed Sebastian, although he had changed greatly in the course of
twenty years. Several scars, malformed teeth, moles, and other
peculiarities which were known to be possessed by the king, were
pointed out on the person of the pretender, and the evidence was
decidedly favourable to his claims; when, on the fifth day of the
investigation, a courier arrived from Spain, and presented a private
message from King Philip. The proceedings were at once brought to a
close; and, without further examination, the prisoner was liberated,
and ordered to quit the Venetian territory in three days. He
proceeded to Florence, where he was again arrested by command of the
Grand Duke of Tuscany. The reason for this harsh treatment is not very
clearly apparent, but it was probably instigated by the Spanish
representative at the Florentine court; for no sooner did the news
that he was in confinement reach Philip, than he demanded the delivery
of the prisoner to his agents. The duke at first refused to comply
with this request, but a threatened invasion of his dominions led him
to reconsider his decision, and the unfortunate aspirant to the
Portuguese sceptre was handed over to the Spanish officials. He was
hurried to Naples, then an appanage of the Spanish crown, and was
there offered his liberty if he would renounce his pretensions; but
this he staunchly refused to do, saying, "I am Sebastian, king of
Portugal, and have been visited by this severe punishment as a
chastisement for my sins. I am content to die in the manner that
pleases you best, but deny the truth I neither can nor will."

The Count de Lemnos, who had been the minister of Spain at Lisbon when
Sebastian was on the throne, at that time was Viceroy of Naples, and
naturally went to visit the pretended king in prison. After a brief
interview, he unhesitatingly asserted that he had never seen the
prisoner before; whereupon the pretended Sebastian exclaimed, "You say
that you have no recollection of me, but I remember you very well. My
uncle, Philip of Spain, twice sent you to my court, where I gave you
such-and-such private interviews." Staggered by this intimate
knowledge of his past life, De Lemnos hesitated for a minute or two,
but at last ordered the gaoler to remove his prisoner, adding to his
command the remark, "He is a rank impostor,"--a remark which called
forth the stern rebuke, "No, Sir; I am no impostor, but the
unfortunate King of Portugal, and you know it full well. A man of your
station ought at all times to speak the truth or preserve silence!"

Whatever the real opinion of De Lemnos may have been, he behaved
kindly to his prisoner, and treated him with no more harshness than
was consistent with his safe-keeping. Unfortunately, the life of the
ex-ambassador was short, and his successor had no sympathy for the
_soi-disant_ king. On the 1st of April 1602, he was taken from his
prison and mounted upon an ass, and, with three trumpeters preceding
him, was led through the streets, a herald proclaiming at
intervals:--"His Most Catholic Majesty hath commanded that this man be
led through the streets of Naples with marks of infamy, and that he
shall afterwards be committed to serve in the galleys for life, for
falsely pretending to be Don Sebastian, king of Portugal." He bore the
ordeal firmly; and each time that the proclamation was made, added, in
clear and sonorous tones, "And so I am!"

He was afterwards sent on board the galleys, and for a short time had
to do the work of a galley slave; but as soon as the vessels were at
sea he was released, his uniform was removed, and he was courteously
treated. What ultimately became of him was never clearly ascertained,
but it is certain that on more than one occasion he succeeded in
confounding his opponents, and by his startling revelations of the
past led many who would fain have disputed his identity to express
their doubts as to the justice of his punishment. The probability is
that he was a rogue, but he was a clever one. Rumour says he died in a
Spanish fortress in 1606.




JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEFF--THE FICTITIOUS PETER III.


The reign of Catherine II. fills one of the darkest pages of Russian
history. This lustful and ambitious empress waded to the throne
through her husband's blood--bloodshed was necessary to establish her
rule; infamous cruelties characterised her whole reign, and no
princess ever succeeded in making herself more heartily detested by
her subjects than the vicious daughter of Anhalt Zerbst. Plot after
plot was concocted to oust her from her high estate; and impostor
after impostor appeared claiming the imperial purple; but the empress
held her own easily, and suppressed each successive rebellion without
difficulty, until Pugatscheff appeared at the head of the Cossacks,
and threatened to hurl her from her throne, and dismember the empire.

Jemeljan Pugatscheff Was the son of Jemailoff Pugatscheff, a Cossack
of the Don, and was born near Simonskaga. His father was killed on the
field of battle, and left him to the care of an indifferent mother,
who deserted him and sought the embraces of a second husband. An
uncle, pitying the lad's desolation, carried him to Poland, where he
picked up the French, Italian, German, and Polish languages, and
distinguished himself by his aptitude for learning. After a time he
returned to Russia, and took up his abode among the Cossacks of the
Ukraine, who, attracted alike by his bodily vigour and his mental
accomplishments, elected him one of their chiefs. He was not, however,
contented with the comparative quiet of Cossack life, and longed for
some greater excitement than was afforded by an occasional raid
against the neighbouring tribes. Accordingly, taking advantage of the
law promulgated by Peter III.,--that any Russian might leave the
country and enter the service of any power not at war with the
empire,--he entered the army of the King of Prussia. On the conclusion
of peace he obtained a command in the Russian army, and served for a
considerable time. At last his regiment was relieved, and Pugatscheff
was allowed to return home. On his return he found the Cossacks of the
Ukraine gravely dissatisfied with the government and the empire. The
viciousness of the court had been reported to them; they were
oppressed both by the clergy and the judges, and they only wanted a
leader to break out into open revolt. Pugatscheff saw the golden
opportunity, and presented himself. But spies were numerous, the
garrisons were strong, and it was necessary to proceed with caution.
In order the better to conceal his designs, he entered the service of
a Cossack named Koshenikof, and after a short time succeeded in
gaining the adhesion of his master to his cause. The friends and
kinsmen of Koshenikof were one by one, under oath of secrecy, informed
of the plot, and by degrees the rebellious scheme was perfected.
Pugatscheff was elected chief; and as he bore a strong resemblance to
the murdered emperor, it was resolved that he should present himself
to the people as Peter III. Accordingly, rumours were assiduously
circulated that the emperor was still alive; that a soldier had been
killed in his stead; and that although he was in hiding, he would
shortly appear, and would avenge himself upon his enemies. Thousands
listened and believed, and only waited for the first sign of success
to join the movement. But the government was on the alert. Pugatscheff
and his master were suspected and denounced; and while the latter was
arrested, the former with difficulty escaped. In a few days, however,
he succeeded in surrounding himself with 500 adherents, and marched at
their head to the town of Jaizkoi, which he summoned to surrender. The
answer was sent by 5000 Cossacks who had orders to take him prisoner.
Strong in his faith in his fellow-countrymen, Pugatscheff advanced
towards this formidable force, and caused one of his officers to
present them with a manifesto explaining his claims, and his reasons
for taking up arms. The general in command seized the document, but
the men, who had no great love for the empress, insisted that it
should be read. Their request was refused, and 500 of them at once
deserted their standards and joined the ranks of the rebel chief.
Alarmed by this defection, the Russian general withdrew to the
citadel, while Pugatscheff encamped about a league off, hoping that
further desertions would follow, and that the place would fall into
his hands. In this he was disappointed; for his fellow-countrymen,
although disloyal at heart, did not wish to commit themselves to a
desperate undertaking which might involve them in ruin, and were
disposed to wait until some success had attended the insurrection. The
500 who had precipitately chosen the rebellion had induced about a
dozen of their officers to join them; but these men, suddenly
repenting, refused to break their oath of allegiance, and were at
once hanged from the neighbouring trees. Finding further persuasion
fruitless, Pugatscheff wisely refrained from any attempt to reduce the
fortress, and marched his band towards Orenburg. On the way he secured
large accessions to his force, and in a few days found himself at the
head of 1500 men. With this army he attacked the fortified town of
Iletzka, which offered no resistance--the garrison passing over to
him. The commandant consented to share in the enterprise with his
followers, but Pugatscheff wanted no commandants or men of
intelligence who might interfere with his schemes, and gave orders for
his immediate execution. The cannon captured at Iletzka were then
pointed against Casypnaja, which yielded after a brief struggle. Thus
fortress after fortress fell into the hands of the reputed emperor,
who gladly received the common soldiery, but mercilessly slew their
leaders.

By this time the news had spread abroad throughout Southern Russia
that Peter III. was not dead, but was in arms for the recovery of his
throne and for the redress of the grievances under which his people
were suffering. Crowds of Cossacks heard the intelligence with joy,
and hastened to cast in their lot with the army of Pugatscheff.
Talischova, a powerful fortress, defended by 1000 regular troops, fell
before his assault; and the false Peter soon found himself possessed
of numerous strongholds, a formidable train of artillery, and a
fighting force of 5000 men. Considering himself strong enough to
attempt the reduction of Orenburg, the capital of the southern
provinces, he marched against it. Here, however, he encountered a
stubborn resistance, and attack after attack was repulsed with heavy
loss. These repeated failures did not discourage the pretender or his
adherents. The Cossacks continued to flock to his banners, and when
General Carr, who had been despatched from Moscow to suppress the
revolt, arrived in the neighbourhood of Orenburg, he found the rebel
chief at the head of 16,000 soldiers. An advanced guard, which was
sent to harass his movements, fell into the hands of Pugatscheff, who
nearly exterminated it, and straightway hanged the officers who were
made captive, according to his usual custom. Emboldened by his
success, he attacked the main body, and ignominiously defeated it in
the open field; and Carr, panic-struck, fled to the capital, leaving
General Freyman, if possible, to oppose the advance of the
revolutionists. The result of this decisive victory was soon apparent.
Province after province declared in favour of the pretender, chief
after chief placed his sword at his service, and Pugatscheff began to
play the emperor in earnest. He conferred titles upon his most
distinguished officers, granted sealed commissions, and constructed
foundries and powder manufactories in various places.

Catherine, by this time thoroughly alarmed, despatched another army to
the Ukraine under General Bibikoff, an experienced and resolute
officer. He arrived at Casan in February 1774, and issued a manifesto,
exposing Pugatscheff's imposture, and calling upon the rebels to lay
down their arms. Pugatscheff replied by another manifesto, declaring
himself the Czar, Peter III., and threatening vengeance against all
who resisted his just claims. He also caused coin to be impressed with
his effigy, and the inscription "_Redivivus et Ultor_." In the
meantime he continued to lay siege to Orenburg and Ufa. But Bibikoff
was not a man to remain inactive, and lost no time in attacking him.
Again and again he was defeated, the siege of the two strongholds was
raised, and on more than one occasion his army was dispersed, and he
was left at the head of only a few hundred followers. But, if the
Cossack hordes could be easily dissipated, they could rally with equal
ease; and on several occasions, when the rebellion seemed to be
completely crushed, it suddenly burst out afresh, and Pugatscheff, who
was supposed to be hiding like a hunted criminal, appeared at the head
of a larger force than ever. Thus at one time scarcely 100 men
followed him to a retreat in the Ural Mountains: in a few days he was
at the head of 20,000 men, and took Casan by storm, with the exception
of the citadel, which resisted his most determined attacks. Here he
perpetrated the greatest atrocities, until the imperial troops arrived
and wrested the town from his grasp, seizing his artillery and his
ammunition. For a time his position appeared desperate, and he fled
across the Volga, but only to re-appear again at the head of an
enormous force, and, as a conqueror, fortress after fortress yielding
at his summons. At length a Russian army under Colonel Michelsohn
overtook him and gave him battle. Pugatscheff held a strong position,
had 24 pieces of artillery and 20,000 men, but his raw levies were no
match for the regular troops. His position was turned, and a panic
seized his followers, who deserted their guns and their baggage, and
fled precipitately, leaving 2000 dead and 6000 prisoners behind them.
Pugatscheff himself made for the Volga, closely pursued by the Russian
cavalry, who cut down the half of his escort before they could embark.
With sixty men he succeeded in escaping into the desert, and at last
it was evident that his game was played out. The only three outlets
were soon closed by separate detachments of the imperial troops, and
the fugitives were thus confined in an arid waste without shelter,
without provisions, and without water. The situation was so hopeless
that each man only thought of saving himself, and Pugatscheff's
companions were not slow to perceive that their sole chance of life
lay in sacrificing their leader. Accordingly, they fell upon him while
he was ravenously devouring a piece of horseflesh--the only food which
he could command--and, having bound him, handed him over to his
enemies. As Moscow had shown some sympathy for him, he was carried in
chains to that city, and was there condemned to death. Several of his
principal adherents likewise suffered punishment at the same time.

On the 23d of January 1775, Pugatscheff and his followers were led to
the place of execution, where a large scaffold had been erected. Some
had their tongues cut out, the noses of others were cut off, eighteen
were knouted and sent to Siberia, and the chief was decapitated--his
body being afterwards cut in pieces and exposed in different parts of
the town. He met his fate with the utmost fortitude.




OTREFIEF--THE SHAM PRINCE DIMITRI.


On the death of Feodor, son of Ivan the Terrible, the Russian throne
was occupied by Boris Godunoff, who had contrived to procure the
murder of Dimitri, or Demetrius, the younger brother of Feodor. For a
time he governed well; but the crafty nobles beginning to plot against
him, he had recourse to measures of extreme cruelty and severity, so
that even the affections of the common people were alienated from him,
and universal confusion ensued. Advantage was taken of this state of
affairs by a monk named Otrefief, who bore an almost miraculous
likeness to the murdered Dimitri, to assume the name of the royal
heir. At first he proceeded cautiously, and, retiring to Poland, by
degrees made public the marvellous tale of his wrongs and of his
escape from his assassins. Many of the leading nobles listened to his
recitals and believed them. In order to render his campaign more
certain, the pretender set himself to learn the Polish language, and
acquired it with remarkable rapidity. Nor did he rest here. He
represented to the Poles that he was disposed to embrace the Catholic
faith; and by assuring the Pope that if he regained the throne of his
ancestors, his first care should be to recall his subjects to their
obedience to Rome, he succeeded in securing the patronage and the
blessing of the Pontiff. Sendomir, a wealthy boyard, not only espoused
his cause, and gave him pecuniary help, but promised him his daughter
Marina in marriage whenever he became the Czar of Muscovy. Marina
herself was no less eager for the union, and through Sendomir's
influence the support of the King of Poland was obtained.

News of the imposture soon reached Moscow, and Boris instantly
denounced Dimitri as an impostor, and sent emissaries to endeavour to
secure his arrest. In this, however, they were unsuccessful; and the
false Dimitri not only succeeded in raising a considerable force in
Poland, but also in convincing the great mass of the Russian
population that he really was the son of Ivan. In 1604 he appeared on
the Russian frontier at the head of a small but efficient force, and
overthrew the army which Boris had sent against him. His success was
supposed by the ignorant peasantry to be entirely due to the
interposition of Providence, which was working on the side of the
injured prince, and Dimitri was careful to foster the delusion that
his cause was specially favoured by heaven. He treated his prisoners
with the greatest humanity, and ordered his followers to refrain from
excesses, and to cultivate the goodwill of the people. The result was
that his ranks rapidly increased, while those of the czar diminished.
Even foreign governments began to view the offender with favour; and
at last Boris, devoured by remorse for the crimes which he had
committed, and by chagrin at the evil fate which had fallen upon him,
lost his reason and poisoned himself.

