CLEVER IMPOSTORS AND SWINDLERS
James Thalreuter or the “False Prince”--A notorious
swindler--His early life and education--Adopted by the
Stromwalters--Pledges their credit and robs their safe--Forges
letter from a grand-duke--Squanders money thus obtained in wild
dissipation--Makes full confession of his frauds--Sentenced to
eight years’ imprisonment--“The Golden Princess,” Henrietta
Wilke--Her luxurious mode of living and generosity to the
poor--Curiosity as to her origin--Loans borrowed on false
pretences--She is arrested--Startling revelations brought
to light at her trial--Sentenced to twelve years’ penal
servitude--“Prince Lahovary” or George Manolescu--Arrested
in Paris at the age of nineteen charged with thirty-seven
thefts--His criminal career--Campaign in America under the
assumed title of “Prince Lahovary”--Imprisoned for personating
the Russian general Kuropatkin--Leonhard Bollert, nicknamed the
“attorney general”--A notorious criminal-adventurer who served
many terms in different prisons.
The criminal records of Germany contain some rather remarkable
instances of swindling and imposture. One of the most curious was
that of James Thalreuter, commonly called the “False Prince.” He was
the illegitimate son of Lieutenant-Colonel von Rescher and Barbara
Thalreuter, the daughter of an exciseman. He was born at Landshut in
1809 and was acknowledged by his father. His mother died the same year
and he was taken charge of by Baron von Stromwalter, an intimate friend
of his father. The boy James was accepted in the house as a son of the
family on equal terms with the Stromwalter children, and the baroness
grew extravagantly fond of him. He was a clever, lively lad, full of
mischievous ways, and very early he exhibited a fertile and promising
genius for lying. The baroness exercised absolute sway in the house,
for the family fortune and property was entirely hers. The baron was a
mere cypher, a weak and foolish old man, who had no other means than
his pension from a civil post.
The lad had been sent to school and was supposed to have gained a good
education, but, as a matter of fact, he had learned very little. He
wrote poorly and spelled abominably, but he had made good progress at
arithmetic, and before he was sixteen possessed a surprising knowledge
of financial and commercial affairs. A strongly marked trait was
his power of inventing the most varied, ingenious and complicated
lies, perfect in their smallest details and worked up with masterly
skill. This seemingly inexhaustible talent was aided by a singularly
comprehensive and accurate memory. Whenever he returned home from
school, he quickly established an extraordinary influence over his
fond foster-mother; he felt neither affection nor respect for her,
but only esteemed her as the person able to minister to his selfish
desires. The baroness, on her part, did everything she could to
please him, lavished money upon him freely, and kept nothing secret
from him, not even the safe containing her jewels and valuables to
which he had always free access. It was testified afterward that he
did what he liked with the baroness, sometimes by fair, but more often
by foul means. As for the poor old baron, he was treated with supreme
contempt, was often addressed in insulting terms before others, and
once Thalreuter actually struck him.
The young villain made the most of his situation and took advantage of
the old lady’s excessive fondness to pledge her credit and run heavily
into debt. He plundered her right and left, carried away many valuable
things from the house, and from time to time stole large sums from
her bureau, the keys of which he could always obtain. The baroness
caught him at last and proceeded to reprimand her foster-son severely,
but he easily persuaded her to forgive him, and she went no further
than to take better care of her keys. The success which he had so far
achieved now inspired him with an ingenious plan for defrauding his
foster-parents on a large scale.
In the early part of the year 1825 he began to let fall mysterious
hints that it was altogether a mistake to suppose that he had been born
in a humble station; that, on the contrary, he was really the son of a
royal personage, the Duke of B., who, having lost one son by poison,
had secretly entrusted this second son to Colonel von Reseller,--a
special favourite,--who was to pass for his father and bring him up,
preserving the most inviolable secrecy. Incredible as it may appear,
the Stromwalters were gulled by this manifestly fraudulent story.
They had known the young Thalreuter from his youth, had seen and
possessed the certificate of his birth, and were fully aware of all
the circumstances attending it. Yet they were easily imposed upon and
dazzled by the grandeur of this tremendous fiction, backed up by the
production of letters from the grand-duke, which in themselves were
plain evidence of the fraud. Possibly Thalreuter had inherited his
indifferent calligraphy from his illustrious parent, for the twenty
letters purporting to come from his royal highness were illegible
scrawls, poor in composition and wretched in style; but this very
circumstance supplied the impostor with an excuse for retaining them
and reading them aloud. They were couched in terms of deep gratitude
for the foster-parents’ care, and a large return in cash and honour was
promised as a reward for their services. The grand-duke did not limit
himself to empty promises; he sent through Thalreuter a costly present
of six strings of fine pearls of great value, very acceptable to the
Stromwalters, who, thanks to the extravagance of their foster-son, the
pretended prince, were much pinched for money. The pearls were pledged
for a fictitious value, Thalreuter declaring that his grand-ducal
father would be greatly offended if he heard they had been submitted
to formal examination. The impostor studiously suppressed the fact that
he had bought the pearls at two shillings per string at a toy shop with
money which he had stolen. He had obtained a pair of sham earrings
at the same shop. Any story was good enough to fool the simpleton
Stromwalters; he exhibited the miniature one day of an officer in
uniform, blazing with orders, as that of the grand-duke, and on another
day showed them sketches of the estates that were to be bestowed upon
the worthy couple. Again, he pretended that his highness had called in
state in a carriage and four to pay a ceremonious visit when they were
absent; and another time claimed that the royal chamberlain had invited
the baron to share a bottle with him at the Swan Inn, but was called
away by urgent business before the baron arrived.
This shameless deception profited Thalreuter greatly. As a prince in
disguise, he was treated with much indulgence and liberally supplied
with the means of extravagance. He now invented a fresh lie, that of
a proposed match between the son, Lieutenant von Stromwalter, and the
heiress of a rich and noble family, the Von Wallers, and the whole
intrigue was carried forward even as far as betrothal without bringing
the parties together, secrecy being essential to the very last, as
Thalreuter explained to the old people. But he produced letters--of his
own manufacture--from the grand-duke and various people of rank at
court, all of them congratulating the Stromwalters on the approaching
most desirable marriage. The ultimate aim of the fraud was at last
shown when Thalreuter forged a letter calling upon the baroness to pay
a sum of 10,000 florins into the military fund as a guarantee that her
son was able to support a wife. The generous grand-duke had offered
to advance a large part of this money, but at least 2,700 florins
must come from the Stromwalters, and they actually handed the cash
to Thalreuter, who rapidly squandered it in dissipation of the most
reckless kind.
Were it not that all the facts in this marvellous imposture are
vouched for by the legal proceedings afterward instituted, it would be
difficult to credit the amazing credulity, amounting to imbecility,
displayed by the Stromwalters. Thalreuter played his game with
extraordinary boldness, and continually traded on the name of the son
in support of his preposterous fictions. He invented the story of a
seditious plot, in which the lieutenant was embroiled and for which
he was arrested, only to extract a sum of one thousand florins for
obtaining his release from prison.
The next fraud was a trumped-up tale that the lieutenant was in serious
pecuniary difficulties and that, unless cleared, the marriage must be
broken off; the result was a further advance by the baroness, who sold
off a quantity of her furniture to obtain cash. Then it appeared that
the lieutenant was involved in a dishonourable intrigue and could only
be extricated by paying blackmail; he must make presents to his fiancée
and the jeweller’s bill must be settled; a house for the young couple
must be furnished, and hence the abstraction of many articles from the
home of the old Stromwalters, all of which were pawned by Thalreuter.
Strange to say, relations were never opened up with the Von Wallers;
stranger still, no direct communications were opened with the son. And
it would seem perfectly incredible that his parents did not write to
him on the subject of his coming marriage, of his arrest, or of his
embarrassments and necessary expenditure. They did write, as a matter
of fact, but Thalreuter intercepted all the letters and continued his
thefts and embezzlements unchecked and undiscovered. He made a clean
sweep of everything; emptied the house, dissipated the property,
obtained the baroness’s signature to bills and drafts by false
pretences, and ruined her utterly.
The large sums thus shamelessly obtained by Thalreuter were thrown
absolutely away. He entertained his acquaintances, mostly of the lowest
classes,--peasants and domestic servants,--in the most sumptuous manner
at different inns and taverns. Not only were the most costly wines
poured out like water at the table, but they were cast into adjacent
ponds and dashed against the carriage wheels; the most delicate viands
were thrown out of the window for boys to scramble for; splendid
fireworks were set off to amuse the guests, among whom he distributed
all kinds of expensive presents with the greatest profusion. One
witness even stated that on one occasion he moistened the wheels of
the carriage he had hired with eau de Cologne. A toyman, Stang by
name, who was the constant companion of Thalreuter and partaker of
his extravagant pleasures, sold him, in one year, goods to the amount
of 6,700 florins, among which was eau de Cologne worth 50 florins.
Stang, on first witnessing the boy’s extravagance, thought it his
duty to report it to Baroness von Stromwalter, but was told that the
expenditure of her James would not appear surprising whenever the
secret of his birth and rank should be revealed; that at present she
could only say that he was the son of very great parents and would have
more property than he could possibly spend. The poor toyman was, of
course, overjoyed at the thought of having secured the friendship and
custom of a prince in disguise, and no longer felt any hesitation in
accepting Thalreuter’s presents and joining his parties, and from that
time forward they became almost daily companions.
Thalreuter’s behaviour did not escape the notice of the authorities,
but when they applied to his foster-parents, they were put off by the
same mysterious hints of his noble birth. But fate at last fell heavily
upon the young impostor. When called upon to pay a long-standing
account for coach hire, Thalreuter produced a cheque purporting to
be drawn by a certain Dr. Schroll. The signature was repudiated as a
forgery, and the young man was arrested. The baroness still stood by
him and was ready to answer for it until the scales fell from her eyes
at the swindler’s astonishing confessions. Thalreuter now recounted
at length the repeated deceits and frauds he had practised upon his
foster-parents, the extent of which could hardly be estimated, but
there was little doubt that he had extorted by his dishonest processes
a sum between 6,000 and 8,000 florins. He implicated the unfortunate
Stang in these nefarious actions, and other well-do-do and respectable
persons. Many of the charges brought proved to be utterly false, and
it appeared that this consummate young rogue had acted chiefly alone.
