THE jailer at that moment passed under our windows, and ordered us to be
silent.
What can he mean by the unfortunate duke of Normandy? thought I, musing
to myself. Ah! is not that the title said to be assumed by the son of
Louis XVI.? but that unhappy child is indisputably no more. Then my
neighbour must be one of those unlucky adventurers who have undertaken to
bring him to life again. Not a few had already taken upon themselves to
personate this Louis XVII., and were proved to be impostors; how is my
new acquaintance entitled to greater credit for his pains?
Although I tried to give him the advantage of a doubt, I felt an
insurmountable incredulity upon the subject, which was not subsequently
removed. At the same time, I determined not to mortify the unhappy man,
whatever sort of absurdity he might please to hazard before my face.
A few minutes afterwards he began again to sing, and we soon renewed our
conversation. In answer to my inquiry, “What is your real name?” he
replied, “I am no other than Louis XVII.” And he then launched into very
severe invectives against his uncle, Louis XVIII., the usurper of his
just and natural rights.
“But why,” said I, “did you not prefer your claims at the period of the
restoration?”
“I was unable, from extreme illness, to quit the city of Bologna. The
moment I was better I hastened to Paris; I presented myself to the allied
monarchs, but the work was done. The good Prince of Condé knew, and
received me with open arms, but his friendship availed me not. One
evening, passing through a lonely street, I was suddenly attacked by
assassins, and escaped with difficulty. After wandering through
Normandy, I returned into Italy, and stopped some time at Modena. Thence
I wrote to the allied powers, in particular to the Emperor Alexander, who
replied to my letter with expressions of the greatest kindness. I did
not then despair of obtaining justice, or, at all events, if my rights
were to be sacrificed, of being allowed a decent provision, becoming a
prince. But I was arrested, and handed over to the Austrian government.
During eight months I have been here buried alive, and God knows when I
shall regain my freedom.”
I begged him to give me a brief sketch of his life. He told me very
minutely what I already knew relating to Louis XVII. and the cruel Simon,
and of the infamous calumnies that wretch was induced to utter respecting
the unfortunate queen, &c. Finally he said, that while in prison, some
persons came with an idiot boy of the name of Mathurin, who was
substituted for him, while he himself was carried off. A coach and four
was in readiness; one of the horses was merely a wooden-machine, in the
interior of which he was concealed. Fortunately, they reached the
confines, and the General (he gave me the name, which has escaped me) who
effected his release, educated him for some time with the attention of a
father, and subsequently sent, or accompanied him, to America. There the
young king, without a sceptre, had room to indulge his wandering
disposition; he was half famished in the forests; became at length a
soldier, and resided some time, in good credit, at the court of the
Brazils. There, too, he was pursued and persecuted, till compelled to
make his escape. He returned to Europe towards the close of Napoleon’s
career, was kept a close prisoner at Naples by Murat; and, at last, when
he was liberated, and in full preparation to reclaim the throne of
France, he was seized with that unlucky illness at Bologna, during which
Louis XVIII. was permitted to assume his nephew’s crown.