The chief nobles assembled when the death of the czar was made known,
and proclaimed his son Feodor emperor in his stead; but the lad's
reign was very brief. The greater part of the army and the people
declared in favour of Dimitri, and the citizens of Moscow having
invited him to assume the reins of power, Dimitri made a triumphal
entry into the capital, and was crowned with great pomp. At first he
ruled prudently, and, had he continued as he began, might have
retained his strangely acquired throne. But after a time he gave
himself up to the gratification of his own wild passions, and lost the
popularity which he really had succeeded in gaining. He disgusted the
Russians by appointing numerous Poles, who had swelled his train, to
the highest posts in the empire, to the exclusion of meritorious
officers, who not only deserved well of their country, but also had
claims upon himself for services which they had rendered. These Polish
officers misconducted themselves sadly, and the people murmured sore.
The czar, too, made no secret of his attachment to the Catholic faith;
and while by so doing he irritated the clergy, he provoked the boyards
by his haughty patronage, and disgusted the common people by his
cruelty and lewdness. At last the murmurs grew so loud and
threatening, that some means had to be devised to quiet the popular
discontent, and Dimitri had recourse to a strange stratagem. The widow
of Ivan, who had long before been immured in a convent by the orders
of Boris, and had been kept there by his successor, was released from
her confinement, and was induced publicly to acknowledge Dimitri as
her son. The widowed empress knew full well that her life depended
upon her obedience; but notwithstanding her outward consent to the
fraud, the people were not satisfied, and demanded proofs of Dimitri's
birth, which were not forthcoming. Discontent continued to spread, and
at length the popular fury could no longer be restrained. According to
his promise, the sham czar married Marina, the daughter of the Polish
boyard. The very fact that she was a Pole made her distasteful to the
Russians; but that fact was rendered still more offensive by the
manner of her entrance into the capital, and the treatment which the
Muscovites received at the bridal ceremony. The bride was surrounded
by a large retinue of armed Poles, who marched through the streets of
Moscow with the mien of conquerors; the Russian nobles were excluded
from all participation in the festivities; and the common people were
treated by their emperor with haughty insolence, and held up to the
scorn of his foreign guests. A report also became rife that a timber
fort, which Dimitri had erected opposite the gates of the city, had
been constructed solely for the purpose of giving the bloodthirsty
Marina a martial spectacle, and that, sheltered behind its wooden
walls, the Polish troops and the czar's bodyguard would throw
firebrands and missiles among the crowds of spectators below. This
idle rumour was carefully circulated; the clergy, who had long been
disaffected, went from house to house denouncing the czar as a
heretic, and calling an their countrymen to rise against the insolent
traducer of their religion; and the secret of his birth and imposition
was everywhere proclaimed. The people burst into open revolt, and,
headed by the native prince Schnisky, rushed to storm the imperial
palace. The Polish troops broke their ranks and fled, and were
massacred in the streets. Dimitri himself sought to escape by a
private avenue in the confusion; but watchful enemies were lying in
wait for him. He was overtaken and killed, and his body was exposed
for three days in front of the palace, so that the mob might wreak
their vengeance upon his inanimate clay. Marina and her father were
captured, and after being detained for a little time were set at
liberty.

By the death of the impostor, the throne was left vacant, and the
privilege of electing a new czar reverted to the people. Schnisky, who
had headed the revolt, made good use of his opportunity and
popularity, and while the people were exulting over their success,
contrived to secure the empire for himself. But when the heat of
triumph died away, the nobles were chagrined because they had elevated
one of their own number to rule over them, and the reaction against
the new czar was as strong and as rapid as the extraordinary movement
in his favour had been. The Muscovite nobles were determined to oust
him from his newly-found dignities, and for this purpose adopted the
strange expedient of reviving the dead Dimitri. It mattered little to
them that the breathless carcase of the impostor had been seen by
thousands. They presumed upon the gullibility of their countrymen,
and, asserting that Dimitri had escaped and was prepared to come
forward to claim his throne, endeavoured to stir up an insurrection.
The cheat, however, was not popular, and the sham czar of the nobles
never appeared.

But although the nobles failed in their attempt to foist another
Dimitri upon their fellow-countrymen, the Poles, who were interested
for their countrywoman Marina, were not discouraged from trying the
same ruse. They produced a flesh-and-blood candidate for the Russian
sceptre. This person was a Polish schoolmaster, who bore a striking
likeness to the real Dimitri, and who was sufficiently intelligent to
play his part creditably. To give a greater semblance of truth to
their imposture, they succeeded in persuading Marina to abet them;
and not only did she openly assert that the new Dimitri was her
husband, but she embraced him publicly, and actually lived with him as
his wife.

At the time that this impostor appeared, Sigismund declared war
against Russia, and his marshal Tolkiewski succeeded in inflicting a
terrible defeat on Schnisky. Moscow yielded before the victorious
Poles; and in despair Schnisky renounced the crown and retired into a
monastery. But no sooner was the diadem vacant than a host of false
Dimitris appeared to claim it, and the chief power was tossed from one
party to another during a weary interregnum. At last, in 1609,
Sigismund, who had remained at Smolensko while his marshal advanced
upon Moscow, proclaimed his own son Vladislaf to the vacant
sovereignty, and the pretended Dimitri sank into obscurity. Others,
however, arose; and although some of them perished on the scaffold, it
was not until 1616 that Russia was freed from the last of the
disturbing impostors who attempted to personate princes of the race of
Ivan the Terrible.




PADRE OTTOMANO--THE SUPPOSED HEIR OF SULTAN IBRAHIM.


In the year 1640, there lived in Constantinople one Giovanni Jacobo
Cesii, a Persian merchant of high repute throughout the Levant. This
man, who was descended from a noble Roman family, was on most intimate
terms with Jumbel Agha, the Sultan's chief eunuch, who sometimes gave
him strange commissions. Among other instructions which the merchant
received from the chief of the imperial harem, was an order to procure
privately the prettiest girl he could find in the slave marts of
Stamboul, where at this time pretty girls were by no means rare.
Jumbel Agha intended this damsel as an adornment for his own
household, and a personal companion for himself, and particularly
specified that to her beauty she should add modesty and virginity.
Cesii executed his orders to the best of his ability, and procured for
the bloated and lascivious Agha a Russian girl called Sciabas, as fair
as a _houri_, and apparently as timid as a fawn. Unfortunately,
notwithstanding her innocent demeanour, it only too soon became
apparent that her virtue was not unimpeachable, and that ere long she
would add yet another member to the household of her new master.
Jumbel Agha, who was at first wroth with his pretty plaything, after
the heat of his passion had passed, consented to forgive her if she
would divulge the name of the father of her expected offspring; but
the fair one, although frail, was firm, and despising alike threats
and cajoleries, declined to give any hint as to its paternity.
Thereupon her master handed her over to his major-domo to be re-sold
for the best price she would fetch; but before she could be disposed
of she was brought to bed of a goodly boy.

Some time after the child was born, the Agha, moved either by
curiosity or compassion, expressed a strong desire to see it, and when
it was brought into his presence, was so captivated by its appearance,
that he loaded it with gifts, and gave orders that it should be
sumptuously apparelled, and should remain with its mother in the house
of the major-domo until he had decided as to its future fate. Just
about this time the Grand Sultana had presented her Lord Ibrahim with
a baby boy; and proving extremely weak after her delivery, it was
found necessary to procure a wet-nurse for the heir to the sword and
dominions of Othman. No better opportunity could have offered for
Jumbel Agha. He at once introduced his disgraced slave and her "pretty
by-blow" to his imperial mistress, who accepted the services of the
mother without hesitation. For two years mother and child had their
home in the grizzled old palace on Seraglio Point, until at last the
Sultan began to display such a decided preference for the nurse's boy,
that the jealousy of the Sultana was aroused, and she banished the
offenders from her sight. Her anger was also excited against the
unfortunate Agha, who had been the means of introducing them into the
harem, and she set herself to plot his ruin. Her dusky servitor was,
however, sufficiently shrewd to perceive his danger, and begged
Ibrahim's permission to resign his office, in order to undertake the
pilgrimage to Mecca. At first his request was refused; for Jumbel Agha
was a favourite slave, and whoever obtains leave to go the holy
pilgrimage is _ipso facto_ made free. But the chief eunuch having
agreed to go as a slave, and to return to his post when he had
performed his devotions, Ibrahim permitted him to set out.

A little fleet of eight vessels was ready to sail for Alexandria, and
one of these was appropriated to Jumbel Agha and his household,
amongst whom was his beautiful slave and her little son. After
drifting about for some time in the inconstant breezes off the Syrian
coast, they fell in with six galleys, which they at first supposed to
be friendly ships of the Turkish fleet, but which ultimately proved
Maltese cruisers, and showed fight. The Agha made a valiant
resistance, and fell in the struggle, as did also Sciabas, the fair
Russian--the cause of his journey and his misfortunes. The baby,
however, was preserved alive; and when the Maltese boarded their
prize, they were attracted by the gorgeously dressed child, and
inquired to whom it belonged. The answer, given either in fear or in
the hope of obtaining better treatment, was that he was the son of
Sultan Ibrahim, and was on his way to Mecca, under the charge of the
chief eunuch, to be circumcised. The captors, greatly exhilarated by
the intelligence, at once made all sail for Malta, and there the
glorious news was accepted without question. For a time the knights
were so elated that they seriously began to consult together as to the
possibility of exchanging the supposed Ottoman prince for the Island
of Rhodes, which had slipped from their enfeebled grasp. The Grand
Master of the Order and the Grand Croci had no doubt as to the
genuineness of their captive, and wrote letters to Constantinople
informing the Sultan where he might find his heir and his chief
spouse, if he chose to comply with the Frankish conditions. It is
true that Sciabas was dead, but the worthy knights had recourse to
subterfuge in dealing with the infidel, and had dressed up another
slave to represent her. Portraits also were taken of the reputed
mother and child, and were sent with descriptive letters to the
European courts. The French and Italians eagerly purchased these
representations of the beloved of the Grand Turk; but that mysterious
being himself preserved an ominous silence. Even the knights of Malta,
who hated him as a Mohammedan, nevertheless supposed that the Ottoman
ruler was human, and when he made no effort to recover his lost ones,
began to have some doubt as to the identity of the child of whom they
made so much. In their dilemma they despatched a secret messenger to
Constantinople, who contrived to ingratiate himself at the seraglio,
and lost no opportunity of inquiring whether any of the imperial
children were missing, and whether it were true that the Sultana had
been captured by the Maltese some years before. Of course his
researches were fruitless, and in 1650 he wrote to his employers
assuring them that they had all the while been on a false scent. It
was deemed best to let the imposture die slowly. Little by little the
knights forbore to boast of their illustrious hostage; by degrees they
lessened the ceremonials with which he had been treated, and at last
neglected him altogether. He was made a Dominican friar; and the only
mark of his supposed estate was the name Padre Ottomano, which was
conferred upon him more in scorn than reverence, and which he
continued to bear till the day of his death.




MOHAMMED BEY--THE COUNTERFEIT VISCOUNT DE CIGALA.


In the miscellaneous writings of John Evelyn, the diary-writer, there
is an account of this extraordinary impostor, whose narration of his
own adventures outshines that of Munchausen, and whose experiences,
according to his own showing, were more remarkable than those of
Gulliver. In 1668 this marvellous personage published a book entitled
the "History of Mohammed Bey; or, John Michel de Cigala, Prince of the
Imperial Blood of the Ottomans." This work he dedicated to the French
king, who was disposed to favour his pretensions.

In this remarkable book the pretender sums up the antiquity of the
family of Cigala, entitling it to most of the crowns of Europe, and
makes himself out to be the descendant of Scipio, son of the famous
Viscount de Cigala, who was taken prisoner by the Turks in 1651. He
pretends that Scipio, after his capture, was persuaded to renounce
Christianity, and, having become a renegade, was advanced to various
high offices at the Porte by Sultan Solyman the Magnificent. Under the
name of Sinam Pasha, he asserts that his father became first general
of the Janizaries, then seraskier, or commander-in-chief of the whole
Turkish forces, and was finally created Grand Vizier of the empire. He
also maintains that various illustrious ladies were bestowed as wives
upon the new favourite; and among others the daughter of Sultan
Achonet, who gave himself birth. According to his own story he was
educated by the Moslem _muftis_ in all the lore of the Koran, and by a
series of strange accidents was advanced to the governorship of
Palestine. Here, in consequence of a marvellous dream, he was
converted, and was turned from his original purpose of despoiling the
Holy Sepulchre of its beautiful silver lamps and other treasures. His
Christianity was not, however, of that perfervid kind which demands an
open avowal; and, continuing to outward appearance a Mussulman,
he was promoted to the governorship of Cyprus and the islands. In
this post he used his power for the benefit of the distressed
Christians--redressing their wrongs, and delivering such of them as
had fallen into slavery. From Cyprus, after two years made brilliant
by notable exploits (which no man ever heard of but himself), he was
constituted Viceroy of Babylon, Caramania, Magnesia, and other ample
territories. At Iconium another miracle was performed for his
benefit; and thus specially favoured of heaven, he determined openly
to declare his conversion. At this important crisis, however, his
father-confessor died, and all his good resolutions seem to have been
abandoned. He repaired to Constantinople once more (still preserving
the outward semblance of a true believer, and ever obedient to the
muezzin's call), and was created Viceroy of Trebizonde and
Generalissimo of the Black Sea. Before setting out for his new home on
the shores of the Euxine, he had despatched a confidant named Chamonsi
to Trebizonde in charge of all his jewels and valuables, and his
intention was to seize the first opportunity of throwing off the yoke
of the Grand Signior, and declaring himself a Christian. But Chamonsi
proved faithless; and instead of repairing to the place of tryst,
plotted with the Governor of Moldavia to seize his master. Mohammed
Bey fell into the trap which they had prepared for him, but succeeded
in making his escape, although grievously wounded, after a wonderful
fight, in which he killed all his opponents. In his flight he met a
shepherd who exchanged clothes with him, and in disguise and barefoot
he contrived to reach the head-quarters of the Cossacks, who were at
the time in arms against Russia.

In the Cossack camp there were three soldiers whom the _quondam_
Ottoman general had released from captivity, and they, at once
penetrating the flimsy disguise of the stranger, revealed him to their
own commander in his true character. At first he was well treated by
the Cossack chief, who was anxious that the honour of his baptism
should appertain to the Eastern Greek Church; but our prince,
designing from the beginning to make his solemn profession at Rome,
and to receive that sacrament from the Pope's own hands, was neglected
upon making his resolve known. He, therefore, stole away from the
Cossacks, and, guided by a Jew, succeeded in reaching Poland, where
the queen, hearing the report of his approach, and knowing his high
rank, received him with infinite respect and at last persuaded him to
condescend to be baptized at Warsaw by the archbishop, she herself
standing sponsor at the font, and bestowing upon him the name of John.

After his baptism and subsequent confirmation, this somewhat singular
Christian set out on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady of
Loretto, and afterwards proceeded to Rome, where he was received with
open arms by Alexander VII. On his return journey through Germany he
found that the emperor was at war with the Turks; and, without
hesitation, espoused the Christian cause against the circumcised
heathen, slaying the Turkish general with his own hand, and performing
other stupendous exploits, of which he gives a detailed narration.

