The continental journals announced that, on the 10th of August 1845,
there died at Delft, in Holland, Charles-Louis, known as the 'Duke of
Normandy.' This individual presented one of those extraordinary
instances of doubtful identity which we find scattered over ancient
and modern biography. The mystery of his birth has not been cleared
up by his death, and continues as impenetrable as that of the
celebrated Man with the Iron Mask.
It is well known that, in 1791, Louis XVI. of France was overtaken
during his attempted flight from France at Varennes, and afterwards
dragged to the prison of the Temple. He was accompanied by his
family, which consisted of his wife, Marie Antoinette, his sister,
daughter, and his only son, the dauphin of France. On the 21st
January 1793, the unfortunate monarch was beheaded; and his son,
still a prisoner, was partially acknowledged as Louis XVII., though
only in the ninth year of his age. This was but a mockery, for his
captivity only became the more close and cruel. He was separated from
his mother, and handed over to the custody of one Simon, a ferocious
cobbler, and his wife, who, besides practising all sorts of external
cruelties on him, tried every means to demoralise his mind. When this
ruffian was promoted to a seat in the 'Commune' (a kind of common
council), the royal prisoner's hardships increased. He was shut up in
a room, rendered totally dark both night and day. In this he was kept
for a whole year, without once being allowed to leave it; neither was
his body or bed linen changed during that time. The filth, stench,
and vermin amidst which the child dragged on his existence, at
length, it is said, terminated it. On the eve of death, his
persecutors sent the physician Dessault to see if his life could be
prolonged by better treatment; but the doctor's reply was that it was
too late: nothing could save him; and his demise was announced to
have taken place on the 8th of June 1795, at the age of ten years and
two months. The National Convention, which then managed the public
affairs, appointed a commission to verify the event, and the body was
opened by two surgeons, named Pelletan and Dumangin. In speaking of
the remains, they describe them as a corpse 'represented to us as
that of Charles-Louis.' The doctor Pelletan took out the heart, and
preserved it in spirits of wine; which he gave to the deceased's
sister when she had married the Duke d'Angoulême. The rest of the
body was huddled with other corpses into a common grave in the
cemetery of the parish of St Margaret; so that, at the restoration of
the Bourbons in 1815, when Louis XVIII. desired that the remains of
his predecessor should be disentombed, they could not be
distinguished.
The equivocal wording of the medical report, aided by other
suspicions, caused an idea to gain extensive currency that a dead
child had been substituted for the royal infant; and that he had
escaped from his jailers by a well-laid plan, carried out by his
partisans. This notion was so prevalent, that we find, amongst the
records of the Convention, a decree dated June 14, 1795--only six
days after the date fixed as that of the young king's death--ordering
him to be sought for along all the roads of the kingdom. However, the
better-informed part of the community were firmly convinced that
Louis XVII. was dead and buried; and from that time till 1832, the
belief was never effectually disturbed. Taking advantage of the
doubt, several impostors made their appearance, claiming to be the
prince. The first of these was one Hervagaut, who, when discovered to
be a tailor's son, was condemned in 1802 to four years' imprisonment.
In 1818, Mathurin Bruneau, a shoemaker, tried the same trick; but
failing, was sentenced to seven years' imprisonment. In short, no
fewer than fifteen impostors have been enumerated; all of whom
pretended to be the wretched young prince, returned from exile after
escaping from the Temple. The latest claimant is the subject of the
present notice; and so startlingly do some of the circumstances of
his career coincide with the short history of the son of Louis XVI.,
that many well-informed persons really believe he was the person he
represented himself to be.
Between the termination of Charles-Louis's imprisonment by death or
otherwise, and the appearance of this individual on the scene, it may
be necessary to remind the reader that several revolutions and
counter-revolutions had swept over France. Napoleon's career had
begun and ended; the allies had seated the Bourbons on the throne in
the person of Louis XVIII., brother to Louis XVI., and uncle to his
latest predecessor; Charles X. had succeeded, and was driven from the
throne by the revolution of 1830, which seated Louis-Philippe on it
in his stead. All these events had taken place when the story of the
so-called Duke of Normandy commences.
