_Minister of War_.
[Seal]
The document seemed in substance merely a repetition of what De Nevers
had already told me, and I handed it back to him satisfied of its
correctness. But public business is public business, and if the Duc de
Nevers had anything to communicate to me in my official character it was
time for him to do so.
"Well, Duke," said I, not knowing very well how otherwise to address
him, "do you desire to communicate anything to me in connection with
your present detention in the Tombs?"
"Ah," he said with a gesture of deprecation, "I can hardly understand
that myself. Perhaps M'sieu' has the papers? Ah, yes, I see they are on
his desk. M'sieu' will observe that I am accused of the crime of--what
is it called in English? Ah, yes, perjury, but I assure M'sieu' that it
is entirely a mistake."
I picked up the indictment and found that the Grand Jury of the County
of New York accused one Charles de Nevers of the crime of perjury
committed as follows:
That one William Douglas having been arrested by William W.
Crawford, a member of the Police force of the City of New York, upon
the charge of having violated the motor vehicle law of the State of
New York [ordinance against speeding] he, the said Charles de
Nevers, had then and there offered himself to go bail for the said
Douglas, and did sign a certain written undertaking called a bond
for the appearance of the said Douglas before the Magistrate,
wherein he swore that he owned a certain house and lot situate at
122 West 117th Street, in the County of New York, which was free and
clear of all incumbrances and of the value of not less than twenty
thousand dollars,
Whereas in truth and in fact he the said Charles de Nevers did not
own the said house and lot which did not then and there stand in the
name of him the said Charles de Nevers, but was the property of one
Helen M. Bent, and so recorded in the Registry of Deeds.
Which, said the grand jury, Charles de Nevers then and there well knew.
And so they accused him of feloniously, knowingly, wilfully, corruptly,
and falsely committing the crime of perjury against the form of the
statute in such cases made and provided, and against the peace of the
People of the State of New York and their dignity.
And this they did over the signature of William Travers Jerome, District
Attorney.
"How did this happen?" I inquired, hardly believing my senses. "Was it a
fact that you made this false statement to the Police for the purpose of
securing bail for Mr. Douglas?"
De Nevers leaned forward and was about to answer when a messenger
entered the room and stated that I was wanted in the court.
"Another time, if M'sieu' will permit me," said he. "I have much to
thank you for. If M'sieu' will give me another hearing it shall be my
pleasure to explain fully."
I rose and summoned the keeper. De Nevers bowed and offered his hand,
which I took.
"I have much to thank you for!" he repeated.
As I hurried out of the room I encountered the keeper outside the door.
"Say, Counsellor, what sort of a 'con' was he throwin' into you?" he
inquired with a wink.
De Nevers was well inside my office, looking drearily out of my window
towards the courtyard in the Tombs where his fellows were still pursuing
their weary march.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Why, who did his nibs tell you he was?"
"The Duc de Nevers," I replied.
"Say," said O'Toole, "you don't mean you swallowed that, do you? Do you
know what the feller did? Why, one afternoon when a swell guy and his
girl were out in their gas wagon a mounted cop in the park pulls them in
and takes them over to the 57th Street Court. Well, just as me friend is
taking them into the house along walks this Charley Nevers wid his tall
silk hat and pearl handle cane, wid a flower in his buttonhole, and his
black coat tails dangling around his heels, just like Boni de
Castellane, and says he, 'Officer,' says he, 'may I inquire what for
you're apprehending this gentleman and lady?' says he. With that me
friend hands him out some strong language for buttin' in, and Charley is
so much shocked at the insult to himself and the lady that he steps in
before the Sergeant and offers to go bond for Douglas, just to go the
cop one better, givin' the Sergeant the same line of drip that he has
been handin' out to us in the Tombs, about his bein' the son of Oscar,
the Duc de Nevers, and related to all the crowned heads in Europe. Then
he ups and signs the bail bond for a house and lot that he has never
seen in his life. And here he is up agin it. An' it's a good stiff one
His Honor will be handin' out to him to my way of thinkin', for these
high fallutin' foreigners has got to be put a stop to, and Charley
Nevers is a good one to begin on."
"I think you're wrong, O'Toole," said I. "But we can tell better later
on."