As a reward for his services the German emperor created him "Captain
Guardian" of his artillery, and would have loaded him with further
honours, but a roving spirit was upon him, and he started for Sicily
to visit his noble friends who were resident in that island. On his
route he was everywhere received with the utmost respect by the
Princes of Germany and Italy; and when he arrived in Sicily, not only
did Don Pedro d'Arragon house him in his own palace, but the whole
city of Messina turned out to meet him, acknowledging his high
position as a member of the noble house of Cigala, from which it seems
the island had received many great benefits. Leaving Sicily he next
came to Rome, into which he made a public entry, and was warmly
received by Clement IX., before whom, in bravado, he drew and
flourished his dreadful scimitar in token of his defiance of the
enemies of the Church. At last, after touching at Venice and Turin, he
arrived in Paris, where he was received by the king according to his
high quality, and where he published the extraordinary narrative from
which we have taken the above statements, and which honest John
Evelyn, who was roused by his appearance in England, sets himself to
disprove.

Right willingly does Evelyn devote himself to the task of stripping
the borrowed feathers from this fine jackdaw. After inaugurating his
work by quoting the Horatian sneer, "_Spectatum admissi risum
teneatis, amici_?" he at once plunges _in medias res_, and not mincing
his language, says:--"This impudent vagabond is a native of Wallachia,
born of Christian parents in the city of Trogovisti;" and throughout
his exposure employs phrases which are decidedly more forcible than
polite. From Evelyn's revelation it appears that the family of the
pretended Cigala were at one time well-to-do, and ranked high in the
esteem of Prince Mathias of Moldavia, but that this youth was a black
sheep in the flock from the very beginning. After the death of his
father he had a fair chance of distinguishing himself, for the
Moldavian prince took him into his service, and sent him to join his
minister at Constantinople. Here he might have risen to some eminence;
but he was too closely watched to render his life agreeable, and after
a brief sojourn in the Turkish capital returned to his native land.
Here he became intimately acquainted with a married priest of the
Greek Church, and made love to his wife; but the woman, the better to
conceal the familiarity which existed between herself and the young
courtier, led her husband to believe that he had an affection for her
daughter, of which she approved. The simple ecclesiastic credited the
story; until it became apparent that the stranger's practical fondness
extended to the mother as well as the daughter, and that he had taken
advantage of the hospitality which was extended to him to debauch all
the priest's womankind. A complaint was laid before Prince Mathias,
who would have executed him if he had not fled to the shores of the
Golden Horn. He remained in Constantinople until the death of the
Moldavian ruler, when he impudently returned to Wallachia, thinking
that his former misdemeanours had been forgotten, and hoping to be
advanced to some prominent post during the general disarrangement of
affairs. His identity was, however, discovered; his old crimes were
brought against him; and he only escaped the executioner's sword by
flight. For the third time Constantinople became his home, and on this
occasion he embraced the Moslem faith, hoping to secure his
advancement thereby. The Turks, however, viewed the renegade with
suspicion, and treated him with neglect. Therefore, driven by
starvation, he ranged from place to place about Christendom, and in
countries where he was utterly unknown concocted and published the
specious story of his being so nearly related to the Sultan, and
succeeded in deceiving many. Of his ultimate fate nothing is known.




THE SELF-STYLED PRINCE OF MODENA.


In the beginning of the year 1748, a small French merchantman, which
was bound from Rochelle to Martinique, was so closely chased by the
British cruisers that the captain and crew were compelled to take to
their boat. By so doing they avoided the fate of the ship and cargo,
which fell a prey to the pursuers, and succeeded in effecting a safe
landing at Martinique. In their company was a solitary passenger--a
youth of eighteen or nineteen summers, whose dignified deportment and
finely-cut features betokened him of aristocratic lineage. His name,
as given by himself, was the Count de Tarnaud, and his father,
according to his own showing, was a field-marshal in the French
service; but the deference with which he was treated by his shipmates
seemed to suggest that his descent was even more illustrious, and his
dignity loftier than that to which he laid claim. He was unattended,
save by a sailor lad to whom he had become attached after his
embarkation. This youth, called Rhodez, treated him with the utmost
deference, and, while on an intermediate footing between friendship
and servitude, was careful never to display the slightest familiarity.

This strangely assorted couple had no sooner landed upon the island
than the _pseudo_ De Tarnaud asked to be directed to the house of one
of the leading inhabitants, and was referred to Duval Ferrol, an
officer, whose residence was situated near the spot at which he had
come on shore. This gentleman, attracted by the appearance of the
youth, and sympathising with his misfortunes, at once offered him a
home, and De Tarnaud and Rhodez took up their abode at the _maison_
Ferrol. The hospitable advances of its proprietor were received by his
new guest in a kindly spirit, yet more as due than gratuitous; and
this air of superiority, combined with the extreme deference of
Rhodez, aroused curiosity. The captain of the vessel which had brought
the distinguished guest was questioned as to his real name, but
professed himself unable to give any information beyond stating that
the youth had been brought to him at Rochelle by a merchant, who had
privately recommended him to treat him with great attention, as he was
a person of distinction.

Ample scope was, therefore, left for the curiosity and credulity of
the inhabitants of Martinique, who at this time were closely blockaded
by the English, and were sadly in want of some excitement to relieve
the monotony of their lives. Every rumour respecting the stranger was
eagerly caught up and assiduously disseminated by a thousand gossips,
and, as statement after statement and _canard_ after _canard_ got
abroad, he rose higher and higher in popular repute. No one doubted
that he was at least a prince; and why he had elected to come to
Martinique at such an inconvenient season nobody stopped to inquire.

As far as could be made out from the disjointed stories which were
afloat, this mysterious individual had been seen to arrive at Rochelle
some time before the date of his embarkation. He was then accompanied
by an old man, who acted as a sort of mentor. On their arrival they
established themselves in private lodgings, in which the youth
remained secluded, while his aged friend frequented the quays on the
look-out for a ship to convey his companion to his destination. When
one was at last found he embarked, leaving his furniture as a present
to his landlady, and generally giving himself the air of a man of vast
property, although at the time possessed of very slender resources;
and that he really was a person of distinction and wealth the
colonists were prepared to believe. They only awaited the time when
he chose to reveal himself to receive him with acclamations.

After treating him hospitably for some time, Duval Ferrol precipitated
matters by informing his strange guest, that as he did not know
anything of his past life, and was himself only a subaltern, he had
been under the necessity of informing his superior officers of his
presence, and that the king's lieutenant who commanded at Port Maria
desired to see him. The young man immediately complied with this
request, and presented himself to the governor as the Count de
Tarnaud. M. Nadau (for such was the name of this official) had of
course heard the floating rumours, and was resolved to penetrate the
mystery. He therefore received his visitor with _empressement_, and
offered him his hospitality. The offer was accepted, but again rather
as a matter of right than of generosity, and the young count and
Rhodez became inmates of the house of the commandant.

Two days after young Tarnaud's removal to the dwelling of Nadau, the
latter was entertaining some guests, when, just as they were sitting
down to dinner, the count discovered that he had forgotten his
handkerchief, on which Rhodez got up and fetched it. Such an
occurrence would have passed without comment in France; but in
Martinique, where slavery was predominant, and slaves were abundant,
such an act of deference from one white man to another was noted, and
served to strengthen the opinions which had already been formed
respecting the stranger. During the course of the meal also, Nadau
received a letter from his subordinate, Duval Ferrol, to the following
effect:--"You wish for information relative to the French passenger
who lodged with me some days; his signature will furnish more than I
am able to give. I enclose a letter I have just received from him."
This enclosure was merely a courteous and badly-composed expression of
thanks; but it was signed _Est_, and not De Tarnaud. As soon as he
could find a decent excuse, the excited commandant drew aside one of
his more intimate friends, and communicated to him the surprising
discovery which he had made, at the same time urging him to convey
the information to the Marquis d'Eragny, who lived at no great
distance. The marquis had not risen from table when the messenger
arrived, and disclosed to those who were seated with him the news
which he had just received. A reference to an official calendar or
directory showed that _Est_ was a princely name, and the company at
once jumped to the conclusion that the mysterious stranger was no
other than Hercules Renaud d'Est, hereditary Prince of Modena, and
brother of the Duchess de Penthièvre. The truth of this supposition
was apparently capable of easy proof, for one of the company, named
Bois-Fermé, the brother-in-law of the commandant, asserted that he was
personally well acquainted with the prince, and could recognise him
anywhere. Accordingly, after a few bottles of wine had been drunk, the
whole company proceeded uproariously to Radau's, where Bois-Fermé (who
was a notorious liar and braggart) effusively proclaimed the stranger
to be the hereditary Prince of Modena. The disclosure thus
boisterously made seemed to offend, rather than give pleasure to, the
self-styled Count de Tarnaud, who, while not repudiating the title
applied to him, expressed his dissatisfaction at the indiscretion
which had revealed him to the public.

At this time the inhabitants of Martinique were in a very discontented
and unhappy position. Their coast was closely blockaded by the English
fleet, provisions were extremely scarce, and the necessities of the
populace were utilised by unscrupulous officials who amassed riches by
victimising those who had been placed under their authority. The
Marquis de Caylus, governor of the Windward Islands, was one of the
most rapacious of these harpies; and although, perhaps, he was more a
tool in the hands of others than an independent actor, the feeling of
the people was strong against him, and it was hoped that the
newly-arrived prince would supersede him, and redress the grievances
which his maladministration had created. Accordingly Nadau, who
entertained a private spite against De Caylus, lost no time in
representing the infamy of the marquis, and was comforted by the
assurance of his youthful guest, that he would visit those who had
abused the confidence of the king with the severest punishment, and
not only so, but would place himself at the head of the islands to
resist any attempt at invasion by the English.

These loyal and generous intentions, which Nadau did not fail to make
public, increased the general enthusiasm, and rumours of the plot
which was hatching reached Fort St. Pierre, where the Marquis de Caylus
had his head-quarters. He at once sent a mandate to Nadau, ordering the
stranger before him. A message of similar purport was also sent to the
youth himself, addressed to the Count de Tarnaud. Upon receiving it he
turned to the officers who had brought it, saying--"Tell your master
that to the rest of the world I am the Count de Tarnaud, but that to
him I am Hercules Renaud d'Est. If he wishes to see me let him come
half-way. Let him repair to Fort Royal in four or five days. I will be
there."

This bold reply seems to have completely disconcerted De Caylus. He
had already heard of the stranger's striking resemblance to the
Duchess de Penthièvre, and the assumption of this haughty tone to an
officer of his own rank staggered him. He set out for Fort Royal, but
changed his mind on the way, and returned to St. Pierre. The prince, on
the other hand, kept his appointment, and not finding the marquis,
proceeded to Fort St. Pierre, which he entered in triumph, attended by
seventeen or eighteen gentlemen. The governor caught a glimpse of him
as he passed through the streets, and exclaimed "that he was the very
image of his mother and sister," and in a panic quitted the town.
Nothing could have been more fortunate than his flight. The prince
assumed all the airs of royalty, and proceeded to establish a petty
court, appointing state officers to wait upon him. The Marquis
d'Eragny he created his grand equerry; Duval Ferrol and Laurent
'Dufont were his gentlemen-in-waiting; and the faithful Rhodez was
constituted his page. Regular audiences were granted to those who came
to pay their respects to him, or to present memorials or petitions,
and for a time Martinique rejoiced in the new glory which this
illustrious presence shed upon it.

It so happened that the Duc de Penthièvre was the owner of
considerable estates in the colony, which were under the care of a
steward named Lievain. This man, who seems to have been a simple soul,
no sooner heard of the arrival of his master's brother-in-law in the
island than he hastened to offer him not only his respects, but, what
was far better, the use of the cash which he held in trust for the
duke. He was, of course, received with peculiar graciousness, and
immediate advantage was taken of his timely offer. The prince was now
supplied with means adequately to support the royal state which he had
assumed, and the last lingering relics of suspicion were dissipated,
for Lievain was known to be a thoroughly honest and conscientious man,
and one well acquainted with his master's family and affairs, and it
was surmised that he would not thus have committed himself unless he
had had very good grounds for so doing.

On his arrival at St. Pierre the prince had taken up his quarters in
the convent of the Jesuits; and now the Dominican friars, jealous of
the honour conferred upon their rivals, besought a share of his royal
favour, and asked him to become their guest. Nothing loth to gratify
their amiable ambition, the prince changed his residence to their
convent, in which he was entertained most sumptuously. Every day a
table of thirty covers was laid for those whom he chose to invite; he
dined in public--a fanfaronade of trumpets proclaiming his
down-sitting and his up-rising--and the people thronged the
banqueting-hall in such numbers that barriers had to be erected in the
middle of it to keep the obtrusive multitude at a respectful distance.

Meanwhile vessels had left Martinique for France bearing the news of
these strange proceedings to the mother country. The prince had
written to his family, and had entrusted his letters to the captain of
a merchantman who was recommended by Lievain. And the discomfited
governor, the Marquis de Caylus, had forwarded a full account of the
extraordinary affair to his government, and had demanded
instructions. Six months passed away and no replies came. The prince
pretended to be seriously discomposed by this prolonged silence, but
amused himself in the meantime by defying M. de Caylus, by indulging
in the wildest excesses, and by gratifying every absurd or licentious
caprice which entered his head. But at last it became apparent that
letters from France might arrive at any moment; the rainy season was
approaching; the prince was apprehensive for his health; and the
inhabitants had discovered by this time that their visitor was very
costly. Accordingly, when he expressed his intention of returning to
France, nobody opposed or gainsaid it; and, after a pleasant sojourn
of seven months among the planters of Martinique, he embarked on board
the "Raphael," bound for Bordeaux. His household accompanied him, and
under a salute from the guns of the fort he sailed away.

A fortnight later the messenger whom the governor had despatched to
France returned bearing orders to put his so-called highness in
confinement. An answer was also sent to a letter which Lievain had
forwarded to the Duc de Penthièvre, and in it the simple-minded agent
was severely censured for having so easily become the dupe of an
impostor. At the same time he was informed that since his indiscretion
was in part the result of his zeal to serve his master, and since he
had only shared in a general folly, the duc was not disposed to deal
harshly with him, but would retain his services and share the loss
with him. This leniency, and the delay which had taken place, only
served to confirm the inhabitants of Martinique in their previous
belief, and they were more than ever convinced that the real Prince of
Modena had been their guest, although neither his relatives nor the
government were willing to admit that he had been guilty of such an
escapade.

The "Raphael" in due course arrived at Faro, where her illustrious
passenger was received with a salute by the Portuguese authorities. On
landing, the prince demanded a courier to send to Madrid, to the
chargé d'affaires of the Duke of Modena, and also asked the means of
conveying himself and his retinue to Seville, where he had resolved to
await the return of his messenger. These facilities were obligingly
afforded to him, and he arrived at Seville in safety. His fame had
preceded him, and he was received with the most extravagant
demonstrations of joy by the inhabitants. The susceptible donnas of
the celebrated Spanish city adored this youthful scion of a royal
house; sumptuous entertainments were prepared in his honour, and his
praises were in every mouth. His courier came not, but instead there
arrived an order for his arrest, which was communicated to him by the
governor in person. He seemed much astonished, but resignedly
answered, "I was born a sovereign as well as he: he has no control
over me; but he is master here, and I shall yield to his commands."