It was clearly made out that he had had no assistance in effecting the
ruin of the too credulous Stromwalters, and had relied upon his own wit
and the extreme weakness and simplicity of the old people.
Thalreuter, in consideration of his youth, was sentenced to only
eight years’ imprisonment at hard labour and a corporal punishment of
twenty-five lashes on admission to prison. He only survived to complete
two years of his sentence and died in 1828 at the bridewell in Munich.
Not many years after the coming and going of the false prince,
Thalreuter, at Munich, another fictitious aristocrat flashed across
the horizon of Berlin society, springing suddenly into notoriety
and attracting universal attention. She was generally known as the
“Golden Princess,” but no one knew certainly whom she was or whence
she came. She appeared about 1835, when she adopted a sumptuous style
of living which dazzled every one and made her the universal topic
of conversation. She occupied a luxuriously furnished villa in the
Thiergarten, kept a liveried man servant, a coachman, a cook, a maid
and also a lady companion, and habitually drove about Berlin in a
beautifully equipped carriage. She frequented the most expensive shops,
where she made large purchases, to the intense satisfaction of the
tradesmen, who considered the “Golden Princess” their best customer,
particularly as she was quite above haggling and bargaining. She was
generous to a fault; the poor besieged her door, and her deeds of
charity were many. She often travelled, and her journeys to London and
Brussels were much discussed; she visited German baths and would post
to Carlsbad with four horses. From all these places she brought back
splendid presents which she lavished upon her acquaintances, although
they were not always cordially accepted, for her social position during
the earlier part of her career by no means corresponded with her
general magnificence. She did not frequent fashionable circles, nor did
she receive much company at home.
A woman of this kind could not escape gossiping criticism. Many
reports were current of her quality and antecedents. One story was that
she was betrothed to a Brazilian, Count Villamor, who was supposed
to have fallen in love with her abroad and was now providing the
means for her to live in Berlin and to travel, so that she might fit
herself for the high position of his wife. Others said that she was
engaged to marry a Hamburg senator. German counts, and even princes,
were also suggested as the future husbands of this interesting girl.
The consensus of opinion, however, was in favour of the Brazilian,
and her very ample means gave some colour to this assumption. She was
an attractive woman, although not strikingly beautiful; she had good
features and fascinating manners, and it was natural that this wealthy
foreign count should fall in love with her. To call her an adventuress
was unjustifiable.
This Henrietta Wilke, for such was her modest name, was no stranger in
reality, nor was she of distinguished parentage. She was born of humble
people who died when she was a child, and she had been befriended by
some wealthy folk who gave her an education above her station, so that
when, at their death, she was obliged to go into domestic service, she
was treated more as a friend than a servant. She began as a nurse-maid
and then became companion to an elderly maiden lady of Charlottenburg
named Niemann, who played a large part in her subsequent history.
Henrietta Wilke had borne a good character as a respectable,
unpretending girl, and there was no reason whatever to suspect her of
frauds and malpractices for the purpose of acquiring wealth. The police
could urge nothing against her, even if the sources of her wealth were
obscure. She did not thrust herself into the society of well-to-do
people to cheat and impose upon them. On the contrary, she consorted
with a lower class and behaved with great propriety; her reputation
was good; she paid her way honourably, was extremely charitable and
never seemed ashamed of her poor relations. Still, there were those who
smiled sarcastically and hinted that some strange truths would yet be
disclosed about this enigmatic personage.
Among those who trusted her implicitly was the proprietor of a large
furniture establishment in Berlin, Schroder by name, from whom she had
made large purchases, always paying for them in cash. One day he made
so bold as to ask her if she would lend him a few thousand thalers
to increase his business, as she seemed to have a large capital at
her command. She replied that she had not attained her majority--she
was twenty-three years old, but the age of majority in Germany was
twenty-four years. She would otherwise gladly give him the sum herself,
she said, but in the meantime she promised to try to procure it from a
friend of hers who had the control of her own fortune. The following
day she informed Schroder that her old friend Fräulein Niemann,
of Charlottenburg, was quite prepared to lend him 5,000 thalers at
four per cent., on the security of his shop. The money, however,
was invested in debentures, and it could not be released until the
repayment of 500 thalers which had been borrowed on them. If Schroder
would advance that sum, the whole business might be settled at once.
Schroder, after making inquiries and hearing nothing but satisfactory
reports about Fräulein Niemann, went to Charlottenburg and, in the
presence of Henrietta Wilke, gave her the 500 thalers to secure
the 5,000 thalers which were to be shortly handed over. But on the
following day Fräulein Wilke came to him again and said that the
debentures could only be released by the payment of 1,000 thalers;
to compensate him she offered to raise the loan to 8,000 thalers.
Schroder, after some hesitation, agreed to pay the further 500 thalers;
but he first sought further information as to Fräulein Niemann’s
solvency, taking her promise in writing to lend him on June 28th, 1836,
a capital of 8,000 thalers and to repay him his loan of 1,000 thalers.