All that day my thoughts kept reverting to the Duc de Nevers. One thing
was more than certain and that was that of all the various personages
whom I had met during my journey through the world none was more fitted
to be a duke than he. I was obliged to confess that during my hour's
interview I had felt myself to be in the company of a superior being,
one of different clay from that of which I was composed, a man of better
brain, and better education, vastly more rounded and experienced, a
cultivated citizen of the world, who would be at home in any company no
matter how distinguished and who would rise to any emergency. As I ate
my dinner at the club the name De Nevers played mistily in the recesses
of my memory. _De Nevers_! Surely there was something historic about it,
some flavor of the days of kings and courtiers. Smoking my cigar in the
library I fell into a reverie in which the Tombs, with its towers and
grated windows, figured as a gray château of old Tourraine, and Charles
Julius Francis in hunting costume as a mediaeval monseigneur with a
hooded falcon on his wrist. I awoke to find directly in my line of
vision upon the shelf of the alcove in front of me the solid phalanx of
the ten volumes of Larousse's "Grand Dictionaire Universe du XIX
Siècle," and I reached forward and pulled down the letter "N."
"Nevers"--there it was--"Capitol of the Department of Nievre. Ducal
palace built in 1475. Charles III de Gonzagne, petit-fils de Charles
II," had sold the duchy of Nevers and his other domains in France to
Cardinal Mazarin "par acte du Jul. 11, 1659." So far so good. The
cardinal had left the duchy by will to Philippe Jules François Mancini,
his nephew, who had died May 8, 1707. Ah! _Julius Francis_! It was like
meeting an old friend. Philippe Jules François Mancini. Mazarin had
obtained letters confirming him in the possession of the Duchy of
Nivernais and Donzois in 1720. Then he had died in 1768, leaving the
duchy to Louis Jules Barbon Mancini-Mozarini. This son who was the last
Duc of Nivernais, had died in 1798! "He was the last of the name," said
Larousse. I rubbed my eyes. It was there fast enough--"last of the
name." Something was wrong. Without getting up I rang for a copy of
"Burke's Peerage."
"Londonderry, Marquess of, married Oct. 2nd, 1875, Lady Theresa Susey
Helen, Lady of Grace of St. John of Jerusalem, eldest daughter of the
19th Earl of Shrewsbury." Dear me! "Dudley, Earl of, married September
14, 1891, Rachael, Lady of Grace of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem,
youngest daughter of Charles Henry Gurney." I closed the book and began
to think, and the more I thought the more I wondered. There really
didn't seem particular need of going further. If the fellow was a fraud,
he was a fraud, that was all. But how in Heaven's name could a man make
up a story like that! That night I dreamed once more of the ducal palace
of Nivernais, only its courtyard resembled that of the Tombs and many
couples walked in a straggling line beneath its walls.
A day or two passed and I had heard no more of the Duc Charles Julius
when one afternoon a lady called at my office and sent in her name as
Mrs. de Nevers. She proved to be an attractive young woman a little over
twenty, dressed in black, whose face showed that she had suffered more
than a little. She explained that her husband was confined in the Tombs
on a charge of perjury. But that was not all--he was worse than a
perjurer. He was an impostor--_a bigamist_. He had another wife living
somewhere in England--in Manchester, she thought. Oh, it was too
terrible. He had told her that he was the Count Charles de Nevers,
eldest son of the Duc de Nevers--in France, you know. And she had
believed him. He had had letters to everybody in Montreal, her home, and
plenty of money and beautiful clothes. He had dazzled her completely.
The wedding had been quite an affair and presents had come from the Duke
and Duchess of Nevers, from the Marchioness of Londonderry and from the
Countess of Dudley. There were also letters from the Prince and Princess
of Aremberg (in Belgium) and the Counts André and Fernand of Nevers. It
had all been so wonderful and romantic! Then they had gone on their
wedding journey and had been ecstatically happy. In Chicago, they had
been received with open arms. That was before the death of the
Duke--yes, her mourning was for the Duke. She smiled sadly. I think she
still more than half believed that she was a duchess--and she deserved
to be if ever any girl did. Then all of a sudden their money had given
out and the Duke had been arrested for not paying their hotel bill.
Perhaps I would like to see a newspaper clipping? It was dreadful! She
was ashamed to be seen anywhere after that. She had even been obliged to
pawn his cross of the Legion of Honor, the Leopold Cross of Belgium, and
another beautiful decoration which he had been accustomed to wear when
they went out to dinner. This was the clipping: