ROYAL IMPOSTORS.
Pretenders to Royalty numerous--Contest between the Houses of York
and Lancaster gives rise to various Pretenders--Insurrection
of Jack Cade--He is killed--Lambert Simnel is tutored to
personate the Earl of Warwick--He is crowned at Dublin--He
is taken Prisoner, pardoned, and made Scullion in the Royal
Kitchen--Perkin Warbeck pretends to be the murdered Duke
of York--He is countenanced by the King of France--He is
acknowledged by the Duchess of Burgundy--Perkin lands in
Scotland, and is aided by King James--He is married to
Lady Catherine Gordon--He invades England, but fails--His
Death--Pretenders in Portugal--Gabriel de Spinosa--He is
hanged--The Son of a Tiler pretends to be Sebastian--He is sent
to the Galleys--Gonçalo Alvarez succeeds him--He is executed--An
Individual of talents assumes the Character of Sebastian--His
extraordinary Behaviour in his Examinations--He is given up to
the Spaniards--His Sufferings and dignified Deportment--His Fate
not known--Pretenders in Russia--The first false Demetrius--He
obtains the Throne, but is driven from it by Insurrection,
and is slain--Other Impostors assume the same Name--Revolt of
Pugatscheff--Pretenders in France--Hervegault and Bruneau assume
the Character of the deceased Louis XVI.
The seductions presented by a throne, and some circumstances which
seemed to give a chance of success, have, in various ages and
countries, stimulated individuals to personate the descendants of
sovereigns, and, in some instances, deceased sovereigns themselves.
To mention all of them, even briefly, within the narrow limits of a
chapter, would be impossible; and, therefore, passing over the false
Smerdis, the Alexanders, and others of ancient times, we will select a
few specimens from modern history.
During the reigns of Henry the Sixth and Seventh, infinite carnage
and misery were caused by the contest between the houses of York and
Lancaster. That contest also gave rise to several remarkable impostures
on the part of the Yorkists. The Duke of York, in the time of Henry
the Sixth, animated one Jack Cade, a native of Ireland, to personate
Mortimer, and, in consequence of this, a formidable insurrection
actually burst out in Kent during the Whitsuntide week. On the first
mention of the popular name of Mortimer, the common people of that
county, to the number of twenty thousand, flocked to Cade’s standard.
He marshalled the vast multitude that followed him, and marched to
Blackheath, and, shortly after, to London. Having served in the French
wars, he was enabled to encamp them with some military skill. He
presented two petitions to the king, in the name of the people; and his
demands, not in themselves unreasonable, were supported even by some of
the king’s friends. In spite of his attempts to maintain discipline,
some of his followers pillaged a few houses in London, and thus alarmed
the city, which at first had favoured him. The citizens consequently
rose against him, and a sharp conflict ensued, which terminated to his
disadvantage. A pardon being offered to his men, they accepted it, and
immediately dispersed. He himself took horse, and fled towards Lewes,
in Sussex; but he was overtaken, and discovered in a garden, by an
esquire, named Alexander Iden, who slew him after a desperate combat.
The discontentment of the Yorkists against the House of Lancaster
showed itself more remarkably during the reign of Henry the Seventh,
whose increasing unpopularity, about the year 1486, induced the
opposite party to attempt some singular impostures, and set up
pretenders to the crown.
The first fictitious prince was introduced to the world, by one Richard
Simon, a priest, possessed of subtlety and enterprise. The youth
was in reality one Lambert Simnel, the son of a baker; endowed with
understanding above his years, and address above his condition, he
seemed well fitted to personate a prince of royal extraction.
A report had been spread, and received with great avidity, that
Richard, Duke of York, second son to Edward the Fourth, had secretly
escaped from confinement, saved himself from the cruelty of his uncle,
and lay concealed somewhere in England. Taking advantage of that
rumour, Simon had at first instructed his pupil to assume that name;
but hearing afterwards that Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, was
reported to have made his escape from the Tower, he changed the plan of
his imposture, that Simnel might personate that unfortunate prince.