On an unusually hot evening for the season--an early day in the May
of 1832--a man covered with dust, and who appeared to be borne down
with fatigue, entered Paris through the Barrier d'Italie. Still, he
traversed the Boulevard de l'Hôpital with a firm step, being a fine
well-made man, apparently about forty-eight years old. On arriving at
the bridge of Austerlitz, he crossed to the toll-bar at the further
extremity, and was accosted by the keeper, an invalid soldier, who
demanded the toll. Upon this he made a sign that he did not
understand French; but, on the other pulling out a sous piece, to
intimate the nature of his demand, the stranger shook his head,
heaved a deep sigh, and, after some hesitation, drew forth a fine
handkerchief, which he threw towards the toll-keeper, and hastened
away in the direction of the Boulevard Bourbon, to Père la Chaise. He
got within the gates just before they were closed for the night, and
concealing himself amongst the tombs and bushes, escaped the notice
of the watchmen. It was thus that the stranger passed his first night
in Paris.
The day was far advanced when he was found, too much overcome by
hunger and fatigue to rise. A gentleman accidentally passing,
observed and pitied his condition. After supplying him with some
food, he recommended him to solicit the assistance of a benevolent
lady whom he named, as she was known far and near for her readiness
to help foreigners in distress; besides, she spoke the German
language fluently, the only one the worn-out traveller understood.
Acting upon this advice, he repaired to the generous Comtesse de R.'s
residence, at No. 16 Rue Richer. She was a lady well stricken in
years, and preserved an enthusiastic veneration for the Bourbon
branch of the royal family, having been _femme de chambre_ to the son
of Louis XVI. When the wretched wayfarer presented himself to her,
she naturally inquired who he was. To which he replied in German, 'I
am Charles-Louis, Duke of Normandy, son of Louis XVI. and Marie
Antoinette.' Upon hearing this unexpected reply, the good old
countess fainted. On recovering her senses, she exclaimed, 'Good
Heavens! he is the very image of his unfortunate mother!' On calmer
reflection, however, she was but half convinced, and determined to
put the stranger's identity to another test. She had kept as a relic
a little blue robe with metal buttons, which was worn by the royal
infant when she nursed him. This she brought forth; and the stranger
no sooner saw it, than he exclaimed, 'Ah, my little coat!' After
this, Comtesse de R. declared her belief that he was her prince to be
so firm that she would have died on the scaffold rather than recant.
Without hesitation, she gave up the best apartments of her house for
his use and occupation; she even offered for his acceptance the
remains of her fortune. This, however, he at once refused, asking no
more from her than that she would send for a tailor to equip him with
habiliments more in accordance with his pretensions than the tatters
he then wore. This the countess did, and was not slow in imparting to
her royalist friends of whom she was the honoured hostess. All
acknowledged the extraordinary similarity both in person and manner
which the stranger bore to the royal family. Some were enthusiastic
believers; others, with all their _legitimist_ enthusiasm, were
sceptical. Amongst the former was a certain Monsieur S. de L., who
thought the appearance of the 'prince' a miracle in reference to that
particular time. Louis-Philippe, when he accepted the crown nearly
two years before, had done so with great apparent reluctance. 'How
happy, therefore, will he be,' said this visionary politician, 'to
remove the burden of the state from his own shoulders to those of the
rightful heir to the throne!' But before so curious a proposition was
made to the king of the French, the other royalists consulted M. de
Talleyrand. He replied, with his usual epigrammatic irony, 'There are
some people who are born with two left hands. This is poor S.'s case:
added to which, he seems to have been brought into the world without
brains.' Upon this the party wisely determined to keep the 'prince's'
presence in Paris as quiet as possible. Another of his adherents, M.
de Forbin Janson, the fiery bishop of Nancy, suggested that, as the
illustrious stranger's chance of the throne was somewhat remote, he
should enter the church, in which the highest dignities awaited him.
This was also found to be impracticable when Neündorf (the name by
which the 'prince' now declared he had hitherto been known) revealed
that he was a married man, and the father of six children.
The more sceptical part of his adherents very naturally wished to
know--supposing his story to be true--how in his early years he
escaped from the Temple; and when the stranger had sufficiently
mastered the French language--which he took but a short time to
acquire--he gave a most circumstantial and plausible account of his
early adventures. His narrative was carefully noted down at the time,
and, translated, consists in substance as follows: 'I cannot be said
to have _escaped_ from my jailers,' he began, 'for I left the prison
in the most natural manner possible. Some time before the day of my
supposed death, a royalist committee was formed for the purpose of
saving me. One of these was M. Frotté, who, as the pupil of my
physician Dessault, was allowed free ingress and egress to the
Temple. One day he entered my cell, motioned me to be silent, seized
me, and dragged me to a cabinet under the spire of the tower. A sick
child who had been given over by the faculty was substituted in my
place, and he, dying two days after (8th June 1795), was buried as
Louis XVII. At my supposed death, there being no more prisoners in
the Temple, all the keepers and guards were withdrawn, and I was
conducted outside the walls without meeting a single official. The
ruse, however, got wind, and the decree of the 14th of June was the
consequence. To frustrate this, the royalist committee caused several
children to personate me, imparting to the impostors several
circumstances connected with my family. One they sent to Bordeaux,
another to La Vendée, a third to Germany, and so on. These are the
children who, when they became men, tried to keep up the character
which they had been previously taught to play. This explains the
incredible number of false _dauphins_ who have appeared.' He ended by
declaring that when, in 1814, the Congress of Vienna ceded the crown
of France to Louis XVIII., they knew perfectly well of his existence;
but the obligations the allies were under to 'his uncle,' overwhelmed
the scruples they felt at investing that prince with a sovereignty to
which he had no title.
One thing appeared improbable--how the assumed prince should have
forgotten his native language. He was ten years of age at the period
of his leaving France, and spoke French as cleverly as any other boy,
if not more so. How, then, did he lose this faculty? A residence in
Germany, even for so great a length of time as thirty-seven years,
could hardly have obliterated the French language from his mind. This
does not appear to have teen explained, and, with some other
circumstances, it served to check the credulity of parties half
inclined to believe the representations of M. Neündorf.
Further proofs were therefore required; and several were afterwards
afforded. The details of the first are somewhat singular. At this
time (July 1832) there lived in the village of Gallardon, at the
extremity of Beauce, a peasant named Martin, who had the reputation
of receiving revelations from above, which he acquired so far back as
1818, when Mathew Burneau and other spurious princes made their
appearance. One Sunday in that year, during mass, Martin saw a vision
in which he said an angel commanded him to get an interview with
Louis XVIII., the purport of which should be afterwards revealed to
him. Immediately after his return from church, Martin having taken
leave of his wife and family, commenced his journey on foot to Paris.
On the fifth day he arrived there, went straight to the palace of the
Tuileries, and demanded to be admitted to the king. In the simplicity
of his heart, he told the guards that his mission was of a celestial
nature; but they, not finding messengers from above among the list of
visitors set down in the orders of the day, handed poor Martin over
to the municipal authorities, who transferred him to the Bicêtre
lunatic asylum. Here he remained for some time, during which his
exemplary piety and touching resignation attracted the attention and
respect of the principal physician, who often made him the subject of
general conversation. At the end of two months Louis heard of the
circumstance, and actually consented to see the harmless man. At the
interview, he imparted to the king the substance of a second
revelation; which was, that his majesty's nephew, Louis XVII., was
still alive, and would return at no very distant period; and that if
the king he addressed attempted to undergo the ceremony of
coronation, the direst calamities would follow; amongst others the
dome of the cathedral (of Rheims) would fall in, and crush every soul
taking part in the rites. Whether the majesty of France took any
serious heed of this enthusiast's warning, it is impossible to say;
but one thing is certain--Louis XVIII. never _was_ formally crowned.
When Martin returned to his village, he found that the king had
bought the house which he rented, and presented it to him to live in
for the rest of his days. This, together with his interview with
royalty--of which he of course made no secret--elevated the poor
visionary to the character of a prophet amongst the population of
that part of the country; many of whom indeed formed themselves into
a sect called Martinists, and devoutly expected the re-appearance of
the son of Louis XVI.
As these facts were notorious in 1818, they had not been forgotten in
1832, and it was not at all unnatural that the least credulous of the
Comtesse de R.'s friends should suggest that Neündorf should be shown
to the Beauce prophet. Accordingly, in September, a journey to St
Arnould, near Dourdan, was undertaken; and without saying who he was,
or pretended to be, Neündorf was there confronted with Martin. In an
instant, it is said, the prophet recognised him as the person he had
seen in his second vision as Louis XVII. His enthusiasm knew no
bounds; he embraced the 'prince' with tears of joy, and in the
evening the whole party heard mass at the modest little church of St
Arnould.
Whatever effect this scene may have had upon Neündorf's more educated
companions, it created a prodigious sensation in that part of the
country, and one which was extremely beneficial to the 'prince.' The
honest people could not do enough to testify their delight. After his
return to Paris, they organised subscriptions, in collecting which
the village priests took the lead. Under their influence the farmers
and peasantry subscribed not only cash, but produce, a regular supply
of which was sent every Saturday to Paris, under the charge of a
farmer of St Arnould, named Noel Pequet. It was ascertained that,
during the four months succeeding his appearance at St Arnould, the
value of upwards of £16,000 sterling was remitted to him from various
parts of France!
With these supplies, and the contributions of the Comtesse de R. and
her friends, Neündorf was able to take a house, and set up an
establishment, which he did as Duc de Normandie, the title which had
been given by Louis XVI. to his son. He began housekeeping on a scale
of regal magnificence. He bought a carriage, and collected a handsome
stud of horses. His servants' liveries were splendid, and adorned
with gilt buttons, on which was embossed a broken crown. He even went
so far as to form a court and appoint a ministry; and, that nothing
should be wanting, he actually started a newspaper to advocate his
cause. The gentleman who undertook the responsible editorship of this
journal having, however, neglected to deposit the securities required
by law with the proper authorities, was arrested, and condemned to a
long imprisonment; which he duly suffered. The unfortunate victim to
loyal sentiments was one M. Widerkeer. This was the only evidence
vouchsafed by the higher powers of their knowledge of the duke's
proceedings. That the government of Louis-Philippe did not apprehend
any very serious extent of belief in Neündorf's pretensions, must be
inferred from the immunity with which they allowed him to carry on
his proceedings, and to accept the contributions of the royalists. On
the other hand, it must be noticed that Louis-Philippe's seat on the
throne was not so firm as it afterwards became; and he may have been
afraid to disturb Neündorf, lest he should have excited the enmity of
a very powerful party.
It must be owned that the evidence which the pretender had hitherto
produced, was only calculated to gain over persons of limited
experience and strong legitimist prejudices. A circumstance, however,
which afterwards took place, was of a nature to stagger more
obstinate sceptics: it had indeed that effect. We translate it from
the words of an individual who was present when it happened. The Duc
de Normandie was at dinner, surrounded by several friends. 'Among the
company was an old lady, who, having recently arrived from the
provinces, had never heard of the "prince," and, on being presented
to him, was extremely astonished to find herself in the presence of
so illustrious a person. After dinner, the conversation turned upon
the duke's younger days, and the lady referred to addressed him in
these words--"I, monseigneur, never saw the dauphin; but an old
friend, who was constantly near his person in his infancy, has
described to me that from the midst of his lower jaw there sprung out
two teeth. They were incisors, and as straight and pointed as the
teeth of a rabbit." Without speaking a word, he pulled open his lower
lip, and exhibited to the company such a pair of rabbits' teeth as
were described.'
This occurrence confirmed the duke's adherents in their belief of his
identity with the victim of the first revolution, and the presence of
the rightful heir to the throne of France created some stir in Paris.
Perhaps the aspirant to royalty and his friends felt disappointed
that the government did not evince its dread by some little
persecution, over and above the imprisonment of Widerkeer. To account
for this forbearance, dark suspicions were whispered regarding the
_secret_ intentions of the ruling powers; and these were not long in
being corroborated. One day in November, the duke expressed a desire
to imitate certain other royalties by examining the streets of the
capital, and mixing with its humble citizens _incog._ To this end he
sallied forth alone, and even condescended to take his dinner at
Véfour's celebrated restaurant. The evening was unusually dark, and
while returning to his house across the open space at the back of the
Tuileries (La Place de Carousal), he felt his shoulder suddenly
grasped by a strong hand, and in another instant a poniard was
plunged more than once into his breast, with the words, 'Die,
Capet!' [*] Fortunately, the intended victim wore inside his
coat a medal of the Virgin, which had belonged, it was understood, to
Marie Antoinette, his mother; this, receiving the point of the
dagger, preserved his life, though several flesh wounds were
inflicted. The assassin fled; nor did the duke make any alarm for
fear of being obliged to appear at the municipal guardhouse, and thus
get into the power of the government. When he reached home, he was
faint from loss of blood, and kept his bed for a fortnight.
[Footnote: _Meurs, Capet!_--Capet is the family name of the Bourbons,
as Guelph is that of the House of Brunswick.]
The suspicions of foul-play entertained by his 'court' were
confirmed; they regarded the bravo as an emissary of the government,
and the _'Meurs, Capet!'_ as an acknowledgment of the duke's right to
the crown! There were, however, ill-natured people who went about
hinting that, as the victim was quite alone, and became the teller of
his own story, the diabolical deed _might_ have been done by himself,
to strengthen the faith of his followers. Nor were these sceptics
silenced when the gashes in the coat, the dents in the medal, and the
blood of the royal sufferer was pointed out. But upon the whole,
whether true or false, the circumstance materially strengthened the
duke's position; and, on recovery, he began to play the prince in
earnest.
He wrote to the Duchess of Berri, and to 'his sister' the Duchess of
Angoulême. To the latter he offered to prove his identity in the
following manner: 'When in the Temple,' he said, 'our royal mother
and our aunt wrote several lines on a paper, which paper was cut in
halves. One piece was given to you, and when we meet I will produce
its fellow, which has never been out of my possession since our fatal
separation.' The truth of this was never put to the test, for no
answer was deigned to his letter.
At length the state in which the Duke of Normandy lived, the constant
visits of his increasing partisans, and his general proceedings,
attracted the attention of the police; and the heir to the French
throne was made to understand that he stood a likely chance of being
thrown into prison, and brought up to answer for his conduct before
the Court of Assize. Upon this he determined to live less
ostentatiously, and withdrew to a hotel in the Rue St Guillaume (No.
34), with which address none but a chosen few of his devoted
partisans were made acquainted. Though formerly disappointed at
having been passed so contemptuously over by the authorities, he now
seemed in great dread of them. He never dared to appear abroad, and
instituted particular signs and modes of knocking at his door, when
those in the secret wished admittance. The proprietor of the house
entertained from these proceedings very disagreeable suspicions, and,
lest he should get into trouble himself, gave his illustrious lodger
notice to quit. Some weeks after, the claimant of the crown was
really arrested; but exile, and not imprisonment was his doom. He was
placed in the _coupe_ of a diligence between two policemen, and
conducted beyond the frontiers of France. In 1838 we find him in
England, still calling himself the Duke of Normandy.
He took up his quarters in Camberwell Green, near London, and in
November of the above year, suffered a second attempt upon his life.
He was, it seems, returning from an outhouse in the garden, when a
man confronted him, and fired two pistols at his breast. He pushed
aside the weapons with the candlestick he happened to be carrying;
but two bullets entered his left arm. The assassin escaped over a
drain into a back-street; but having been recognised, was
subsequently captured. A surgeon was sent for, and the bullets
extracted, after having done no serious injury. The criminal turned
out to be one of his late adherents, by name Desire Rousselle; who,
on examination before the magistrates of the police-office at Union
Hall, could assign no motive for the deed; and after two more
examinations he was discharged, the duke declining to prosecute. The
next appearance of his grace of Normandy at a police-office was in
character of defendant. It seems that he had turned his attention to
the art of pyrotechnics, and his explosive experiments were so
alarming to the quiet neighbourhood of Camberwell, that he was
summoned to answer for his conduct; but on promising not to repeat
it, the complaint was dismissed. It would appear that his experiments
were not altogether useless; for at a trial of newly-invented shells
before the Board of Ordnance at Woolwich, the duke's missiles were
declared either second or third, we forget which, in point of
efficiency. Indeed he seems to have occupied himself almost
exclusively with scientific pursuits whilst in England. At Chelsea,
whither he removed, the duke constructed a set of work-shops and
laboratories, in which he, with his assistants and pupils, diligently
wrought. In what his scientific labours and experiments would have
resulted, it is impossible to say, for they were interrupted by a
third attempt on his life. While alone in one of his work-shops, late
at night, a bullet was fired at him from a hidden and still
undiscovered enemy. The shot missed him; but, afraid to remain in
this country any longer, he retired to Delft, in Holland, where it
seems he died a natural death on the 10th of August 1845.
Whatever opinions may be formed of the truth of this individual's
story of his birth, it is certain that a great many persons in
France, whose opinions are entitled to respect, believed him to have
been Louis XVII. Amongst the notices in the French papers to which
his decease gave rise, was a note written by M. Herbert, once
director of the military posts in Italy. It appears that when in that
office, the man Neündorf was, in 1810, arrested at Rome, and
interrogated by M. Radet, chief of police in that city: the latter,
pronounced him to be in reality the son of Louis XVI. Than M. Radet,
there could not be a better judge of the matter, for he happened to
be one of the five persons who arrested Louis and his family when
they tried to quit France, and were intercepted at Varennes. Our own
impression is, notwithstanding this and all other circumstances to
the contrary, that the man was an impostor, and such we believe will
also be the impression generally among our readers.