Instead of the money, however, Henrietta Wilke came to him again and
announced that Fräulein Niemann meant to make his fortune. She would
lend him 20,000 thalers instead of 8,000 thalers, but to release
so large an amount of debentures she required a further sum of 500
thalers. Schroder at first demurred, but, after paying the two
ladies another visit, he relented. He paid the third 500 thalers and
for this was to receive on February 10th the whole sum of twenty
thousand thalers. The 10th of February passed, but the money was not
forthcoming. Instead, a message came to say that 8,000 thalers at least
should be paid on the following Monday. Fräulein Wilke appeared on
the Monday without the money, indeed, but with the news that as her
friend’s banker had not made the promised payment, she would borrow the
sum from another friend. Schroder believed her, and his confidence was
such that he gave her 100 thalers more, which she still required to
draw out the necessary debentures. He received a receipt from Fräulein
Niemann, and February 13th was fixed as the day of payment. But on the
day when this agreement was made, Schroder heard that other persons had
received from Fräulein Wilke some of the bank-notes he had given to
her or Fräulein Niemann for the release of the debentures. Indeed, he
learned that Fräulein Wilke had bought two horses with one of his 300
thaler notes.
He rushed to Charlottenburg and found Henrietta and her companion at
Fräulein Niemann’s. A violent scene took place, but a reconciliation
followed, and Schroder allowed himself to be persuaded to wait until
February 27th. When on that day the money was again not forthcoming, he
very naturally grew uneasy and applied to the police. Herr Gerlach,
at that time the head of the force, found no cause for prosecuting
Henrietta Wilke or the blameless Fräulein Niemann, and although the
celebrated police magistrate Duncker did not agree, no steps were
taken to arrest them. Schroder now decided to sue Fräulein Niemann. A
compromise, however, was reached. He then limited his demands to the
repayment of the 1,600 thalers and to the loan of a small capital of
8,000 thalers, both of which were conceded. To disarm his suspicion,
Fräulein Wilke required of Fräulein Niemann that she should at least
show him the money he was to receive. The old lady accordingly took out
of her cabinet a sealed packet with the superscription “10,000 thalers
in Pomeranian debentures.” Schroder asked that it should be given over
to him at once, but Fräulein Wilke, always the spokeswoman for Fräulein
Niemann, explained that this was impossible on account of family
circumstances, and that he could not have the debentures until March
30th. The day came but not the money; Fräulein Wilke and her companion
Fräulein Alfrede called upon him and continued to allege complicated
family affairs as the cause of the delay. To reassure him, however,
and to disarm suspicion, she handed over to him, in Fräulein Niemann’s
name, the sealed packet with the 10,000 thalers in debentures, but with
the injunction not to open it until April 5th, otherwise, no further
payments would be made; then to convert the debentures into cash, keep
1,600 thalers for himself, take 8,000 thalers as a loan, and return the
rest to Fräulein Niemann. All parties now seemed satisfied.
On the date fixed, Schroder went to a notary’s office under police
instruction and broke the seals, when, in the place of the 10,000
thalers in debentures, they found nothing in the envelope but several
sheets of blank paper. A fraud had evidently been committed which
pointed to other irregularities. It would be tedious to describe in
detail the ingenious deceptions practised for years past by Henrietta
Wilke on Fräulein Niemann, whose god-daughter she was, and upon whom
she had continually imposed by pretending that she was the protégé
of great personages, more especially the princess Raziwill, who had
secured the good offices of the king himself, William III, on her
behalf. The Fräulein Niemann was deluded into making large advances,
ostensibly to help the princess in her necessities and ultimately the
king, but which really were impounded feloniously by Wilke. The king
was also supposed to be mixed up in the backing of Schroder’s furniture
business, and the packet containing the sham debentures was represented
to have been really prepared by royal hands. This farrago of nonsense
failed to satisfy Schroder, who now gave information to the police and
the “Golden Princess” had reached the end of her career. She was taken
into custody and subjected to judicial examination. When before the
judge, all her powers of intrigue seemed to abandon her. She made a
full confession and admitted everything. What was the motive which led
so young a girl to commit such gigantic frauds, was asked. The criminal
herself gives the simplest explanation of this in her own statement:
“In first practising my frauds on Niemann, I was actuated by a distaste
for service as a means of support. It proved so easy to procure money
from her that I continued doing so. At first I thought that she was
very rich and would not be much damaged if I drew upon her superfluity.
When, however, she was obliged to raise money on her house, I saw that
she had nothing more, but then it was too late for me to turn back.”
When asked if she had never considered the danger of detection, she
replied with complete unconcern that she had entertained no such fears.
She had spent everything she had received from Fraulein Niemann and
others to gratify her desire to live like a fine lady, and had retained
nothing but the few articles found in her possession at the time of
her arrest. In this simple statement the whole explanation of her way
of life was contained. All the witnesses who had known her previously
testified to her being a quiet, good-tempered person and that she was
well conducted from a moral point of view was certain. Her relatives
confirmed all this, but stated that they had always considered the
education given her to be above her condition, and had thought it
encouraged her in her frivolity and her desire to play the lady of
quality. All this tallies with the whole story of her life which was
based upon the desire for luxury and show.
Opportunity creates thieves and also begets beings of her sort,
addicted to speculative transactions. They begin in a small way and
good luck spurs them on to greater enterprises. Like her imagination,
her talent for intrigue grew apace. From the humble position of a
nurse-maid, she aspired to raise herself to that of a lady companion.
She only pretended to act as the favoured agent of a king, after having
posed as the pet of a princess and the betrothed of several counts, her
early desire to be a school mistress having been cast aside as unworthy
of her soaring ambition.
While in prison, she composed a letter to the king, supposed to be
written by Fräulein Niemann, in which this lady is made to implore
his pardon for her protégé, and begs him to open the prison doors.
To this she added some lines addressed to Fräulein Alfrede, Wilke’s
former companion, directing her to induce Fräulein Niemann to copy it
in her own hand; and it was then to be delivered by the companion to
a trustworthy person who would see that it was given to the king. The
contents of this epistle were divulged by another prisoner. It produced
no results, of course, but bears witness to Henrietta Wilke’s courage
and adroitness in continuing to weave her intrigues within the prison
walls, and shows how long she must have held the old lady a captive in
a net of lies.
The first verdict was pronounced on May 21, 1836. According to Prussian
law, the fraud committed could only be atoned for by the reimbursement
of double the sum misappropriated, and if the criminal were without
means, a corresponding term of penal servitude would be inflicted.
This duplicated fine was computed by the judge at 42,450 thalers,
and he desired that on account of the self-evident impecuniosity of
the girl Wilke, and of the allegation brought forward of aggravated
circumstances connected with her malpractices, a sentence of twelve
years’ penal servitude be pronounced.
Confined at first in Spandau and afterward in Brandenburg, the
prisoner’s conduct seems to have been uniformly good. She occupied
herself with embroideries, which were said to be very skilfully
executed. A petition for her pardon was sent in some years ago, but
was rejected, as there was no reason for letting out so dangerous a
prisoner before her term had expired. Even when the period for release
arrived, she was not allowed her freedom until the administrator of the
institution had satisfied himself that she had really been improved by
the punishment endured, was capable of earning her livelihood honestly,
and that her liberation would not endanger the public safety.
A case of the pretentious impostor of recent date, imprisoned in
various German prisons, is that of George Manolescu, whose memoirs
have appeared in the form of an autobiography. So varied were the
experiences of this thorough-paced scoundrel, so cleverly did he carry
out his gigantic depredations and his numerous frauds and thefts great
and small, almost always without any violence, that his story has
all the elements of romance. Manolescu was highly gifted by nature.
Endowed with a handsome person, he appeared to have an affectionate
disposition, spoke several languages with ease and fluency, and his
singular charm of manner made him at home in the most fastidious
society. Exhibiting an utter disregard of the commonest principles of
right and wrong, he devoted his talents and his marvellous ingenuity to
criminal malpractices.
George Manolescu was born on May 20th, 1871, in the town of Ploesci
in Roumania. His father was a captain of cavalry, who, owing to his
implacable and haughty character, was constantly being shifted from
one garrison to another; his mother, a great beauty, died when he
was two years old, and the care of his early childhood was confided
to his grandmother, whom he caused endless trouble. Later on he was
transferred from school to school, for his passionate love of perpetual
change and his undisciplined nature prevented him from settling down
to work anywhere. This longing for travels and adventures was, indeed,
deep seated and unconquerable, so that at last his father sought to
give it a natural vent by sending him to an academy for naval cadets.
At first his conduct was good, but soon his intolerance of control
asserted itself and led him to insubordination. On his return to the
academy after a vacation, he misconducted himself and was punished with
close confinement in a small cell under the roof. He managed, however,
to break open the door, climb out on the roof and let himself down
into the street by means of the nearest telegraph post. He started at
once for the harbour of Galatz, and with only one franc, 50 centimes
for his whole fortune, stowed himself away on a steamer bound for
Constantinople. The captain had him put on shore at that port. Half
dead with fatigue and hunger, he obtained a portion of _pilaf_ from
the first vendor of that delicacy whom he met in the streets of the
Turkish capital, and after satisfying his appetite, in lieu of payment
he flung the empty dish at the man’s head and took to his heels. He ran
up to Pera and entered the public garden, where an entertainment was
in progress at a theatre of varieties. Here he met a Turkish officer
who noticed him and with whom he had some conversation. Seeing the
corner of a pocket book protruding from that worthy’s half-open coat,
the boy with lightning speed possessed himself of it unobserved, and
also picked the officer’s pocket of a cigarette case encrusted with
diamonds. He then escaped with his booty. The pocket book contained 20
pounds sterling; with this sum he set up a sort of bazaar by filling a
large basket with various articles for sale, and, assisted by a young
Italian he casually met, cried his wares all over the town. This first
venture was not successful, as he made no profit and the assistant ran
away with the whole stock in trade, including the basket.
Thus living from hand to mouth, he decided to turn his back on
Constantinople, where he felt the eyes of the police were upon him.
Being penniless, he applied to the Roumanian legation to send him home,
which they consented to do. On landing at Galatz, as he was entirely
without money, he went into the nearest café, annexed the first
overcoat he saw, and pawned it for a few francs. This was not enough
money to pay his journey to Bucharest where his family now lived, so
he sought other means to replenish his exchequer. Loving, as he did,
everything pertaining to the sea, he visited the various foreign ships
lying in the harbour and inspected all parts, always stealing as he
went any valuables he could find in the cabins of the captain and chief
engineer. Presently Galatz became too hot for him, and he found it
expedient to proceed to Bucharest, where he made but a short stay.
Paris, the dream of every youthful _vaurien_, strongly attracted him.
