The fall from bishopric to the rank and file of the Foreign Legion is
not the biggest social drop on record in the Legion. In 1897 a young
man of twenty-six, who gave his name as Albrecht Friedrich Nornemann,
was accepted for service. After ten months in barracks at Géryville
he broke down under the severe training, was sent into hospital, and
in a few weeks died of phthisis. A day or two later the regiment was
astonished to learn that a German war-vessel had entered the harbour,
entrusted with the astounding mission of fetching the body of Albrecht
Friedrich, cousin-german of Prince Henry of Prussia, and consequently
cousin of the Kaiser, who, having ordered the remains to be brought
back to Hamburg, probably alone knew the prince's secret.
Six years before this remarkable incident, which is vouched for by
more than one authority, another man of mysterious origin--who, if
he was not actually a prince of the realm, was in all probability of
royal blood on one side--was discovered in a Tongking battalion. A
sergeant and the owner of an illustrious name, since his father was
a general and Minister to a European monarch, it was noticed that he
never received any letters from his father, but that every month the
paymaster handed him a thousand francs which he never failed to share
with his less well-to-do comrades. Why was he there, and what was the
mystery surrounding his birth? was often the mental reflection of
those who enjoyed his friendship and generosity. Only after his death
did they get an inkling of the truth. His military book stated that
his name was V. de S----, son of V. de S----, General of Division and
Minister of War. "There was no mention of his mother's name," said
a superior officer to M. de Pouvourville, who tells the story, "and
there can be little doubt that she was of too illustrious a rank to
acknowledge a son the circumstances of whose birth had placed him
beyond the pale."
Some excellent stories of life in the Legion were told to the authors
of this article by the above named M. Maurer.
One of his orderlies was Graf X----, the son of the then Governor of
Brandenburg, but he could never learn in what circumstances this man
had fallen from his high estate. It was different in the case of his
particular chum, a young Englishman of distinguished manners, who spoke
several languages and was an accomplished musician, though the secret
of his life did not come out until several years after M. Maurer had
retired and returned to Paris. One day, when passing the Madeleine,
he saw a splendid equipage, drawn by a pair of magnificent greys,
with silver harness, standing outside the church, and, lo and behold!
sitting in the carriage was his old chum. Hailing him by the name by
which he had always known him, M. Maurer was astonished to see his
friend put his finger to his lips. The next moment he was invited to
enter the carriage, and, with an invitation to dinner, off they drove
to a fashionable restaurant in the Champs Elysees. Over dinner M.
Maurer's former comrade told him his real name and story. A young man
of good family, he had started his career with an excellent position in
the Bank of England. One day, when ten thousand pounds had been slid
into his hands, a sudden temptation came over him, a foolish desire
to have a flutter at "Monte." So he took the earliest opportunity of
leaving London. As was only to be expected, the inevitable happened;
he lost at the tables every penny of the sum he had embezzled. Aware
of the disgrace that awaited him when the theft was discovered, he
enlisted in the Foreign Legion.
"Now, it is a well-known fact," concluded M. Maurer, "that the sins
of a man who has served his full time in the Legion are wiped off the
slate, and I suppose that something like this must have happened in
the case of my young friend. I have no doubt that his family restored
the money. Anyway, he attained his rehabilitation. He is the bearer
of a very well-known name, and to-day occupies an important--a _very_
important--post in public affairs in England."