From his being better informed of circumstances relating to the royal
family, particularly of the Earl of Warwick’s adventures, than he
could be supposed to have learned from one of Simon’s condition, it
was conjectured that persons of higher rank, partisans of the House
of York, had laid the plan of the conspiracy, and had conveyed proper
instructions to the actors.
The first scene opened in Ireland, a country zealously attached
to the House of York. No sooner did Simnel present himself to
Thomas Fitzgerald, Earl of Kildare, and claim his protection as the
unfortunate Warwick, than the credulous nobleman, not suspecting so
bold an imposture, paid him great attention, and consulted some persons
of rank on a matter so extraordinary.
These parties were more sanguine in belief than even himself; and in
proportion to the circulation of the story, it became the object of
greater enthusiasm and credulity, till the people of Dublin with one
consent, tendered their allegiance to Simnel as the true Plantagenet.
Simnel was lodged in the castle of Dublin, and was crowned with a
diadem taken from the statue of the Virgin, and publicly proclaimed
king by the appellation of Edward the Sixth.
In order to prove the imposture of Simnel, Henry the Seventh ordered
that Warwick should be taken from the Tower, led in procession through
the streets of London, conducted to St. Paul’s, and exposed to the view
of the whole people. This expedient put a stop to the credulity of the
English; but in Ireland the people still persisted in their revolt, and
even retorted on the king the reproach of propagating an imposture, and
of having shown to the populace a counterfeit Warwick.
Simnel landed in England, and opposed the king in battle; but his
faction having been routed, he was soon reduced to his original
insignificance. He was pardoned by the king, was made a scullion to the
royal kitchen, and was subsequently raised to the rank of a falconer.
Notwithstanding the failure of Lambert Simnel, a second attempt was,
six years afterwards, made to disturb the government; it introduced one
of the most mysterious personages recorded in English history.
The Duchess of Burgundy, it seems, full of resentment at Henry the
Seventh, propagated a report that her nephew, Richard Plantagenet,
Duke of York, had escaped from the Tower. To personate the duke, a
youth, named Perkin Warbeck, was discovered, fit for her purpose. He
is asserted to have been the son of one Osbeck or Warbeck, a renegado
Jew of Tournay. This Jew had been to London in the reign of Edward
the Fourth, and during his stay his wife brought him a son: being in
favour at court, he prevailed with the king to stand godfather to his
son, though it was hinted that there was, in reality, a much nearer
connexion between the king and the youth; and by this, people accounted
for the resemblance which was afterwards remarked between young Perkin
and that monarch.
Having been well tutored by the Duchess of Burgundy, Perkin repaired to
Ireland, which was chosen as the proper place for his first appearance.
He landed at Cork, assuming the name of Richard, Duke of York, son of
Edward the Fourth, and drew around him many partisans from among that
credulous people. The news soon reached France; and Charles of France,
then on the point of war with Henry, sent Perkin an invitation to
repair to him, at Paris. On his arrival, he was received with all the
marks of regard due to the Duke of York, as the rightful heir to the
British throne. Perkin, both by his deportment and personal qualities,
supported the opinion which was spread abroad of his royal pedigree;
and the whole kingdom was full of the accomplishments, as well as the
singular adventures, of the young Plantagenet.
Wonders of this nature are commonly augmented by distance. From France,
the admiration and credulity diffused themselves into England. Sir
George Neville, Sir George Taylor, and above one hundred gentlemen
more, went to Paris in order to offer their services to the supposed
Duke of York, and to share his fortunes. Alarmed by the pretender
having gained so powerful a friend, Henry the Seventh signed a treaty
of peace with Charles, who immediately ordered the adventurer to retire
from his dominions. Perkin now solicited the protection of the Dowager
Duchess of Burgundy. She gave him a warm reception, and bestowed on
him the appellation of the White Rose of England. This behaviour of
hers induced numbers to give credence to his story, as it was thought
impossible that the aunt could be mistaken as to the personal identity
of her nephew.
In consequence of the great communication between the Low Countries and
England, the English were every day more prepossessed in favour of the
impostor. Disgusted with Henry’s government, men of the highest birth
and quality began to turn their eyes to the new claimant, and even
opened a correspondence with him.
Sir Robert Clifford, with others, went over to Burgundy and tendered
to Perkin their services. Clifford even wrote back to say that he knew
perfectly the person of Richard, Duke of York, and that this young man
was undoubtedly that prince himself. The whole nation was in suspense,
and a regular conspiracy was formed against the king’s authority.
Henry showed great ingenuity in detecting who this wonderful person
was that thus boldly advanced pretensions to his crown. His spies
insinuated themselves amongst the young man’s friends, and bribed his
retainers and domestic servants--nay, sometimes his confessor himself;
and, in the end, the whole conspiracy was laid before him, and many of
the chief conspirators were condemned and executed.
Perkin, however, continued at large, and made a descent on Kent, where
he was repulsed. He then returned to Flanders, whence he sailed to
Cork, but the Irish were no longer disposed to espouse his cause. In
Scotland, however, to which he next proceeded, he was more fortunate.
James, the monarch of that country, recognised him as “the true
prince,” and not only gave to him in marriage a near relation, Lady
Catherine Gordon, but also took up arms in his behalf. But, failing
in two incursions in England, James grew tired of the contest, and
consented to treat with Henry. Either fearing that he might be given
up, or having received an intimation to withdraw, Perkin quitted
Scotland with four ships and eighty followers, made a vain attempt
at Cork to obtain aid from the Earl of Desmond, and finally landed
in Cornwall, the men of which county had recently been in rebellion.
Six thousand Cornishmen joined him, and at their head he assaulted
Exeter, but was defeated by the citizens. Finding that Henry, with
an overwhelming force, was now at hand, his courage failed him, and
he took refuge in the sanctuary of Beaulieu, in Hampshire. He gave
himself up on a promise of pardon, but was committed to the Tower. He
was subsequently executed, on a charge of having, while imprisoned in
the Tower, formed a treasonable plan with the Earl of Warwick to effect
their escape, and raise the standard of insurrection.
Pretenders to royalty have not been of uncommon occurrence in other
countries. In Portugal, the doubts respecting Sebastian having been
really slain at the battle of Alcaçar, gave rise to several attempts
to personate that chivalrous but rash monarch. Five or six impostors
succeeded each other; of one claimant to the name and title of the
Portuguese sovereign, however, the pretensions were so plausibly or so
truly supported, that serious doubts have been entertained whether he
was not “the true prince,” and no “false thief.”
Of the most conspicuous of these pretenders, the first is said to have
been a pastry-cook of Madrigal, Gabriel de Spinosa by name. He was
tutored to act his part by Father Michael de los Santos, an Augustin
friar, who had been chaplain to Don Sebastian. The friar had spoken so
freely in Portugal against the Spanish usurpation, that Philip of Spain
removed him out of the country, and made him confessor to a convent of
nuns, at Madrigal. Donna Anna of Austria, Philip’s niece, was one of
the inmates of this convent. To this princess the friar introduced the
pretended Sebastian, who played his assumed character so well that she
gave him some rich jewels to raise money. While he was endeavouring to
dispose of these valuables privately at Madrid, he was apprehended as
a thief. He declared his real profession, and that the jewels belonged
to Donna Anna, and he would perhaps have been released, had not his
plot been betrayed by the intercepting of a letter, in which he was
addressed with the title of majesty. The result was that he and the
friar were hanged, and the princess was removed to another convent and
rigorously confined for the rest of her life.
The pertinacious belief of the Portuguese, that Sebastian would yet
return, and their hatred of the Spanish domination, soon encouraged
others to follow the example of Spinosa. The son of a tiler at
Alcobaça, who, after leading a loose life, had turned hermit, next
came forward to personate the much-desired monarch. He was accompanied
by two companions, one of whom assumed the name of Don Christopher de
Tavora, and the other took the title of the Bishop of Guarda. They
began to raise money, and to collect partisans round them. Their
career was, however, cut short by the archduke, who caused them to be
apprehended. The pseudo Sebastian was ignominiously paraded through
the streets of Lisbon, and then sent to the galleys for life; the
self-appointed bishop was sentenced to be hanged.