In the meantime he started on his travels once more, and again reached
Constantinople, from whence he travelled on to Athens, defraying his
expenses by clever thefts. One fine day, however, he found himself
in the Grecian capital without funds and once more applied to the
Roumanian legation to be repatriated. This request being refused, he
drew his revolver, put it to his breast, pulled the trigger and fell
down senseless. He was removed to a hospital, and although the ball
could not be extracted, he did not die, as the surgeon expected. While
he lay there, he attracted much sympathy and received several gracious
visits from Queen Olga of Denmark, who was at that time in Athens. Her
kindness so touched him the first time she came that he burst into
tears. She caused him to be removed to the best room in the hospital,
defrayed his expenses, and when he recovered ordered him to appear at
the Greek court. Subsequently she provided the means for his journey
home where, as before, he remained but a short time.
In July, 1888, his love of adventure again drew him away and eventually
he managed to reach Paris, where he established himself in the Latin
Quarter. His family agreed to make him a small monthly allowance,
provided he should adopt some reputable means of livelihood. But the
attempt was half-hearted, and as he soon found himself straitened in
his means, he eked them out by thefts committed at the Bon Marché,
Louvre and other great department stores. His tricks and fraudulent
devices were ingenious and varied and may be passed over. He soon
aimed at higher game and began stealing unset precious stones from
jewellers’ shops, by which he realised plunder to the value of about
5,000 francs monthly. He hired a beautiful villa in the rue François I,
lived in luxury, kept race horses and was well received by members of
fashionable society, in whose exclusive homes he was made welcome as
the supposed son of a rich father, and where he gambled on an enormous
scale, often losing large sums. One fine day, however, fate overtook
him and he was arrested for thirty-seven thefts to the aggregate value
of 540,000 francs. He was thus dashed from the height of prosperity
into an abyss of misfortune, and in 1890, when still barely nineteen
years of age, he was sentenced to four years’ imprisonment. After
his release, he was again sent home to Bucharest, where as usual he
remained only a short time.
He now visited various countries, including Japan and the United
States. In Chicago, where many bankers are of German extraction, he
was invited everywhere, partly because his German was so perfect and
also because he adopted the title of Duke of Otranti and so made an
impression by his imaginary high rank. Rich marriages were proposed
to him, but the parents of a beautiful girl whom he desired to make
his wife discredited the proofs he offered of his wealth and exalted
rank. He continued his thefts and was twice imprisoned during this
period of his career. But as we are chiefly concerned with his German
experiences, we shall take up his life again at the time of his
marriage to a German countess of an ancient Catholic family whom
he met travelling in Switzerland. He managed to procure the consent
of the girl’s mother, but the rest of the family were averse to the
match. The young people were genuinely in love, and this marvellous
adventurer never ceased to love his wife and was a tender, though not
very faithful husband while they remained together. There were so
many difficulties to be overcome and so much to be concealed that the
marriage seemed hardly possible. But Manolescu procured his papers
from Roumania and the couple were married by the bishop of Geneva, the
Roumanian vice-consul being present, though the bridegroom, to add
to other complications, belonged to the Greek Church. He travelled a
great deal with his wife, and in 1899 visited some of her aristocratic
relations at their fine country schloss, where he was warmly received.
Later on the young couple settled in a lovely villa on the Lake of
Constance, where their only child, a girl, was born.
Of course Manolescu was soon short of money, and he decided to start
for Cairo to try to procure for himself a position there as hotel
manager. The parting between husband and wife, although they supposed
it would only be temporary, was most pathetic. They never lived
together again. He never reached his destination, for when out of
reach of his wife’s good influence, his thieving proclivities again
overmastered him, and at Lucerne, one of his stopping places, he
entered the rooms of a married couple staying at his hotel and stole
most of the contents of the lady’s jewel case which he found in the
first trunk he opened. In the husband’s trunk he also found valuable
securities which he appropriated, and with this rich booty he escaped
to Zurich. At the Hotel Stephanie there, he robbed the bed-room of an
American gentleman, making off with bank-notes and French securities to
the amount of 70,000 francs. Shortly after this coup he was arrested at
Frankfurt and taken to a police station. A brief description given in
his own words of some of his experiences there may be of interest.
“At the prison I was given in charge of the inspector. This man,
wishing at once to assert his authority, ordered me in a brutal tone to
strip where I stood, on a stone floor in a cold corridor where there
was a terrible draught from the open windows. I submitted, knowing
this measure to be usual at most prisons, though it does not take
place elsewhere in a corridor, but in rooms specially arranged for
this purpose; also prisoners are generally allowed to keep on their
under-linen and shoes. I, however, had to divest myself of everything
except my shoes. My garments were carefully searched one by one. During
this time the inspector stood in front of me with an evil smile on his
face, swaying himself from side to side. I begged him civilly to allow
me to keep on my shirt, whereupon he replied that I was well protected
from cold by my shoes. Beside myself with rage, I took them and flung
them at his head. He threw himself upon me and tried to strike me with
his bunch of keys, but I seized his wrist and twisted it, forcing him
to drop them. Two warders now appeared at his call, and he ordered me
to put on my clothes. To these irons were to be added, but I resisted,
and a fight took place in which I came off the victor. The attempt to
put me into irons was given up, and I was moved up into a small but
airy cell, where I was securely locked up. Later, however, the chief
inspector came to see me; he spoke to me kindly and begged me to behave
quietly and he would see that I was not maltreated in any way.”