His ready acquiescence in his inevitable fate was well thought of; and
while it excited popular sympathy in his favour, rendered even those
who were responsible for his safe-keeping anxious to serve him.
Immediately on his apprehension he was conveyed to a small tower,
which was occupied by a lieutenant and a few invalids, and very little
restraint was placed upon his movements. His retinue were allowed to
visit him, and every possible concession was made to his assumed rank.
But he was far from content, and succeeded by a scheme in reaching the
sanctuary of the Dominican convent. From this haven of refuge he could
not legally be removed by force; but on the urgent representations of
the authorities the Archbishop of Seville sanctioned his transfer, if
it could be accomplished without bloodshed. A guard was despatched to
remove him. No sooner, however, had the officer charged with the duty
entered his apartment than the prince seized his sword, and protested
that he would kill the first man that laid a finger upon him. The
guard surrounded him with their bayonets, but he defended himself so
valiantly that it became evident that he could not be captured without
infringing the conditions laid down by the archbishop, and the
soldiers were compelled to withdraw. Meanwhile news of what had been
going on reached the populace, a crowd gathered, and popular feeling
ran so high that the discomfited emissaries of the law reached their
quarters with difficulty. This disturbance made the government more
determined than ever to bring the affair to an issue. Negotiations
were renewed with the Dominicans, who were now anxious to deliver up
their guest, but his suspicions were aroused, and his capture had
become no easy matter. He always went armed, slept at night with a
brace of pistols under his pillow, and even at meal times placed one
on either side of his plate. At last craft prevailed--a young monk,
who had been detailed to wait upon him at dinner, succeeded in
betraying him into an immoderate fit of laughter, and before he could
recover himself, pinioned him and handed him over to the alguazils,
who were in waiting in the next apartment. He was hurried to gaol,
loaded with chains, and cast into a dungeon. After twenty-four hours'
incarceration he was summoned for examination, but steadily refused to
answer the questions of his judges. He was not, however, remitted to
his former loathsome place of confinement, as might have been expected
from his obstinacy, but was conveyed to the best apartment in the
prison. His retinue were meanwhile examined relative to his supposed
design of withdrawing Martinique from its allegiance to France. The
result of these inquiries remained secret, but, without further trial,
the prince was condemned to the galleys, or to labour in the king's
fortifications in Africa, and his attendants were banished from the
Spanish dominions.

In due time he was despatched to Cadiz to join the convict gangs
sentenced to enforced labour at Ceuta. The whole garrison of Seville
was kept under arms on the morning of his departure, to suppress any
popular commotion, and resist any possible attempt at rescue. On his
arrival at Cadiz he was conducted to Fort la Caragna, and handed over
to the commandant, a sturdy Frenchman named Devau, who was told that
he must treat the prisoner politely, but would be held answerable for
his safe-keeping. Devau read these orders, and replied, "When I am
made responsible for the safe custody of anybody, I know but one way
of treating him, and that is to put him in irons." So the _pseudo_
prince was ironed, until the convoy was ready to escort the prisoners
to Ceuta. On the voyage the pretender was treated differently from the
other galley-slaves, and on reaching his destination was placed under
little restraint. He had full liberty to write to his friends, and
availed himself of this permission to send a letter to Nadau, who had
been ordered home to France to give an account of his conduct. In this
document he mentioned the courtesy with which he was treated, and
begged the Port Maria governor to accept a handsome pair of pistols
which he sent as a souvenir. To Lievin, the Duc de Penthièvre's agent,
he also wrote, lamenting the losses which he had sustained, and
promising to make them good at a future time. His prison, however, had
not sufficient charms to retain his presence. He took the first
opportunity of escaping, and having smuggled himself on board an
English ship, arrived in the Bay of Gibraltar. The captain informed
the governor of the fort that he had on board his ship the person who
claimed to be the Prince of Modena, and that he demanded permission to
land. A threat of immediate apprehension was sufficient to deter the
refugee from again tempting the Spanish authorities: he remained on
board; and the ship sailed on her voyage, carrying with her the
prince, who was seen no more.




JOSEPH--THE FALSE COUNT SOLAR.


On the 1st of August 1773, a horseman, who was approaching the town of
Peronne in France, discovered by the wayside a boy, apparently about
eleven years of age, clad in rags, evidently suffering from want, and
uttering piercing cries. Stirred with pity for this unfortunate
object, the traveller dismounted, and, finding his efforts to comfort
his new acquaintance, or to discover the cause of his sorrow,
unavailing, persuaded him to accompany him to the town, where his
immediate necessities were attended to. The boy ate ravenously of the
food which was set before him, but continued to preserve the strictest
silence, and, at length, it was discovered that he was deaf and dumb.
A charitable woman, moved by his misfortunes, gave him a temporary
home, and at the end of a few weeks he was transferred to the
Bicêtre--then an hospital for foundlings--through the intervention of
M. de Sartine, the well-known minister of police. Here his conduct was
remarkable. From the first day of his entrance he shrank from
association with the other inmates, who were for the most part boys
belonging to the lower orders, and by so doing earned their ill-will,
and brought upon himself their persecution. Indeed, so uncomfortable
did his new home prove through the malignity of his fellow-pensioners,
that the health of the poor waif gave way, and it was found necessary
to remove him to the Hôtel Dieu of Paris. Here he was noticed by the
Abbé de l'Epée, who was attracted by his quiet and aristocratic
manners and gentle demeanour, and who at the same time considered
that, by reason of his intelligence, he was likely to prove an apt
pupil in acquiring the manual alphabet which the worthy ecclesiastic
had invented. Accordingly, the Abbé removed him to his own house, and
in a few months had rendered him able to give some account of himself
by signs. His story was that he had a distinct recollection of living
with his father and mother and sister, in a splendid mansion, situated
in spacious grounds, and that he was accustomed to ride on horseback
and in a carriage. He described his father as a tall man and a
soldier, and stated that his face was seamed by scars received in
battle. He gave a circumstantial account of his father's death, and
said that he, as well as his mother and sister, were mourning for him.
After his father's funeral he asserted that he was taken from home by
a man whom he did not know, and that when he had been carried come
distance he was deserted by his conductor and left in the wood, in
which he wandered for some days, until he reached the highway, where
he was discovered by the passing traveller, as above narrated.

When this tale was made public, it naturally created great excitement,
and people set themselves to discover the identity of this foundling,
whom the Abbé de l'Epée had named Joseph. The Abbé himself was never
tired of conjecturing the possible history of his protégé, or of
communicating his conjectures to his friends. At length, in the year
1777, a lady, who had heard the boy's story, suggested a solution of
the mystery. She mentioned that in the autumn of 1773, a deaf and dumb
boy, the only son and heir of Count Solar, and head of the ancient and
celebrated house of Solar, had left Toulouse, where his father and
mother then dwelt, and had not returned. It had been given out that he
had died, but she suggested that the account of his death was false,
and that Joseph was the young Count Solar. Inquiries were instituted,
and showed that the hypothesis was at least tenable. The family of
Count Solar had consisted of his wife and a son and daughter. The son
was deaf and dumb, and was twelve years old at his father's death,
which occurred in 1773. After the decease of the old count, the boy
was sent by his mother to Bagnères de Bigorre, under the care of a
young lawyer, named Cazeaux, who came back to Toulouse early in the
following year, with the story that the heir had died of small-pox.
The mother died in 1775.

The Abbé de l'Epée, astounded by the striking similarity between the
facts and Joseph's account of himself, at once came to the conclusion
that Providence had chosen him as the instrument for righting a great
wrong, and set himself to supply the missing links in the chain of
evidence, and to restore his ward to what he doubted not was his
rightful inheritance. He maintained that young Solar's mother, either
wearied with the care of a child who was deprived of speech and
hearing, or to secure his estates for herself or her daughter, had
given her son to Cazeaux to be exposed, and that that ruffian had made
tolerably certain of his work, by carrying the lad 600 miles from
home, to the vicinity of Peronne, and there abandoning him in a dense
wood, from which the chances were he would never be able to extricate
himself, but in the mazes of which he would wander till he died. God
alone, the Abbé declared, guided the helpless and hungry lad within
the reach of human assistance, and sent the traveller to rescue him,
opened the woman's heart to give him shelter, and brought him to
Paris, so that he might be instructed and enabled to tell his doleful
tale.

Fired by enthusiasm, the Abbé succeeded in engaging the co-operation
of persons of the highest eminence. The Duc de Penthièvre, a prince of
the blood, espoused the cause of the wronged noble, and provided for
his support as became his supposed rank. From the same princely
source, also, funds were forthcoming to obtain legal redress for his
hardships, and to prosecute his claims before the courts. Proceedings
were instituted against Cazeaux, who was still alive, and a formal
demand was made for the reinstatement of the foundling of Peronne in
the hereditary honours of Solar. The boy was taken to Clermont, his
reputed birthplace, at which he was said to have passed the first four
years of his life in the company of his mother. It could scarcely be
supposed that those who knew the young heir, aged four, would be able
to trace much similarity to him in the claimant of seventeen. But
there was far more recognition than might have been anticipated.
Madame de Solar's father fancied that Joseph resembled his grandson,
and he was the more thoroughly convinced of his identity, because he
felt an affection for the youth which he believed to be instinctive.
The brother of the countess was convinced that Joseph was his nephew,
because he had the large knees and round shoulders of the deceased
count. The mistress of the dame-school at Clermont recognised in the
Abbé's protégé her former pupil. Several witnesses also, who could not
be positive as to the identity of the two persons, remembered that the
youthful count had a peculiar lentil-shaped mole on his back, and a
similar mole was found on the back of the claimant. As it afterwards
proved, Joseph was not completely deaf, but was shrewd enough to
conceal the fact. Consequently he succeeded in acquiring a good deal
of useful information with respect to the Solar family, and
re-produced it as the result of his own recollection when the proper
time came.

On the other hand, the evidence against his pretensions was very
strong. Many persons in Toulouse who had been intimately acquainted
with the youthful count declared that Joseph bore no resemblance to
him; and the young countess repudiated him most emphatically,
asserting that he was not her brother, and he failed to recognise her
as his sister. However, he persevered in asserting his rights, and
claimed before the Cour du Châtelet, in Paris, the name and honours of
Count Solar; and orders were given by the court for the arrest of
Cazeaux as his abductor and exposer. The unfortunate lawyer was seized
and hurried to the Miséricorde, a loathsome dungeon below the Hotel de
Ville, at Toulouse. Next day, heavily ironed, he was thrown into a
cart, and thus set out on a journey of 500 miles to Paris. While the
cart was in motion he was chained to it; when they halted he was
chained to the inn table; at night he was chained to his bed. At
length, after seventeen wearisome days, the capital was reached, and
the prisoner was taken from his cart and cast into the vaults of the
Châtelet. After considerable and unnecessary delay, the supposed
abductor was brought to trial; and not only were the charges against
him easily disproved, but the whole of the Abbé's grand hypothesis was
destroyed beyond reconstruction. A host of witnesses came forward to
testify that the young count did not leave Toulouse under the
guardianship of Cazeaux, until the 4th of September 1773, whereas
Joseph was found at Peronne on the 1st of August. Moreover, the
contemporary history of the two youths was clearly traced, it being
shown that in November 1773, the Count Solar was at Bagnères de
Bigorre while Joseph was an inmate of the Bicêtre; and finally it was
conclusively proved that on the 28th of January 1774, the real Count
Solar died at Charlas, near Bagnères, of small-pox, having outlived
his father about a year.

The acquittal of Cazeaux followed as a matter of course, and he was
dismissed from the bar of the Châtelet with unblemished reputation,
but broken in health and ruined in fortune. Happily for him, a M.
Avril, a rich judge of the Châtelet, who had been active against him
during his trial, repented of the evil he had done him, sought his
acquaintance, and bequeathed him a large fortune. Thus raised to
wealth, and aided by the revolution, which levelled all social
distinctions, he aspired to the hand of the widowed Countess Solar who
had lost her estates. Success crowned his suit, and his former
patroness became his wife. After their marriage the pair settled on an
estate a few leagues from Paris, where Cazeaux died in 1831 and his
wife in 1835. Joseph, who was undoubtedly the son of a gentleman, soon
ceased to interest the public, and, his pretensions having failed,
retired into comparative obscurity, accepting service in the army, and
meeting an untimely death early in the revolutionary war.




JOHN LINDSAY CRAWFURD--CLAIMING TO BE EARL OF CRAWFURD.


In 1808, George Lindsay Crawfurd, twenty-second Earl of Crawfurd and
sixth Earl of Lindsay, died without issue, and his vast estates
descended to his sister, Lady Mary Crawfurd. After the death of the
earl various claims were advanced to the peerage, one of them being
preferred by a person of the name of John Crawfurd, who came from
Dungannon, in the north of Ireland. When this claimant arrived at Ayr,
in January 1809, he gave himself out as a descendant of the Hon. James
Lindsay Crawfurd, a younger son of the family, who had taken refuge in
Ireland from the persecutions of 1666-1680. At first he took up his
abode at the inn of James Anderson, and from his host and a weaver
named Wood he received a considerable amount of information respecting
the family history. From Ayr he proceeded to visit Kilbirnie Castle,
once the residence of the great knightly family of Crawfurd. The house
had been destroyed by fire during the lifetime of Lady Mary's
grandfather, and had not been rebuilt--the family taking up their
residence on their Fifeshire estates. At the time of the fire,
however, many family papers and letters had been saved, and had been
stored away in an old cabinet, which was placed in an out-house. To
these Mr. Crawfurd obtained access, and found among them many letters
written by James Lindsay Crawfurd, whose descendant he pretended to
be. He appropriated them and produced them when the fitting time came.
At Kilbirnie he also introduced himself to John Montgomerie of
Ladeside, a man well acquainted with the family story and all the
vicissitudes of the Crawfurds, and one who was disposed to believe any
plausible tale. The farmer, crediting the pretender's story, spread it
abroad among the villagers, and they in turn fell into ecstacies over
the idea of a poor man like themselves arriving at an earldom,
rebuilding the ancient house of Kilbirnie, and restoring the old
glories of the place. Their enthusiasm was turned to good account. The
claimant was very poor, and stood in need of money to prosecute his
claim, and he made no secret of his poverty or his necessities, and
promised large returns to those who would help him in his time of
need. "Farms," we are told, "were to be given on long leases at
moderate rents; one was to be factor, another chamberlain, and many
were to be converted from being hewers of wood and drawers of water to
what they esteemed the less laborious, and therefore more honourable,
posts of butlers and bakers, and body servants of all descriptions."
These cheering prospects, of course, depended upon the immediate faith
which was displayed, and the amount of assistance which was at once
forthcoming. Therefore, each hopeful believer exerted himself to the
utmost, and "poor peasants and farmers, cottagers and their masters,
threw their stakes into the claimant's lucky-bag, from which they were
afterwards to draw 'all prizes and no blanks.'" Men of loftier
position, also, were not averse to speculate upon the chances of this
newly-discovered heir. Poor John Montgomerie gave him every penny he
had saved, and every penny he could borrow, and after mortgaging his
little property, was obliged to flee to America from his duns, where,
it is said, he died. His son Peter, who succeeded to Ladeside, also
listened to the seductive voice of the claimant, until ruin came upon
him, and he was compelled to compound with his creditors.