Undeterred by this failure, no long time elapsed before another
pretender started up, to supply the place of the tiler’s son. This
was Gonçalo Alvarez, the son of a mason. His first act of royal power
was to give the title of Earl of Torres Novas to Pedro Alonso, a rich
yeoman, whose daughter he intended to marry. He succeeded in raising
a body of eight hundred men, and it was not until some blood had been
shed that he could be put down. He was hanged and quartered at Lisbon,
with his newly-created earl.
In spite of these examples, several new Sebastians arose. Only one of
them, however, deserves mention; but this one, if an impostor, was
at least an extraordinary character. It was at Venice that he made
his first appearance, about twenty years after the battle of Alcaçar.
Of the manner in which he escaped from the slaughter, and of all his
subsequent wanderings, he gave a minute and seemingly well-connected
account. The Venetian senate, on complaint being made to it, ordered
him to depart. He sought a refuge at Padua, but, being expelled
from that city by the governor, he returned to Venice. The Spanish
ambassador now called loudly for the arrest of the supposed Sebastian.
He accused him not only of imposture, but also of many atrocious
crimes. The wanderer was in consequence seized, and thrown into prison.
The ordeal to which he was subjected was no slight one. He underwent
twenty-eight examinations before a committee of nobles; and he is said
to have fully cleared himself of all the crimes attributed to him, and
even to have given so accurate a statement of the former transactions
between himself and the republic as to excite the wonder of his
hearers. His apparent firmness, piety, and patience, also gained him
many friends.
The senate refused to examine the charge of imposture, unless some
allied prince or state would request such an investigation. The request
was made, and a solemn inquiry was instituted. No decision, however,
followed; all that was done was to order the asserted Sebastian to quit
the Venetian territories in three days. He bent his course to Florence,
where he was arrested by order of the Grand Duke, who delivered him
up to the Count de Lemos, the viceroy of Naples. The count died some
time after; and his successor appears to have forgotten the claimant to
the Portuguese throne, who, for several years, suffered the severest
hardships, as a prisoner in the castle of del’ Ovo. It is probable that
attention was at length called to him by attempts to excite, at Lisbon,
an insurrection in his behalf. Be this as it may, he was brought out of
his dungeon, led disgracefully through the city, and proclaimed to be
an impostor. On this occasion, he did not belie his pretensions, nor
display any want of courage. Whenever the public officer exclaimed,
“this is the man who calls himself Sebastian,” he calmly said, “and
Sebastian I am.” When the same individual declared him to be a
Calabrian, he exclaimed, “it is false.” When the exposure of him was
over, he was shipped as a galley slave; he was next imprisoned at St.
Lucar; and was subsequently removed to a castle in Castile. From that
moment his fate is buried in oblivion.
In Russia, the seductive hope of ascending a throne has tempted various
individuals to simulate deceased princes, and to stake life on “the
hazard of the die,” for the chance of obtaining their object. One
only, with more ability and better fortune than the rest, succeeded
in grasping for a short time the prize. On the death of Feodor, son
of Ivan the Terrible, the throne was occupied by Boris Godunoff, who
had contrived to procure the murder of Demitri, or Demetrius, the
younger brother of Feodor. For a while Boris governed wisely, and
acquired much popularity with the multitude; but it was not long before
the nobles began to plot against him; the affections of the populace
were alienated, and universal confusion ensued. This state of affairs
was favourable to imposture, and an individual soon appeared who had
talents to turn it to his advantage. There was a monk named Otrefief,
who bore an almost miraculous likeness to the murdered Demetrius. He
was also possessed of qualities well calculated to win the suffrage of
the crowd; for his figure was fine, his manners prepossessing, and his
eloquence forcible.
Relying on his personal likeness to the deceased prince, the love which
the people cherished for the old royal stock, and the hatred to which
they had been roused against Boris, the hardy adventurer spread abroad
a report that he was Ivan, who had been saved from the assassins, by
the substitution of another youth in his place. Leaving this to work
in the minds of the Russians, he withdrew into Poland, where his arts,
his eloquence, and his promises, soon gained for him numerous allies.