Manolescu’s attempt at escape, his simulation of madness, and the
interviews with his wife, who came to Frankfurt that she might see
him, need not be detailed at length. It is enough to say that he was
extradited to Switzerland, tried and sentenced to only six months’ hard
labour. Having regard to the strictness of the Swiss laws, this was a
mild sentence, but Manolescu was not considered by the authorities to
be in his right mind.
In September of 1900, after his release, he crossed once more to
America, where he carried out a large robbery successfully, and
returning to Paris, again lived on the very crest of the wave,
frequenting the same fashionable circles and attributing his long
absence from France to family affairs. He now assumed the title of
Prince Lahovary, and had a neat prince’s coronet printed on his
visiting cards. He posed as a bachelor, looked about for a wife, and
proposed to a young American widow whom he met at Boulogne, where she
was staying with her father and brother. She evinced some inclination
to accept him and some of her relatives favoured the “prince’s”
suit. At the end of three weeks’ courtship they parted, agreeing to
meet later on in Berlin. Lahovary, as we must now call him, returned
temporarily to Paris, where he literally wallowed in luxury. The large
sums he spent he managed to provide for the time being by play, for
he was a most inveterate gambler, although not usually lucky, as he
calculated that he had lost altogether 1,800,000 francs at cards during
his career. In November he arrived, as agreed, in Berlin, accompanied
by a secretary and valet, and made his entry into the proud German
capital as “Prince Lahovary,” a great personage by whom all Europe
was presently to be dazzled and who was to be the subject of endless
talk. He established himself with his suite at the Kaiserhof, still
falsely pretending to be unmarried, and continued his courtship of
the young widow. But his resources soon melted, and he was forced to
undertake a fresh robbery on a large scale, which led to his undoing.
On the evening of this theft he left Berlin for Dresden, where he
sold some of the jewelry he had stolen to a court jeweller for 12,000
marks, and then returned to Berlin to take a temporary leave of his
American friends, explaining to them that important affairs called
him to Genoa. The father of the young widow proposed that as he and
his son and daughter were shortly to sail for America from that port,
they should all meet there, and they arranged a rendezvous for January
10, 1901. Now occurred a dramatic little incident in the life of this
strange man worth recording.
On January 1, 1901, he left Berlin and went to the place where his wife
lived with her child. He wanted to see them once more before proceeding
to Genoa to sail from thence to the new world, although he had fully
determined to marry the other woman, if possible, and settle down to
a properly regulated life in America. He reached the town on January
2nd, at 9 o’clock in the morning, hired a carriage and drove to a shop
to buy toys for his child and presents for his wife. He then drove to
the villa where his wife lived and stopped at the gate, which he rang
five or six times. No one answered or came to open the gate for him.
His wife lived on the ground floor and from the window she could see
any one who came without being seen. When she recognised her husband,
she would not open the door, having promised her aunt never to resume
relations with him. He was not to be gainsaid, however, and continued
to pull the bell unceasingly. At last the outer door was unlocked and
his wife came out as far as the garden gate, but this she did not open.
With a trembling voice she asked him what he desired of her. He could
hardly speak from emotion, and held out to her his presents, which
she refused, saying she did not know with whose money he had bought
them. He implored her to let him in to see their child, but she firmly
declined. Then he fell into a passion and threatened to return with a
representative of the law to help him claim his paternal rights. To
prevent a scandal, she promised to show him the child from the window.
At last he agreed to this compromise; she returned to the house and
presently appeared at the window with the child in her arms. The little
child looked at her father with uncomprehending eyes; he stared at his
daughter for several minutes, then turned, hurriedly drove away and
never beheld his wife or child again.
On reaching Genoa shortly afterward, he was arrested, as the police
authorities in Berlin had discovered his theft, and he was sent back
there and detained in the well-known Moabit prison. He was placed in
a cell where he remained for nearly a year, until May 30, 1901. The
examining magistrate was a humane and just man and the lawyer whom
Manolescu retained for his own defence was a celebrated barrister.
He had no hesitation in confessing his crimes. As doubts of his
sanity existed, the medical reports from the Swiss prison, expressing
uncertainty as to his mental state, were examined by the doctor of
Moabit. Although the identity of the medical officer was suppressed,
Manolescu guessed it by intuition and simulated madness so cleverly
that he was sent to the infirmary in connection with Moabit, where he
was kept under observation for six weeks. He was then taken back to
the prison in December, 1901, armed with a certificate drawn up by
specialists, stating him to be completely deranged, though this was
doubted by the crown solicitor-general. At last, on May 28, 1902, he
was brought before the criminal court, where he had some difficulty in
maintaining his pretence of madness. The solicitor-general pressed for
a conviction as an impostor, but a verdict of insanity was pronounced;
he was acquitted as irresponsible, and transferred to the lunatic
asylum at Herzburg.