In due time the pretender to the Crawford peerage instituted judicial
proceedings. His advocates brought forward some very feasible parole
evidence; but they mainly rested their case upon the documents which
had been discovered in the old cabinet at Kilbirnie. These letters,
when they were originally discovered, had been written on the first
and third pages; but in the interim the second pages had been filled
up in an exact imitation of the old hand with matter skilfully
contrived to support the pretensions of the new-comer. In these
interpolations the dead Crawfurd was made to describe his position and
circumstances in Ireland, his marriage, the births of his children,
and his necessities, in a manner which could leave no doubt as to the
rightful claims of the pretender. Unfortunately for his cause, he
refused to pay his accomplices the exorbitant price which they
demanded, and they, without hesitation, made offers to Lady Mary, into
the hands of whose agents they confided the forged and vitiated
letters. The result was that a charge of forgery was brought against
the claimant, and he and his chief abettor, James Bradley, were both
brought to trial before the High Court of Justiciary, in February
1812, and were sentenced to fourteen years' transportation. This
result was obtained by the acceptance of the evidence of Fanning, one
of the forgers, as king's evidence. While under sentence the claimant
wrote a sketch of his life, which was printed at Dairy, in Ayrshire,
and was published before the sentence was carried into execution.
After some delay the sham earl was shipped off to Botany Bay, and
arrived in New South Wales in 1813. Many persons in Scotland continued
under the belief that he had been harshly treated, and had fallen a
victim to the perjured statements of witnesses who were suborned by
Lady Mary Crawfurd. It was not disputed that the documents which had
been put in evidence really were forged; but it was suggested that the
forgery had been accomplished without his knowledge, in order to
accomplish his ruin. Public feeling was aroused in his favour, and he
was regarded not only as an innocent and injured man, but as the
rightful heir of the great family whose honours and estates he sought.

During his servitude in Australia, John Lindsay Crawfurd contrived to
ingratiate himself with MacQuarrie, the governor of New South Wales,
and got part of his punishment remitted, returning to England in 1820.
He immediately recommenced proceedings for the recovery of the
Crawfurd honours; and, as his unexpected return seemed to imply that
he had been unjustly transported, his friends took encouragement from
this circumstance, and again came forward with subscriptions and
advances. Many noblemen and gentlemen, believing him to be injured,
contributed liberally to his support and to the cost of the
proceedings which he had begun. At last the case came,--and came under
the best guidance--before the Lords Committee of Privileges, to which
it had been referred by the king. Lord Brougham was counsel in the
cause, and he publicly expressed his opinion that it was extremely
well-founded. Many of the claimant's adherents, however, were deterred
from proceeding further in the matter by the unfavourable report of
two trustworthy commissioners who had been appointed to investigate
the affair in Scotland. On the other hand, Mr. Nugent Bell, Mr. William
Kaye, and Sir Frederick Pollock, with a host of eminent legal
authorities, predicted certain success. Thus supported, the pretender
assumed the _rôle_ of Earl of Crawfurd, and actually voted as earl at
an election of Scotch peers at Holyrood. Unfortunately for all
parties, the claimant died before a decision could be given either for
or against him. His son, however, inheriting the father's pretensions,
and also apparently his faculty for raising money, contrived to find
supporters, and carried on the case. Maintaining his father's
truthfulness, he declared that his ancestor, the Hon. James Lindsay
Crawfurd, had settled in Ireland, and that he had died there between
1765 and 1770, leaving a family, of which he was the chief
representative. On the other hand, Lord Glasgow, who had succeeded by
this time to the estates, insisted that the scion of the family who
was supposed to have gone to Ireland, and from whom the pretender
traced his descent, had in reality died in London in 1745, and had
been buried in the churchyard of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. It was
finally proved that a record remained of the death of James Lindsay
Crawfurd in London, as stated, and 120 genuine letters were produced
in his handwriting bearing a later date than that year. The decision
of the House of Lords was--"That from the facts now before us we are
satisfied that any further inquiry is hopeless and unnecessary." This
opinion was given in 1839, and since that time no further steps have
been taken to advance the claim. Strange to say, Lord Glasgow allowed
the body of the original claimant to be interred in the family
mausoleum; and it has been more than suggested that if John Lindsay
Crawfurd was not the man that he represented himself to be, he was at
least an illegitimate offshoot of the same noble house, and that had
he been less pertinacious in advancing his claims to the earldom, he
might have ended his days more happily.




JOHN NICHOLS THOM, _ALIAS_ SIR WILLIAM COURTENAY.


In 1830 or 1831 a Cornishman, named John Nichols Thom, suddenly left
his home, and made his appearance in Kent as Sir William Courtenay,
knight of Malta. He was a man of tall and commanding appearance, had
ready eloquence, and contrived to persuade many of the Kentish people
that he was entitled to some of the fairest estates in the county, and
that when he inherited his property they should live on it rent free.
This pleasant arrangement agreeing with the views of a large
proportion of the agriculturists, they entertained him hospitably, and
made no secret of their impatience for the arrival of the happy time
of which he spoke. Unfortunately Thom became involved in some
smuggling transaction, and having been found guilty of perjury in
connection with it, was sentenced to six years' transportation. After
his condemnation it was discovered that he was insane, and his
sentence was not carried out, but he was removed from Maidstone gaol
to the county lunatic asylum, where he remained four years. In 1837 he
was released by Lord John Russell, who considered that he was
sufficiently recovered to be delivered up to the care of his friends.
They, however, failed to discharge their duty efficiently; and in
1838, Thom reappeared in Kent, conducting himself more extravagantly
than ever. The farmers and others supplied him with money, and he
moved about the county delivering inflammatory harangues in the towns
and villages--harangues in which he assured his auditors that if they
followed his advice they should have good living and large estates, as
he had great influence at court, and was to sit at her majesty's right
hand on the day of the coronation. He told the poor that they were
oppressed and down-trodden by the laws of the land, and invited them
to place themselves under his command, and he would procure them
redress. Moreover, he assured those whose religious convictions were
disturbed, that he was the Saviour of the world; and in order to
convince them, pointed to certain punctures in his hands, as those
inflicted by the nails of the cross, and to a scar on his side, as the
wound which had discharged blood and water. By these representations
he succeeded in attaching nearly a hundred people to himself.

On the 28th of May he set out at the head of his tatterdemalion band
from the village of Boughton, and proceeded to Fairbrook. Here a pole
was procured, and a flag of white and blue, representing a rampant
lion, was raised as the banner which was to lead them to victory.
From Fairbrook they marched in a kind of triumphal procession round
the neighbouring district, until a farmer of Bossenden, provoked by
having his men seduced from their employment by Thom's oratory, made
an application for his apprehension. A local constable named Mears,
assisted by two others, proceeded to arrest the crazy impostor. After
a brief parley, Thom asked which was the constable; and on being
informed by Mears that he held that position, produced a pistol, and
shot the unoffending representative of the law, afterwards stabbing
him with a dagger. The wounds were almost immediately fatal, and the
body was tossed into a ditch. The remaining constables fled to the
magistrates who had authorised them to make the capture, and reported
the state of affairs. When the intelligence of Mears's death spread
abroad, the general indignation and excitement was very great, and a
messenger was despatched to fetch some soldiers from Canterbury. A
military party soon arrived, but their approach had been heralded to
Thom and his strolling vagrants, who had betaken themselves to the
recesses of Bossenden wood, where the _soi-disant_ Sir William, by his
wild gesticulations and harangues, roused his adherents to a pitch of
desperate fury. To show his own valour, as soon as the soldiers, who
were intended rather to overawe than injure the mob appeared, he
strode out from among his ignorant attendants, and deliberately shot
Lieutenant Bennett of the 45th regiment, who was in advance of his
party. The lieutenant fell dead on the spot. The soldiers, excited by
the murder of their leader, immediately returned the fire, and Thom
was one of the first killed. As he fell, he exclaimed, "I have Jesus
in my heart!" Ten of his adherents shared his fate, and many were
severely wounded. Some of the more prominent among his followers were
subsequently arrested, tried, and found guilty of participating in
Bennett's murder. Two of them were sentenced to transportation for
life; one had ten years' transportation, while six expiated their
offences by a year's imprisonment in the House of Correction.




JAMES ANNESLEY--CALLING HIMSELF EARL OF ANGLESEA.


Arthur Annesley, Viscount Valencia, who founded the families both of
Anglesea and Altham, was one of the staunchest adherents of Charles
II., and had a considerable hand in bringing about his restoration to
the throne. Immediately after that event his efforts were rewarded by
an English peerage--his title being Baron Annesley of Newport-Pagnel,
in the county of Buckingham and Earl of Angelsea. Besides this honour
he obtained the more substantial gift of large tracts of land in
Ireland. The first peer had five sons. James Annesley, the eldest son,
having married the daughter of the Earl of Rutland, and having been
constituted heir of all his father's English real property, and a
great part of his Irish estates, the old earl became desirous of
establishing a second noble family in the sister kingdom, and
succeeded in procuring the elevation of his second son Altham to the
Irish peerage as Baron Altham of Altham, with remainder, on failure of
male issue, to Richard his third son.

Altham, Lord Altham, died without issue, and the title and estates
accordingly devolved upon Richard, who, dying in 1701, left two sons,
named respectively Arthur and Richard. The new peer, in 1706, espoused
Mary Sheffield, a natural daughter of the Duke of Buckingham, against
the wishes of his relatives. He lived with his wife in England for two
or three years, but was at last obliged to flee to Ireland from his
creditors, leaving Lady Altham behind him in the care of his mother
and sisters. These ladies, who cordially hated her, set about ruining
her reputation, and soon induced her weak and dissipated husband to
sue for a divorce, but, as proof was not forthcoming, the case was
dismissed. Thereupon his lordship showed a disposition to become
reconciled to his wife, and she accordingly went over to Dublin in
October 1713; and through the good offices of a friend a
reconciliation was effected, and the re-united couple, after a
temporary residence in Dublin, went to live at Lord Altham's country
seat of Dunmain, in the county of Wexford. Here, in April or May 1715,
Lady Altham bore a son, which was given to a peasant woman, named Joan
Landy, to nurse. At first the young heir was suckled by this woman at
the mansion, and afterwards at the cabin of her father, less than a
mile from Dunmain. In order to make this residence a little more
suitable for the child it was considerably improved externally and
internally, and a coach road was constructed between it and Dunmain
House, so that Lady Altham might be able frequently to visit her son.

Soon after the birth of the child Lord Altham's dissipation and his
debts increased, and he proposed to the Duke of Buckingham that he
should settle a jointure on Lady Altham, and for this purpose the pair
visited Dublin. The effort was unsuccessful, as the estate was found
to be covered by prior securities; and Lord Altham, in a fury, ordered
his wife back to Dunmain, while he remained behind in the Irish
capital. On his return his spite against her seemed to have revived,
and not only did he insult her in his drunken debauches, but contrived
an abominable plot to damage her reputation. Some time in February
1717, a loutish fellow named Palliser, who was intimate at the house,
was called up to Lady Altham's apartment, on the pretence that she
wished to speak to him. Lord Altham and his servants immediately
followed; my lord stormed and swore, and dragged the supposed seducer
into the dining-room, where he cut off part of one of his ears, and
immediately afterwards kicked him out of the house. A separation
ensued, and on the same day Lady Altham went to live at New Ross.

Before leaving her own home she had begged hard to be allowed to take
her child with her, but was sternly refused, and at the same time the
servants were instructed not to carry him near her. The boy therefore
remained at Dunmain under the care of a dry nurse, but,
notwithstanding his father's injunctions, was frequently taken to his
mother by some of the domestics, who pitied her forlorn condition.
When he came to an age to go to school, he was sent to several
well-known seminaries, and was attended by a servant both on his way
to them and from them; "was clothed in scarlet, with a laced hat and
feather;" and was universally recognised as the legitimate son and
heir of Lord Altham.

Towards the end of 1722, Lord Altham--who had by this time picked up a
mistress named Miss Gregory--removed to Dublin, and sent for his son
to join him. He seemed very fond of the boy, and the woman Gregory for
a time pretended to share in this affection, until she conceived the
idea of supplanting him. She easily persuaded her weak-minded lover to
go through the form of marriage with her, under the pretence that his
wife was dead, took the title of Lady Altham, and fancied that some of
her own possible brood might succeed to the title, for the estates
were by this time well-nigh gone. With this purpose in her mind she
used her influence against the boy, and at last got him turned out of
the house and sent to a poor school; but it is, at least, so far
creditable to his father to say, that he did not quite forget him,
that he gave instructions that he should be well treated, and that he
sometimes went to see him.

Lord Altham's creditors, as has been stated, were very clamorous, and
his brother Richard was practically a beggar: they were both sadly in
want of money, and only one way remained to procure it. If the boy
were out of the way, considerable sums might be raised by his lordship
by the sale of reversions, in conjunction with the remainder-man in
tail, who would in that case have been Lord Altham's needy brother
Richard. Consequently the real heir was removed to the house of one
Kavanagh, where he was kept for several months closely confined, and
in the meantime it was industriously given out that he was dead. The
boy, however, found means to escape from his confinement, and,
prowling up and down the streets, made the acquaintance of all the
idle boys in Dublin. Any odd work which came in his way he readily
performed; and although he was a butt for the gamins and an object of
pity to the town's-people, few thought of denying his identity or
disputing his legitimacy. Far from being unknown, he became a
conspicuous character in Dublin; and although, from his roaming
proclivities, it was impossible to do much to help him, the citizens
in the neighbourhood of the college were kindly disposed towards him,
supplied him with food and a little money, and vented their abuse in
unmeasured terms against his father.

In 1727 Lord Altham died in such poverty that it is recorded that he
was buried at the public expense. After his death, his brother Richard
seized all his papers and usurped the title. The real heir then seems
to have been stirred out of his slavish life, and declaimed loudly
against this usurpation of his rights, but his complaints were
unavailing, and, although they provoked a certain clamour, did little
to restore him to his honours. However, they reached his uncle, who
resolved to put him out of the way. The first attempt to seize him
proved a failure, although personally superintended by the uncle
himself; but young Annesley was so frightened by it that he concealed
himself from public observation, and thus gave grounds for a
rumour--which was industriously circulated--that he was dead.
Notwithstanding his caution, however, he was seized in March 1727, and
conveyed on board a ship bound for Newcastle in America, and on his
arrival there was sold as a slave to a planter named Drummond.

The story of his American adventures was originally published in the
_Gentleman's Magazine_, and has since been rehearsed by modern
writers. It seems that Drummond, who was a tyrannical fellow, set his
new slave to fell timber, and finding his strength unequal to the
work, punished him severely. The unaccustomed toil and the brutality
of his master told upon his health, and he began to sink under his
misfortunes, when he found a comforter in an old female slave who had
herself been kidnapped, and who, being a person of some education, not
only endeavoured to console him, but also to instruct him. She
sometimes wrote short pieces of instructive history on bits of paper,
and these she left with him in the field. In order to read them he
often neglected his work, and, as a consequence, incurred Drummond's
increased displeasure, and aggravated his own position. His old friend
died after four years, and after her death, his life having become
intolerable, he resolved to run away. He was then seventeen years of
age, and strong and nimble, and having armed himself with a
hedging-bill, he set out. For three days he wandered in the woods
until he came to a river, and espied a town on its banks. Although
faint from want of food, he was afraid to venture into it until
night-fall, and lay down under a tree to await the course of events.
At dusk he perceived two horsemen approaching--the one having a woman
behind him on a pillion, while the other bore a well-filled
portmanteau. Just as they reached his hiding-place, the former, who
was evidently the second man's master, said to the lady that the place
where they were was an excellent one for taking some refreshment; and
bread and meat and wine having been produced from the saddle-bags, the
three sat down on the ground to enjoy their repast. Annesley, who was
famished, approached closer and closer, until he was discovered by the
servant, who, exclaiming to his master that they were betrayed, rushed
at the new comer with his drawn sword. Annesley, however, succeeded in
convincing them of his innocence, and they not only supplied him with
food, but told him that they were going to Apoquenimink to embark for
Holland, and that, out of pity for his misfortunes, they would procure
him a passage in the same vessel. His hopes were destined to be very
short-lived. The trio re-mounted, and Annesley had followed them for a
short distance painfully on foot, when suddenly horsemen appeared
behind them in chase. There was no time for deliberation. The lady
jumped off and hid herself among the trees. The gentleman and his
servant drew their swords, and Annesley ranged himself beside them
armed with his hedge-bill, determined to help those who had generously
assisted him. The contest was unequal, the fugitives were soon
surrounded, and, with the lady, were bound and carried to Chester
gaol.