Sendomir, a wealthy and powerful Boyard, promised him his daughter in
marriage whenever he should become czar; and, through the influence
of Sendomir, the support of the king of Poland was obtained. Boris
denounced him, in proclamations, as an impostor, and sent spies
to seize and put him to death; but both were unavailing. The false
Demetrius advanced into Russia, in 1604, at the head of a small army
of Cossacks and Poles. Boris despatched a much larger force to meet
him, and a desperate battle ensued. The spirit-stirring language of the
pretender to his troops, and his own signal intrepidity, turned the
scale of victory in his favour. Numbers immediately espoused his cause;
Boris every day found his subjects and his troops deserting him; and at
length he poisoned himself in despair. The victor entered Moscow, and
was crowned there.
Demetrius began his reign in a manner which seemed to promise that
it would be lasting. He was prudent, just, amiable, and accessible
even to his poorest subjects. But the possession of power seems to
have exercised on him its usual intoxicating influence. His virtues
vanished, and he began to excite disgust. But the circumstances which
most contributed to alienate from him the Russians were his impolitic
lavishing of honours upon the Poles, and his equally impolitic contempt
of the national religion. These were two inexpiable offences in the
eyes of those whom he governed. A conspiracy was formed against him by
Prince Schnisky, the palace of the pseudo Demetrius was stormed, and he
perished by the weapons of the revolters.
Several other Demetriuses subsequently started up. The first of these
was a Polish schoolmaster, who, with the help of the Poles, obtained
possession of Moscow; but he soon sunk into obscurity. The rest were
still less lucky; some of them perished on the gibbet. The last of the
species appeared in 1616, and pretended to be the son of Demetrius.
He was seized and strangled, and with him terminated all attempts to
personate a prince of the race of Ivan the Terrible.
A century and a half elapsed before another adventurer of this kind
was seen in Russia. His name was Pugatscheff, and he was a coarse and
ferocious specimen of impostor princes. He was a Don Cossack, and had
served against the Prussians and Turks. A trifling circumstance was
the cause of his aspiring to a throne. He was sent with a despatch to
a general, whom he found surrounded by his staff officers. On seeing
Pugatscheff, all the officers at once expressed their surprise at the
striking likeness which he bore to the murdered Emperor Peter.
This was sufficient to awaken ambition in his mind. He deserted, and
took refuge in Poland, where he spent some time in acquiring the
information which was requisite for carrying his plan into effect. He
then entered Russia, spread his forged tale among the Cossacks, and at
length collected sufficient followers to enable him to take the field.
He began his operations in 1773, by seizing some fortresses in the
government of Orenbourg, swelled his numbers exceedingly, baffled the
government forces, and, it is thought, might have made himself master
of Moscow had he pushed boldly forward. Count Panin having brought
together a considerable army, succeeded in driving him beyond the Ural
mountains; but, in spite of every effort that was made against him, he
contrived to keep up a harassing warfare for more than twelve months.
It is probable that he might have held out longer had he not disgusted
even his partisans by his acts of wanton and brutal cruelty. This,
and the temptation offered by a reward of a hundred thousand roubles,
induced some of his followers to betray him. He was carried to Moscow
in an iron cage, and was executed there in January, 1775.
France, within the last fifty years, has had no less than three or
four false dauphins; one of whom, of very recent date, was a German
watchmaker. The most conspicuous of them were, however, Jean Marie
Hervegault, and Maturin Bruneau. The former of these was the son of
a tailor, at St. Lo. The strong resemblance of his features to those
of Louis XVI. was doubtless that which inspired him with the hope
of passing for the son of that monarch. He had a good address, much
art, and a large stock of impudence, and succeeded in making numerous
proselytes, even among people of education and fortune. He was several
times imprisoned, but his blind admirers still persisted in paying him
royal honours. He died in the Bicêtre in 1812. His successor, Maturin
Bruneau, had neither equal skill nor equal success with Hervegault,
yet he found a considerable number of credulous dupes. His career was
stopped in 1818, by a sentence of seven years’ imprisonment, two years
of which were imposed for his daring insolence to the court by which he
was tried.