Fourteen months later he escaped. He attacked and pinioned his warder,
took forcible possession of his keys, locked him into his own cell,
and then quietly left the institution by climbing over the garden
wall. With the help of a lady, a member of the Berlin aristocracy, who
was a friend of his, he was able to cross the Prussian frontier and
to enter Austrian territory. As the papers, however, were full of his
exploits, he was arrested at Innsbruck some time later and taken to
Vienna, where he still feigned madness. The Austrian doctors supported
the views of their Prussian colleagues, and he was acquitted also by
the Viennese court of justice. Following this acquittal, Manolescu was
sent to Bucharest, where he went determined to reform and to earn his
bread honestly. He could find no employment until a publisher suggested
he should write his memoirs in the form of an autobiography, from
which this summary of his career has been taken. By this occupation he
supported himself for a time. As he could find no other means of making
his livelihood, he decided to emigrate to America, where he declared
every industrious man could find work. He ends his autobiography
with these words: “I do not bear my countrymen any grudge. I only
wish that the unfortunate prejudices of the egoistic Roumanian form
of civilisation which prevented them from holding out a hand to a
repentant sinner may soon be removed. Thus ends the autobiography of
George Manolescu, alias Prince Lahovary.”
We fear his career after leaving Bucharest was not all it should have
been, as the following paragraph appeared in January, 1906, in the
_Daily Express_.
“George Manolescu, the celebrated swindler, has lately escaped from the
prison of Sumenstein in Germany by feigning madness and pretending to
be General Kuropatkin.”
Another impostor, Leonhard Bollert, has stated that he was born in
1821. His father served as sergeant-major in the fifth _chevau-legers_
regiment, and soon after the birth of the boy left the army, married
the boy’s mother and settled with his family in his own birthplace,
a small town in lower Franconia, where he gained his livelihood as a
provision merchant. The boy, who was greatly gifted, was apprenticed
to a shoemaker at Würzburg, where he learned the trade thoroughly.
After serving six years in the same regiment as his father, he went to
foreign parts, incidentally embarking upon a life of criminal adventure
which lasted nearly forty years. While in the service of one of his
employers, he was sentenced, for embezzlement, to a term in prison,
which he served in Würzburg, a town which seems to have been at that
period a high school for criminals. He then successively progressed,
with longer or shorter intervals between the terms, through the prisons
of Plassenburg, Kaisheim, Lichtenau, Diez in Nassau, the house of
correction in Mainz and the Hessian penal institution, Marienschloss.
By his aptitude and his thorough knowledge of shoemaking, he everywhere
earned for himself recognition and good results. How he employed his
time when at large could not be definitely established. At one time he
served a Hungarian count, with whom he made long journeys. It must have
been then that he acquired his refined manners and his aristocratic
bearing. Why he left his employer at the end of six months is not
clear. Probably some of his master’s coin found its way into his own
purse. Bollert used to relate to a small and select circle of friends
the more startling incidents of his career with great pride,--such as
his appearance at Wiesbaden as an officer and bogus baron. He also
served in the papal army for a short time until it was defeated and
dissolved. He was not indifferent to the fair sex and, as a handsome
man, claimed to have had many successes.
During his last period of liberty in 1870, Bollert followed the
profession of burglary and swindling on a large scale. The scene of his
activity extended from Munich to the Rhine. He was clever at disguises
and used a variety of costumes, wearing false beards of different
hues; he possessed the complete uniform of a Bavarian railway guard,
in which he once got as far as Bingen without a ticket. He plied his
nefarious trade in Frankfurt, Würzburg, Heidelberg, Darmstadt, Nürnberg
and Augsberg. At hotels he managed by means of false keys to enter
the rooms of people who were absent, and often carried away all the
articles of value he could lay hands on. In Frankfurt he was once
arrested, but succeeded in breaking out of the prison. In Würzburg he
was again caught and here the Court of the Assizes sentenced him to
thirteen years’ penal servitude.
No one would have taken Bollert for a dangerous and bold burglar. In
spite of his fifty-one years, he presented a handsome appearance, had
a great charm of manner and looked well even in a convict’s dress. His
expression was gentle, his address was civil and conciliating, but
not in the least cringing; his bearing toward the officials was never
too submissive, but always polite. Ladies, whose feet he measured in
his capacity of chief shoemaker, were never tired of describing the
elegant manner in which he bowed, and they took a great interest in
the history of this attractive convict. He was entrusted with the
purchase of all the leather required by the board of management of the
prison, and not only acquitted himself of this task to their entire
satisfaction, but also cut out the most perfect shoes the officials’
wives had ever worn. He was a Catholic and soon became an acolyte,
serving the mass with a fervour never before manifested by a convict
in prison. In his intercourse with the other prisoners he was always
reserved, and he was and remained the “gentleman”--they always spoke
of him as “Herr” Bollert. He never descended to frauds or low tricks,
he never betrayed any one; but openly expressed his contempt for the
behaviour of many of his companions in misfortune, without their daring
to resent it. If he was offered a glass of wine or beer in the house of
one of the officials, he never mentioned the circumstance. How was it
that a man capable of thus altering his conduct, one may say his whole
character, for a series of years, fell back into the old vicious course
of action, upon being freed from restraint?
Bollert completed his thirteen years in prison, grew somewhat paler and
older, but preserved his erect, graceful carriage. His end was never
definitely known; no information reached the prison after his last
release. Before his departure, the chaplain presented him with an old
great-coat which he had repaired and remade, and he wore it with such
a grand air that an acquaintance of the chief superintendent who had
accompanied Bollert to the railway station, asked, “Was not that the
attorney-general?”