It appeared that the young lady was the daughter of a rich merchant,
and had been compelled to marry a man who was disagreeable to her; and
that, after robbing her husband, she had eloped with a previous lover
who held a social position inferior to her own. All the vindictiveness
of the husband had been aroused; and when the trial took place, the
lady, her lover, and the servant, were condemned to death for the
robbery. James Annesley contrived to prove that he was not connected
with the party, and escaped their fate; but he was remanded to prison,
with orders that he should be exposed to public view every day in the
market-place; and that if it could be proved by any of the frequenters
that he had ever been seen in Chester before, he should be deemed
accessory to the robbery and should suffer death.

He remained in suspense for five weeks, until Drummond chanced to come
to Chester on business, and, recognising the runaway, claimed him as
his property. The consequence was that the two years which remained of
his period of servitude were doubled; and when he arrived at
Newcastle, Drummond's severity and violence greatly increased. A
complaint of his master's ill-usage was made to the justices, and that
worthy was at last obliged to sell him to another; but Annesley gained
little by the change. For three years he continued with his new owner
in quiet toleration of his lot; but having fallen into conversation
with some sailors bound for Europe, the old desire to see Ireland once
more came upon him, and he ventured a second escape. He was recaptured
before he could gain the ship; and under the order of the court, the
solitary year of his bondage which remained was increased into five.
Under this new blow he sank into a settled state of melancholy, and
seemed so likely to die that his new master had pity upon his
condition, began to treat him with less austerity, and recommended him
to the care of his wife, who often took him into the house, and
recommended her daughter Maria to use him with all kindness. The
damsel exceeded her mother's instructions, and straightway fell in
love with the good-looking young slave, often showing her affection in
a manner which could not be mistaken. Nor was she the only one on
whom his appearance made an impression. A young Iroquis Indian girl,
who shared his servitude, made no secret of her attachment to him,
exhibited her love by assisting him in his work, while she assured him
that if he would marry her when his time of bondage was past, she
would work so hard as to save him the expense of two slaves. In vain
Annesley rejected her advances, and tried to explain to her the
hopelessness of her desires. She persistently dogged his footsteps,
and was never happy but in his sight. Her rival Maria, no less eager
to secure his affection, used to stray to the remote fields in which
she knew he worked, and on one occasion encountered the Indian girl,
who was also bent upon visiting him. The hot-blooded Indian then lost
her self-control, and, having violently assaulted her young mistress,
sprang into the river close by, and thus ended her love and her life
together.

Maria, who had been seriously abused, was carried home and put to bed,
and her father naturally demanded some explanation of the
extraordinary quarrel which had cost him a slave and very nearly a
daughter. The other slaves had no hesitation in recounting what they
had seen, or of saying what they thought, and the truth came out.
Annesley's master was, however, resolved to be certain, and sent him
into her room, while he and his wife listened to what passed at the
interview. Their stratagem had the desired success. They heard their
daughter express the most violent passion, which was in no way
returned by their slave. As they could not but acknowledge his
honourable feeling and action, they resolved to take no notice of what
had passed, but for their daughter's sake to give him his liberty.
Next day his master accompanied him to Dover; but instead of releasing
him--as he had promised his wife--sold him to a planter near
Chichester for the remainder of his term.

After various ups and downs, he was transferred to a planter in
Newcastle county, whose house was almost within sight of Drummond's
plantation. While in this employ he discovered that he was tracked by
the brothers of the Indian girl, who had sworn to avenge her untimely
fate, and nearly fell a victim to their rage, having been wounded by
one of them who lay in wait for him. By another accident, while he was
resting under a hedge which divided his master's ground from a
neighbouring plantation, he fell asleep, and did not awake until it
was perfectly dark. He was aroused by the sound of voices, and on
listening found that his mistress and Stephano, a slave on another
farm, were plotting to rob his master, and to flee together to Europe.
Repressing his desire to reveal the whole scheme to his master, he
took the first opportunity of informing his mistress that her infamy
was discovered, and that if she persevered in her design he would be
compelled to reveal all that he had overheard. The woman at first
pretended the utmost repentance, and not only earnestly promised that
she would never repeat her conduct, but by many excessive acts of
kindness led him to believe that her unlawful passion had changed its
object. Finding, however, that she could not prevail upon him either
to wink at her misdeeds or gratify her desires, she endeavoured to get
rid of him by poison; and an attempt having been made upon his life,
Annesley resolved once more to risk an escape, although the time of
his servitude had almost expired.

On this occasion he was successful; and having made his way in a
trading ship to Jamaica, got on board the "Falmouth," one of his
Majesty's ships, and declared himself an Irish nobleman. His arrival,
of course, created a great stir in the fleet, and the affair came to
the ears of Admiral Vernon, who, having satisfied himself that his
pretensions were at least reasonable, ordered him to be well treated,
wrote to the Duke of Newcastle about him, and sent him home to
England. He arrived in October 1741. His uncle Richard had in the
meantime succeeded, through default of issue, to the honours of
Anglesea, as well as those of Altham, and became seriously alarmed at
the presence of this pretender on English soil. At first he asserted
that the claimant, although undoubtedly the son of his deceased
brother, was the bastard child of a kitchen wench. He next tried to
effect a compromise with him, and subsequently endeavoured to procure
his conviction on a charge of murder. It is also said that assassins
were hired to kill him. But it is certainly true that Annesley having
accidentally shot a man near Staines, the Earl of Anglesea spared
neither pains nor money to have him condemned. He was tried at the Old
Bailey, and being acquitted by the jury, proceeded to Ireland to
prosecute his claim to the Altham estates. On his arrival at Dunmain
and New Ross, he was very warmly received by many of the peasantry.
His first attempt to secure redress was by an action at law. An action
for ejectment was brought in the Court of Exchequer in Ireland for a
small estate in the county of Meath, and a bill was at the same time
filed in the Court of Chancery of Great Britain for the recovery of
the English estates.

In Trinity term 1743, when everything was ready for a trial at the
next ensuing assizes, a trial at bar was appointed on the application
of the agents of the Earl of Anglesea. The case began on the 11th of
November 1743, at the bar of the Court of Exchequer in Dublin, being,
as is noted in Howell's _State Trials_, "the longest trial ever known,
lasting fifteen days, and the jury (most of them) gentlemen of the
greatest property in Ireland, and almost all members of parliament." A
verdict was found for the claimant, with 6d. damages and 6d. costs. A
writ of error was at once lodged on the other side, but on appeal the
judgment of the Court below was affirmed. Immediately after the trial
and verdict, the claimant petitioned his Majesty for his seat in the
Houses of Peers of both kingdoms; but delay after delay took place,
and he finally became so impoverished that he could no longer
prosecute his claims.

James Annesley was twice married; but although he had a son by each
marriage, neither of them grew to manhood. He died on the 5th of
January 1760.




CAPTAIN HANS-FRANCIS HASTINGS, CLAIMING TO BE EARL OF HUNTINGDON.


The earldom of Huntingdon was granted by King Henry VIII. to George,
Lord Hastings, on the 8th of November 1529. The first peer left five
sons, of whom the eldest succeeded to the title on his father's
decease; but notwithstanding the multiplicity of heirs-male, and the
chances of a prolonged existence, the title lapsed in 1789, on the
death of Francis, the tenth earl, who never was married.

In 1817, there was living at Enniskillen, in Ireland, an ordnance
store-keeper called Captain Hans-Francis Hastings, and this gentleman
there made the acquaintance of a solicitor named Mr. Nugent Bell, who,
like himself, was ardently devoted to field-sports. The friendship
subsisting between the pair was of the closest kind; and it having
been whispered about that the captain had made a sort of side-claim to
the earldom of Huntingdon, Mr. Bell questioned him about the truth of
the rumour. As it turned out, the circumstantial part of the story was
totally false; but it nevertheless was a fact that Captain Hastings
had a faint idea that he had some right to the dormant peerage.
However, as he said himself, he had been sent early to sea, had been
long absent from his native country, and had little really valuable
information as to his family history. He said that his uncle, the Rev.
Theophilus Hastings, rector of Great and Little Leke, had always
endeavoured to impress upon him that he was the undoubted heir to the
title, and that fourteen years previously he had himself so far
entertained the notion as to pay a visit to College of Arms in London,
to learn the proper steps to be taken to establish his claim; but that
when he was told that the cost of the process would be at least three
thousand guineas, he abandoned all notion of legal proceedings, which
were simply impossible because of his scanty resources. Mrs. Hastings,
who was present during the conversation, contributed all that she
knew respecting the whimsical old clergyman who had so carefully
instructed his nephew to consider himself a peer in prospective, and
particularly pointed out that the old gentleman entertained an
irreconcileable hatred of the Marquis of Hastings. It seemed also that
some time after the last earl's death, the Rev. Mr. Hastings had
assumed the title of Earl of Huntingdon, and that a stone pillar had
been erected in front of the parsonage-house at Leke, on which there
was a metal plate bearing a Latin inscription, to the effect that he
was the eleventh Earl of Huntingdon, godson of Theophilus the ninth
earl, and entitled to the earldom by descent.

These reminiscences and suspicions could not have been poured into
more attentive ears. Mr. Bell had long been a student of heraldry, and
saw an opportunity not only of benefiting his friend, but of
signalizing himself. Accordingly he undertook to investigate the
matter, and offered, in the event of failure, to bear the whole of the
attendant expense, simply premising that, if he succeeded, he should
be recouped. On the 1st of July a letter passed between Captain
Hastings and Mr. Bell, which shows the sentiments of both parties. This
is it:--

        "MY DEAR BELL,--I will pay you all costs in case you succeed in
     proving me the legal heir to the Earldom of Huntingdon. If not, the
     risk is your own; and I certainly will not be answerable for any
     expense you may incur in the course of the investigation. But I pledge
     myself to assist you by letters, and whatever information I can
     collect, to the utmost of my power; and remain very sincerely yours,
                                                       F. HASTINGS."
     "Nugent Bell, Esq."

On the back of this letter Captain Hastings wrote:

   "By all that's good, you are mad."

On the 17th of August Mr. Bell sailed for England, and proceeded to
Castle Donnington, where he had a very unsatisfactory interview with a
solicitor named Dalby, who had long been in the employment of the
Hastings family. Bit by bit, however, he picked up information, and
every addition seemed to render the claim of the Enniskillen captain
stronger, until at last Bell drew up a case which met the unqualified
approval of Sir Samuel Romilly, who said, "I do not conceive that it
will be necessary to employ counsel to prepare the petition which is
to be presented to the Prince-Regent. All that it will be requisite to
do is to state that the first earl was created by letters-patent to
him and the heirs-male of his body; and the fact of the death of the
last Earl of Huntingdon having left the petitioner the heir-male of
the body of the first earl, surviving him, together with the manner in
which he makes out his descent; and to pray that his Royal Highness
will be pleased to give directions that a writ of summons should issue
to call him up to the House of Lords." A petition was accordingly
prepared in this sense, and was submitted to the Attorney-General, Sir
Samuel Shepherd, who made the recommendation as suggested. After the
Attorney-General's report had received the approbation of the Lord
Chancellor, the Prince-Regent signed the royal warrant, and Captain
Hastings took his place in the House of Lords as Earl of Huntingdon.




REBOK--THE COUNTERFEIT VOLDEMAR, ELECTOR OF BRANDENBURG.


Voldemar II., Marquis and Elector of Brandenburg, actuated by a fit of
devotion, set out from his dominions in 1322 on a pilgrimage to the
Holy Land, leaving his brother John IV. to rule in his absence. He
left no clue as to his intended route; but simply announcing his
purpose of visiting the sacred shrines of Palestine, started on his
journey accompanied by only two esquires. Four-and-twenty days after
his departure his brother John sickened and died--not without
suspicions of foul play--and Louis of Bavaria, then possessing the
empire, presented the electorate to his own eldest son as a vacant
fief of Germany. The change was quietly effected; but in 1345 a man
suddenly appeared as from the dead, proclaiming himself the missing
Voldemar, and demanding the restoration of his rights. He was of about
the same age as the elector would have been, and the story which he
told of captivity among the Saracens was sufficient to account for any
perceptible change in his gait and appearance, and in the colour of
his hair. Those who were interested in opposing his claim stoutly
asserted that he was a miller of Landreslaw, called Rebok, and that he
was a creature of the Duke of Saxony, who coveted the Brandenburgian
possessions, and who, being a relative of the family, had thoroughly
instructed him as to the private life of Voldemar. His plausibility,
and the accuracy of his answers, however, led many persons of
influence to believe that he was no counterfeit. The Emperor Charles
IV. (of Bohemia), the Primate of Germany, the Princes of Anhalt, and
the Dukes of Brunswick, Pomerania, Mecklenburg, and Saxony, all
supported his pretensions; the most of the nobility of the marquisate
acknowledged him to be their prince; and the common people, either
touched with the hardships he was said to have suffered, or wearied of
Bavarian rule, lent him money to acquire his rights and drive out
Louis. All the cities declared for him except Frankfort-on-the-Oder,
Spandau, and Brisac, and war was at once begun. The victory at first
rested with the so-called Voldemar; many of the towns opened their
gates to him; and his rival Louis fled to his estates in the Tyrol,
leaving the electorate to his two brothers--a disposition which was
confirmed by the Emperor Charles IV. in 1350. There are two versions
of the death of Voldemar. Lunclavius asserts that he was finally
captured and burnt alive for his imposture; while De Rocoles maintains
that he died at Dessau in 1354, nine years after his return, and was
buried in the tombs of the Princes of Anhalt. The general impression,
however, is that he was an impostor.




ARNOLD DU TILH--THE PRETENDED MARTIN GUERRE.


There are few cases in the long list of French _causes célèbres_ more
remarkable than that of the alleged Martin Guerre. This individual,
who was more greatly distinguished by his adventures than by his
virtues, was a Biscayan, and at the very juvenile age of eleven was
married to a girl called Bertrande de Rols. For eight or nine years
Martin and his wife lived together without issue from their marriage,
notwithstanding masses said, consecrated wafers eaten by the wife and
charms employed by the husband to drive away the bewitchment under
which he supposed himself to labour. But in the tenth year after the
marriage a son was born, and was named Sanxi. The father's joy was of
brief duration; for having been guilty of defrauding his own father of
a quantity of corn, he was compelled to abscond to avoid the paternal
rage and the probable consequences of a prosecution. It was at first
intended that he should only stay away until the family difficulty
blew over. But Martin, once gone, was not so easily persuaded to come
back, and eight long years elapsed before his wife saw his face. At
the end of that time he suddenly returned, and was received with open
arms by Bertrande, who was congratulated by her husband's four
sisters, his uncle, and her own relations. The re-united pair lived
together at Artigues for three years in apparent peace and happiness,
and during this period two children were born to them. But suddenly
the wife Bertrande appeared before the magistrates of Rieux, and
lodged a complaint against her husband, praying "that he might be
condemned to make satisfaction to the king for a breach of his laws;
to demand pardon of God, the king, and herself, in his shirt, with a
lighted torch in his hand; declaring that he had falsely, rashly, and
traitorously imposed upon her in assuming the name and passing himself
upon her for Martin Guerre."

The affair created no small stir in the neighbourhood, and the gossips
were driven to their wits' end to explain it. Some asserted that,
either through an old grudge or a recent quarrel, she had adopted this
method of getting quit of her husband, while others maintained that
she was naturally a woman of undecided character and opinions, and
that, as at first she had been easily persuaded that this man was her
husband, she had acted latterly on the suggestions and advice of Peter
Guerre, her husband's uncle, who pretended to have discovered that he
was an impostor, and had recommended her to apply to the authorities.
The accused himself staunchly maintained that the charge was the
result of a conspiracy between his wife and his uncle, and that the
latter had contrived the plot with a view to possess himself of his
effects. That no doubt might remain as to his identity he gave an
outline of his personal history from the time of his flight from home
to the time of his arrest, stating the reasons which induced him to
leave his wife in the first instance, and his adventures during his
absence. He said that for seven or eight years he had served the king
in the wars; that he had then enlisted in the Spanish army; and that,
having returned home, longing to see his wife and children, he had
been welcomed without hesitation by his relations and acquaintances,
and even by Peter Guerre, notwithstanding the alteration which time
and camp-life had made in his appearance. He declared, moreover, that
his uncle had persistently quarrelled with him since his return, that
blows had frequently been exchanged between them, and that thus an
evil _animus_ had been created against him.

In answer to the interrogatories of the judge, he unhesitatingly told
the leading circumstances of his earlier life, mentioning trivial
details, giving prominent dates glibly, and showing the utmost
familiarity with petty as with important matters of family history. As
far as his marriage was concerned, he named the persons who were
present at the nuptials, those who dined with them, their different
dresses, the priest who performed the ceremony, all the little
circumstances that happened that day and the next, and even named the
people who presided at the bedding. And, as if the official
interrogatory were not sufficiently complete, he spoke, of his own
accord, of his son Sanxi, and of the day he was born; of his own
departure, of the persons he met on the road, of the towns he had
passed through in France and Spain, and of people with whom he had
become acquainted in both kingdoms.

Nearly a hundred and fifty witnesses were examined in the cause, and
of these between thirty and forty deposed that the accused really was
Martin Guerre; that they had known him and had spoken to him from his
infancy; that they were perfectly acquainted with his person, manner,
and tone of voice; and that, moreover, they were convinced of his
identity by certain scars and marks on his person.

On the other hand, a greater number of persons asserted as positively
that the man before them was one Arnold du Tilh, of Sagais, and was
commonly called Pansette; while nearly sixty of the witnesses--who had
known both men--declared that there was so strong a resemblance
between these two persons that it was impossible for them to declare
positively whether the accused was Martin Guerre or Arnold du Tilh.

In this dilemma the judge ordered two inquiries--one with regard to
the likeness or unlikeness of Sanxi Guerre to the accused, and the
other as to the resemblance existing between the child and the sisters
of Martin Guerre. It was reported that the boy bore no resemblance to
the prisoner, but that he was very like his father's sisters, and upon
this evidence the judge pronounced the prisoner guilty, and sentenced
him to be beheaded and quartered.

But the public of the neighbourhood not being so easily satisfied as
the criminal judge of Rieux, and unable to comprehend the grounds of
the decision, became clamorous, and an appeal was made on behalf of
the convict to the Parliament of Toulouse. That Assembly ordered the
wife (Bertrande de Rols) and the uncle (Peter Guerre) to be confronted
separately with the man whom they accused of being an impostor, and
when the parties were thus placed face to face, the so-called Arnold
du Tilh maintained a calm demeanour, spoke with an air of assurance
and truth, and answered the questions put to him promptly and
correctly. On the other hand, the confusion of Peter Guerre and
Bertrande de Rols was so great as to create strong suspicions of their
honesty. New witnesses were called, but they only served to complicate
matters; for out of thirty, nine or ten were convinced that the
accused was Martin Guerre, seven or eight were as positive that he was
Arnold du Tilh, and the rest would give no distinct affirmation either
one way or another.

When the testimony came to be analysed, it was seen that forty-five
witnesses, in all, had asserted in the most positive terms that the
man presented to them was not Guerre, but Du Tilh, which they said
they were the better able to do, because they had known both men
intimately, had eaten and drank with them, and conversed with them at
intervals from the days of their common childhood. Most of these
witnesses agreed that Martin Guerre was taller and of a darker
complexion, that he was of slender make and had round shoulders, that
his chin forked and turned up, his lower lip hung down, his nose was
large and flat, and that he had the mark of an ulcer on his face, and
a scar on his right eyebrow, whereas Arnold du Tilh was a short
thickish man who did not stoop, although at the same time similar
marks were on his face.

Among others who were called was the shoemaker who made shoes for the
undisputed Martin Guerre, and he swore that Martin's foot was three
sizes larger than that of the accused. Another declared that Martin
was an expert fencer and wrestler, whereas this man knew little of
manly exercises; and many deponed "that Arnold du Tilh had from his
infancy the most wicked inclinations, and that subsequently he had
been hardened in wickedness, a great pilferer and swearer, a defier of
God, and a blasphemer: consequently in every way capable of the crime
laid to his charge; and that an obstinate persisting to act a false
part was precisely suitable to his character."

But the opinion on the other side was quite as firm. Martin Guerre's
four sisters had no hesitation in declaring that the accused was their
brother, the people who were present at Martin's wedding with
Bertrande de Rols deposed in his favour, and about forty persons in
all agreed that Martin Guerre had two scars on his face, that his left
eye was bloodshot, the nail of his first finger grown in, and that he
had three warts on his right hand, and another on his little finger.
Similar marks were shown by the accused. Evidence was given to show
that a plot was being concocted by Peter Guerre and his sons-in-law to
ruin the new comer, and the Parliament of Toulouse was as yet
undecided as to its sentence, tending rather to acquit the prisoner
than affirm his conviction, when most unexpectedly the real Martin
Guerre appeared on the scene.

He was interrogated by the judges as to the same facts to which the
accused had spoken, but his answers, although true, were neither so
full nor satisfactory as those which the other man had given. When the
two were placed face to face, Arnold du Tilh vehemently denounced the
last arrival as an impostor in the pay of Peter Guerre, and expressed
himself content to be hanged if he did not yet unravel the whole
mystery. Nor did he confine himself to vituperation, but
cross-questioned Martin as to private family circumstances, and only
received hesitating and imperfect answers to his questions. The
commissioners having directed Arnold to withdraw, put several
questions to Martin that were new, and his answers were very full and
satisfactory; then they called for Arnold again, and questioned him as
to the same points, and he answered with the same exactness, "so that
some began to think there was witchcraft in the case."

It was then directed, since two claimants had appeared, that the four
sisters of Martin Guerre, the husbands of two of them, Peter Guerre,
the brothers of Arnold du Tilh, and those who recognised him as the
real man, should be called upon and obliged to fix on the true
Martin. Guerre's eldest sister was first summoned, and she, after a
momentary glance, ran to the new comer and embraced him, crying, as
the report goes, "Oh, my brother Martin Guerre, I acknowledge the
error into which this abominable traitor drew me, and also all the
inhabitants of Artigues." The rest also identified him; and his wife,
who was the last of all, was as demonstrative as the others. "She had
no sooner cast her eyes on Martin Guerre than, bursting into tears,
and trembling like a leaf, she ran to embrace him, and begged his
pardon for suffering herself to be seduced by the artifices of a
wretch. She then pleaded for herself, in the most innocent and artless
manner, that she had been led away by his credulous sisters, who had
owned the impostor; that the strong passion she had for him, and her
ardent desire to see him again, helped on the cheat, in which she was
confirmed by the tokens that traitor had given, and the recital of so
many peculiarities which could be known only to her husband; that as
soon as her eyes were open she wished that the horrors of death might
hide those of her fault, and that she would have laid violent hands on
herself if the fear of God had not withheld her; that not being able
to bear the dreadful thought of having lost her honour and reputation,
she had recourse to vengeance, and put the impostor into the hands of
justice;" and, moreover, that she was as anxious as ever that the
rascal should die.

Martin, however, was not to be moved by her appeals, alleging that "a
wife has more ways of knowing a husband than a father, a mother, and
all his relations put together; nor is it possible she should be
imposed on unless she has an inclination to be deceived;" and even the
persuasions of the commissioners could not move him from his decision.

The doubts being at last dissipated, the accused Arnold du Tilh was
condemned "to make _amende honorable_ in the market-place of Artigues
in his shirt, his head and feet bare, a halter about his neck, and
holding in his hands a lighted waxen torch; to demand pardon of God,
the king, and the justice of the nation, of the said Martin Guerre,
and De Rols, his wife; and this being done, to be delivered into the
hands of the capital executioner, who, after making him pass through
the streets of Artigues with a rope about his neck, at last should
bring him before the house of Martin Guerre, where, on a gallows
expressly set up, he should be hanged, and where his body should
afterwards be burnt." It was further ordered that such property as he
had should be devoted to the maintenance of the child which had been
born to him by Bertrande de Rols.

At the same time, the court had very serious thoughts of punishing
Martin Guerre, because his abandonment of his wife had led to the
mischief, and his desertion of his country's flag seemed to merit
censure. It was, however, finally decided that when he ran away he
"acted rather from levity than malice;" and as he had entered the
Spanish army in a roundabout way, and after considerable persuasion,
that the loss of his leg in that service was sufficient punishment.
The guilt of his wife, Bertrande de Rols, was thought even more
apparent, and that a woman could be deceived in her husband was a
proposition few could digest. Yet, as the woman's life-long character
was good, and it spoke well for her that not only the population of
Artigues, but also the man's four sisters, had shared her delusion, it
was finally determined to discharge her.

Arnold de Tilh, the impostor, was carried back to Artigues for the
execution of his sentence, and there made a full confession. He said
that the crime had been accidentally suggested to his mind; that on
his way home from the camp in Picardy he was constantly mistaken for
Martin Guerre by Martin's friends; that from them he learned many
circumstances respecting the family and the doings of the man himself;
and that, having previously been an intimate and confidential comrade
of Guerre in the army, he was able to maintain his imposture. His
sentence was carried out in all its severity in 1560.




PIERRE MÊGE--THE FICTITIOUS DE CAILLE.


Scipio Le Brun, of Castellane, a Provençal gentleman, and lord of the
manors of Caille and of Rougon, in 1655 married a young lady called
Judith le Gouche. As is common in France, and also in certain parts of
Britain, this local squire was best known by the name of his estates,
and was commonly termed the Sieur de Caille. Both he and his wife
belonged to the strictest sect of the Calvinists, who were by no means
favourites in the country. Their usual residence was at Manosque, a
little village in Provence, and there five children were born to them,
of whom three were sons and two were daughters. The two youngest sons
died at an early age, and Isaac, the eldest, after living to the age
of thirty-two, died also.

When this Isaac, who has just been mentioned, was a lad of fifteen,
his mother died, and in her will constituted him her heir, at the same
time bequeathing legacies to her daughters, and granting the life
interest of all her property to her husband. The King having revoked
the Edict of Nantes in 1685, the Sieur de Caille quitted the kingdom
with his family, which then consisted of his mother, his son Isaac,
and his two daughters. The fugitives made their home in Lausanne, in
Switzerland. In 1689 the French king, in the zeal of his Catholicism,
issued a decree, by which he bestowed the property of the Calvinist
fugitives upon their relations. The possessions of the Sieur de Caille
were therefore divided between Anne de Gouche, his wife's sister, who
had married M. Rolland, the _Avocat-Général_ of the Supreme Court of
Dauphiné, and Madame Tardivi, a relation on his own side.

Meantime Isaac, the son of the Sieur de Caille, who was by courtesy
styled the Sieur de Rougon, assiduously applied himself to his
studies, and, as the result of over-work, fell into a consumption, of
which he died at Vevay on the 15th of February 1696.

In March 1699, Pierre Mêge, a marine, presented himself before M. de
Vauvray, the intendant of marines at Toulon, and informed him that he
was the son of M. de Caille, at the same time telling the following
story. He said that he had had the misfortune to be an object of
aversion to his father because of his dislike to study, and because of
his ill-concealed attachment to the Catholic religion; that his father
had always exhibited his antipathy to him, and, while he was at
Lausanne, had frequently maltreated him; that rather than submit to
the paternal violence he had often run away from home, but had been
brought back again by officious friends, who met him in his flight;
that he had at last succeeded in making his escape, by the aid of a
servant, in December 1690; that, in order to avoid recapture, and to
satisfy his own desire to become a member of the Catholic Church, he
had formed the design of returning into Provence; that on his homeward
way he had been stopped by the Savoyard troops, who compelled him to
enlist in their ranks; and that he had subsequently been captured by
some French soldiers. He added that M. de Catinat, who commanded this
part of the French army, and to whom he had presented himself as the
son of M. de Caille, had given him a free pass; that he had arrived at
Nice, and had enlisted in the Provençal militia; and that having been
on duty one day at the residence of the governor, he had seen a silver
goblet carried past him which bore arms of his family, and which he
recognised as a portion of the plate which his father had sold in
order to procure the means to fly into Switzerland. The sight of this
vessel stirred up old recollections, and he burst into such a violent
paroxysm of grief that the attention of his comrades was attracted,
and they demanded the cause of his tears, whereupon he told them his
story, and pointed out the same arms impressed on his _cachet_. This
tale came to the ears of the Chevalier de la Fare, who then commanded
at Nice, and after a hasty investigation he treated his subordinate
with excessive courtesy, evidently believing him to be the man whom he
represented himself to be.

The militia having been disbanded, the claimant to manorial rights
and broad estates repaired to Marseilles, where he fell in with a
woman called Honorade Venelle, who was residing with her mother and
two sisters-in-law. The morality of these females seems to have been
of the slightest description; and Henriade Venelle had no hesitation
in yielding to a proposal of this infamous soldier that he should
represent her husband, who was at the time serving his king and
country in the ranks of the army. The easy spouse drew no distinctions
between the real and the supposititious husband, and the latter not
only assumed the name of Pierre Mêge, but collected such debts as were
due to him, and gave receipts which purported to bear his signature.
In 1695 he enlisted under the name of Mêge, on board the galley "La
Fidèle"--a ship in which the veritable Mêge was known to have been a
marine from 1676--and served for nearly three years, when he was again
dismissed. In order to eke out a temporary livelihood he sold a
balsam, the recipe for which he declared had been given him by his
grandmother Madame de Caille. He made little by this move, and was
compelled once more to enlist at Toulon; and here it was that he met
M. de Vauvray, and told him his wonderful story.

The intendant of marines listened to the tale with open ears, and
recommended his subordinate to make an open profession of his adhesion
to the Romish Church as a first step towards the restitution of his
rights. The soldier was nothing loth to accept this advice, and after
being three weeks under the tutelage of the Jesuits, he publicly
abjured the Calvinistic creed in the Cathedral of Toulon, on the 10th
of June 1699.

In his act of abjuration he took the name of André d'Entrevergues, the
son of Scipio d'Entrevergues, Sieur de Caille, and of Madame Susanne
de Caille, his wife. He stated that he was twenty-three years of age,
and that he did not know how to write. The falsehood of his story was,
therefore, plainly apparent from the beginning. The eldest son of the
Sieur de Caille was called Isaac and not André; the soldier took the
name of d'Entrevergues, and gave it to the father, while the family
name was Brun de Castellane; he called his mother Susanne de Caille,
whereas her maiden name was Judith le Gouche. He said that he was
twenty-three years of age, while the real son of the Sieur de Caille
ought to have been thirty-five; and he did not know how to write,
while numerous documents were in existence signed by the veritable
Isaac, who was distinguished for his accomplishments.

News of this abjuration having spread abroad, it reached Sieur de
Caille, at Lausanne, who promptly forwarded the certificate of his
son's death, dated February 15, 1696, to M. de Vauvray, who at once
caused the soldier to be arrested. M. d'Infreville, who commanded the
troops at Toulon, however, pretended that de Vauvray had no authority
to place soldiers under arrest, and the question thus raised was
referred from one to another, until it came to the ears of the king.
The following answer was at once sent:--

     "The King approves the action of M. de Vauvray in arresting
     and in placing in the arsenal the soldier of the company of
     Ligondés, who calls himself the son of the Sieur de Caille.
     His Majesty's commands are, that he be handed over to the
     civil authorities, who shall take proceedings against him,
     and punish him as his imposture deserves, and that the
     affidavits of the real de Caille shall be sent to them."

The soldier was accordingly conveyed to the common prison of Toulon,
and was subsequently interrogated by the magistrates. In answer to
their inquiries, he said that he had never known his real name; that
his father had been in the habit of calling him d'Entrevergues de
Rougon de Caille; that he believed he really was twenty-five years
old, although two months previously he had stated his age to be
twenty-three; that he had never known his godfather or his godmother;
that only ten years had elapsed since he left Manosque; that he did
not know the name of the street nor the quarter of the town in which
his father's house was situated; that he could not tell the number of
rooms it contained; and that even if he were to see it again he could
not recognise it. In his replies he embodied the greater part of his
original story, with the exception of the episode with regard to
Honorade Venelle, respecting which he was prudently silent. He said
that he neither recollected the appearance nor the height of his
sister Lisette, nor the colour of her hair; but that his father had
black hair and a black beard, and a dark complexion, and that he was
short and stout. (The Sieur de Caille had brown hair and a reddish
beard, and was pale complexioned.) He did not know the height nor the
colour of the hair of his aunt, nor her features, although she had
lived at Lausanne with the son of the Sieur de Caille. He could not
remember the colour of the hair, nor the appearance, nor the
peculiarities of his grandmother, who had accompanied the family in
its flight into Switzerland; and could not mention a single friend
with whom he had been intimate, either at Manosque, or Lausanne, or
Geneva.

One would have supposed that this remarkable display of ignorance
would have sufficed to convince all reasonable men of the falsity of
the story, but it was far otherwise. The relatives of de Caille were
called upon either to yield to his demands or disprove his identity;
and M. Rolland, whose wife, it will be remembered, had obtained a
large portion of the property, appeared against him. Twenty witnesses
were called, of whom several swore that the accused was Pierre Mêge,
the son of a galley-slave, and that they had known him for twenty
years; while the others deposed that he was not the son of the Sieur
de Caille, in whose studies they had shared. The soldier was very
firm, however, and very brazen-faced, and demanded to be taken to the
places where the real de Caille had lived, so that the people might
have an opportunity of recognising him. Moreover, he deliberately
asserted that while he was in prison M. Rolland had made two attempts
against his life. He was conducted, according to his request, to
Manosque, Caille, and Rougon, and upwards of a hundred witnesses swore
that he was the man he represented himself to be. The court was
divided; but, after eight hours' consideration, twelve out of the
twenty-one judges of the Supreme Court of Provence pronounced in his
favour, and several of M. Rolland's witnesses were ordered into
custody to take their trial for perjury.

Three weeks after this decision the soldier married the daughter of
the Sieur Serri, a physician, who had privately supplied the funds for
carrying on the case. This girl's mother was a cousin of one of the
judges, and it soon came to be more than hinted that fair play had not
been done. However, the soldier took possession of the Caille
property, and drove out the poor persons who had been placed in the
mansion by Madame Rolland.

Honorade Venelle, the wife of Pierre Mêge, who had preserved silence
during the proceedings, now appeared on the scene, all her fury being
roused by the marriage. She made a declaration before a notary at Aix,
in which she stated that she had unexpectedly heard that Pierre Mêge
had been recognised as the son of the Sieur de Caille, and had
contracted a second marriage; and affirmed upon oath, "for the ease of
her conscience and the maintenance of her honour," that he was her
real husband, that he had been married to her in 1685, and that he had
cohabited with her till 1699; therefore she demanded that the second
marriage should be declared void. The judges, zealous of their own
honour, and provoked that their decision should be called in question,
gave immediate orders to cast her into prison, which was accordingly
done.

The authorities at Berne meantime, believing that the decision of the
Provençal Court, which had paid no attention to the documents which
they had forwarded from Lausanne and Vevay, to prove the residence and
death of the son of the Sieur de Caille in Switzerland was insulting,
addressed a letter to the King, and the whole affair was considered by
his Majesty in council at Fontainebleau. After the commissioners, to
whom the matter was referred, had sat nearly forty times, they
pronounced judgment. The decision of the court below was upset; the
soldier was deprived of his ill-acquired wealth, was ordered to pay
damages, was handed over to the criminal authorities for punishment,
while the former holders were restored to possession of the property.




MICHAEL FEYDY--THE SHAM CLAUDE DE VERRE.


At the beginning of the seventeenth century, a French gentleman, named
Guy de Verré, lived with his wife and two sons at Saumur. Claude, the
elder of these children, who had a peculiar scar on his brow (which
had been left by a burn), at an early age expressed a strong desire to
become a soldier, and his father accordingly procured an ensigncy for
him in the regiment of Clanleu. In 1638 Claude de Verré left the
paternal mansion to join his regiment; and from that date till 1651
nothing was heard of him. In the latter year, however, one of the
officers of a regiment which had been ordered to Saumur presented
himself at the chateau of Chauvigny, which was occupied by Madame de
Verré, now a widow; and no sooner had he appeared than Jacques, the
second son, observed his perfect resemblance to his missing brother.
He communicated his suspicions to his mother, who was overwhelmed with
delight, and without consulting more than her emotions, addressed the
stranger as her son. At first the officer feebly protested that he did
not enjoy that relationship, but, seeing the lady's anxiety, he at
last admitted that he was Claude de Verré, and that he had hesitated
to declare himself at first until he had assured himself that his
reception would be cordial after his eighteen years of absence. He had
no reason to doubt the maternal love and forgiveness. From the first
moment of his discovery he was acknowledged as the heir, and the happy
mother celebrated his return by great rejoicings, to which all her
friends and relatives were invited. He was presented to the members of
the family, and they recognised him readily; although they did not
fail to notice certain distinctions of feature and manner between him
and the Claude de Verré who had gone to join the regiment of Clanleu.
Still, as he answered all the questions which were put to him promptly
and correctly, and as he sustained the character of the lost son
perfectly, it was easy to suppose that absence and increasing age had
effected a slight change in him, and he was received everywhere with
marked demonstrations of friendship. M. de Piedsélon, a brother of
Madame de Verré, alone denounced him as an impostor; but his words
were unheeded, and the new comer continued to possess the confidence
of the other relatives, and of the widow and her second son, with whom
he continued to reside for some time.

At last the day came when he must rejoin his regiment, and his brother
Jacques accompanied him into Normandy, where it was stationed, and
where they made the acquaintance of an M. de Dauplé, a gentleman who
had a very pretty daughter. Claude de Verré soon fell over head and
ears in love with this girl, who reciprocated his passion and married
him. Before the ceremony a marriage-contract was signed, and this
document, by a very peculiar clause, stipulated that, in the event of
a separation, the bridegroom should pay a reasonable sum to Madlle de
Dauplé. Jacques de Verré signed this contract as the brother of the
bridegroom, and it was duly registered by a notary. After their
marriage the happy couple lived together until the drum and trumpet
gave the signal for their separation, and Claude de Verré marched to
the wars with his regiment.

But when released from service, instead of returning to pass the
winter with his wife, he resorted once more to Chauvigny, to the house
of Madame de Verré, and took his brother back. She was delighted to
see him again, and on his part it was evident that he was resolved to
make amends for his past neglect and his prolonged absence.
Nevertheless, during his stay at the family mansion, he found time to
indulge in a flirtation--if nothing worse--with a pretty girl named
Anne Allard. Soon after his arrival intelligence reached Saumur of the
death of the Madlle de Dauplé whom Claude had married in Normandy--an
occurrence which seemed to give him the utmost sorrow, but which did
not prevent him from marrying Anne Allard within a very short time,
his own feelings being ostensibly sacrificed to those of his mother,
who was anxious that he should settle down at home. In this instance,
also, a marriage-contract was entered into, and was signed by Madame
de Verré and her son Jacques. Not content with this proof of
affection, the mother of Claude, seeing her eldest son thus settled
down beside her, executed a deed conveying to him all her property,
reserving only an annuity for herself and the portion of the second
son.

For some time Claude de Verré lived peacefully and happily with Anne
Allard, rejoicing in the possession of an affectionate wife, managing
his property carefully, and even adding to the attractiveness and
value of the family estate of Chauvigny. Two children were born of the
marriage, and nothing seemed wanting to his prosperity, when suddenly
a soldier of the French Gardes presented himself at Chauvigny. This
man also claimed to be the eldest son of Madame de Verré, and gave a
circumstantial account of his history from the time of his
disappearance in 1638 to the period of his return. Among other
adventures, he said that he had been made a prisoner at the siege of
Valenciennes, that he had been exchanged, and that, while he was
quartered in a town near Chauvigny, the news had reached him that an
impostor was occupying his position. This intelligence determined him
to return home at once, and, by declaring himself, to dissipate the
illusion and put an end to the comedy which was being played at his
expense.

The revelations of the soldier did not produce the result which he had
anticipated; for, whether she was still persuaded that the husband of
Anne Allard was the only and real Claude de Verré, or whether, while
recognising her mistake, she preferred to leave matters as they were
rather than promote a great family scandal and disturbance, Madame de
Verré persisted that the new comer was not her son, for she had only
two, and they were both living with her. Of course, the husband of
Anne Allard had no hesitation in declaring the soldier an impostor,
and Jacques de Verré united his voice to the others, and repudiated
all claims to brotherhood on the part of the guardsman.

However, affairs were not allowed to remain in this position. The new
arrival, rejected by those with whom he claimed the most intimate
relationship, appealed to a magistrate at Saumur, and lodged a
complaint against his mother because of her refusal to acknowledge
him, and against the so-called Claude de Verré for usurping his title
and position, in order to gain possession of the family property. When
the matter was brought before him the magistrate ordered the soldier
to be placed under arrest, and sent for Madame de Verré to give her
version of the affair. The lady declined to have anything to do with
the claimant, although she admitted that there were some circumstances
which told in his favour. Her brother M. Piedsélon, however, who had
refused to recognise Anne Allard's husband in 1651, was still at
Saumur, and he was confronted with the claimant. The recognition
between the two men was mutual, and their answers to the same
questions were identical. Moreover, the new comer had the scar on his
brow, which was wanting on the person of the possessor of the estate.
The other relatives followed the lead of M. Piedsélon; and ultimately
it was proved that the husband of Anne Allard was an impostor, and
that his real name was Michael Feydy. Consequently, on the 21st of May
1657, the Criminal-Lieutenant of Saumur delivered sentence, declaring
that the soldier of the Gardes was the true Claude de Verré,
permitting him to take possession of the property of the deceased Guy
de Verré, and condemning Michael Feydy to death.

The first part of this sentence was carried out. The new Claude took
forcible possession of the mansion and estate of Chauvigny. But it was
found that Michael Feydy had disappeared, leaving his wife full power
to act for him in his absence. Anne Allard at once instituted a
suit--not against the possessor of the estates, whom she persistently
refused to acknowledge--but against Madame de Verré and her son
Jacques, and petitioned that they might be compelled to put an end to
the criminal prosecution which the soldier of the Gardes had
instituted against her husband, to restore her to the possession and
enjoyment of the mansion of Chauvigny, and the other property which
belonged to her; and that, in the event of their failure to do so,
they should be ordered to repay her all the expenses which she had
incurred since her marriage; to grant her an annuity of two hundred
livres per annum, according to the terms of her marriage-settlement;
and further, to pay her 20,000 livres as damages.

At this stage another person appeared on the scene--none other than
Madlle de Dauplé, whom the sham Claude had married in Normandy, and
whom he had reported as dead. She also had recourse to the legal
tribunals, and demanded that Madame de Verré and her second son should
pay her an annuity of 500 livres, and the arrears which were due to
her since her abandonment by her husband, and 1500 livres for expenses
incurred by Jacques Verré during his residence with her father and
mother in Normandy. The children of Anne Allard, moreover, brought a
suit to establish their own legitimacy.

The Avocat-Général was of opinion that the marriage contract between
Michael Feydy and Mademoiselle de Dauplé should be declared void,
because there was culpable carelessness on the father's part and on
the girl's part alike. He thought the marriage of Michael Feydy and
Anne Allard binding, because it had been contracted in good faith.
Jacques de Verré he absolved from all blame, and was of opinion that
since Madame de Verré had signed the marriage-contract it was only
just to make her pay something towards the support of Anne Allard and
her children. The Supreme Court did not altogether adopt these
conclusions. By a decree of the 31st of June 1656, it dismissed the
appeals of Anne Allard and of Madeline de Dauplé. It declared the
children of Michael Feydy and of Anne Allard legitimate, and adjudged
to them and to their mother all the property acquired by their father,
which had accrued to him by his division with Jacques de Verré, under
the name of Claude de Verré, until the signature of the matrimonial
agreement, and also the guarantee of the debts which Anne Allard had
incurred conjointly with her husband. Madame de Verré was also
condemned to pay 2000 livres to Anne Allard, under the contract which
had been signed. Of Feydy himself nothing further is known.




THE BANBURY PEERAGE CASE.


Since the reign of Edward III. the family of Knollys has been
distinguished in the annals of the kingdom. In those days Sir Robert
Knollys, one of the companions of the Black Prince, not only proved
himself a gallant soldier, but fought to such good purpose that he
enriched himself with spoils, and was elevated to the distinction of
the Blue Ribbon of the Garter. His heirs continued to enjoy the royal
favour throughout successive reigns; and Sir Francis Knollys, one of
his descendants, who likewise was a garter-knight in the earlier part
of the sixteenth century, espoused Catherine Cary, a grand-daughter of
the Earl of Wiltshire, and a grand-niece of Queen Anne Boleyn. Two
sons were born of this marriage, and were named Henry and William
respectively. Henry died before his father, and William, w

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