Return to Rome—Departure from Florence—Testimony of the Sisters
Bandini—My Arrival in Champagne and in Paris—An Innocent
Ruse—Colonel Joinville—The Abbé de Saint-Fare—Visit to the
Palais-Royal—My Reflections—Lady Stuart—Advice.
After leaving my two eldest sons, I took the road to Rome, where I had
already made the acquaintance of Cardinal Consalvi, who showed me the
greatest kindness. By his order, all the archives were thrown open to
me; everything was examined into, not only in the capital, but in the
country round about the Apennines; but everywhere the answer was the
same: “Nothing whatever has been discovered; everything must have been
destroyed during the Revolution.”
Seeing that there was nothing to be done there, I set out for Faenza,
where I was informed that the Count Borghi was absent, and that,
moreover, it would be useless for me to see him, as he had declared
that he would never tell me anything at all. I heard even that he had
threatened the old servant-women with the withholding of their modest
pensions if they had the ill-luck of speaking to me. But they could not
restrain their longing to see me or the cry of their consciences. Their
first words when they met me were a simultaneous exclamation of “O Dio!
how like you are to the Comtesse de Joinville!”
I joyfully welcomed them and treated them gently; and having implored
them to acquaint me with the details concerning my birth, they at last
consented to speak perfectly openly.
“Our father, Nicholas Bandini,” they told me, “at the age of seventeen
entered the Borghi mansion as chief steward, and never left it till
his death. We, also, were taken on there in our youth as maids to the
Countess Camilla. That lady, with her son, the Comte Pompeo, was in the
habit of spending a good part of the year at their castle of Modigliana,
and in the beginning of the spring of 1773 we accompanied them there.
“On our arrival we found, already established in the Pretorial Palace,
a French couple, called the Comte Louis and the Comtesse Joinville.
The Comte had a fine figure, a rather brown complexion, and a red and
pimpled nose. As to the Comtesse, you can see almost her perfect image in
your own person, milady.
“Being such near neighbours, the greatest intimacy soon existed between
them and our masters. Every day the two families met, sometimes at one
house, sometimes at the other.
“The foreign stranger was extremely familiar with people of the lowest
rank, especially with Chiappini, the jailer, who lived under the same
roof. As it happened, both their wives were then _enceinte_, and the two
confinements appeared to be imminent.
“But the Comte was seriously anxious; his wife had not yet given him a
male child; and he was intensely uneasy lest he should never have one,
when of this very fear was born an idea, both barbarous and advantageous.
First he broached the subject to the Count Pompeo and his mother, from a
very charming point of view; then he endeavoured to worm himself more and
more into the warder’s confidence, and ended by telling him that, seeing
himself about to lose a great inheritance absolutely dependent on the
birth of a son, he was quite willing, in case he should have a daughter,
to exchange her for a boy, whose father he would largely recompense.
“The man who listened to his words, delighted to find unlooked-for luck
at so appropriate a moment, did not hesitate for an instant; he accepted
the offer, and the matter was settled on the spot.
“We know it,” the sisters Bandini went on, “because we heard it with our
own ears; and we know, too, that the event justified the precautions
taken; the Comtesse gave birth to a daughter, and the other woman to a
son. The news was brought to our masters, and one of us going into the
Pretorial Palace to see the newly-born children, was assured by some
women of the house that the exchange had really taken place. Chiappini,
who was present, confirmed it in his own words. Later on, the Countess
Camilla often repeated it to us; she used to say that the Comtesse
Joinville had been told all about it, and had seemed quite content.
“Soon after this abominable crime we ourselves saw the Comte and the
jailer on the best of terms; the first because he had secured immense
profit; the other because he had received much money. Although silence
had been promised, there were indiscreet people, and public rumour soon
accused the authors of this horrible transaction. The Comte Louis,
dreading the general indignation of his accusers, fled and hid himself
at Brisighella, in the convent of St. Bernard. We knew that he had been
arrested and then set at liberty, but we never saw him again.
“The lady left with her servants and her reputed son, while her
own daughter, baptized by the name of Maria Stella Petronilla, and
described as belonging to Lorenzo Chiappini and Vincenzia Viligenti,
always remained with these last. Our mistress was constantly distressed
about this misfortune. To repair it as much as possible she kept the
unfortunate child near her, caressing her and giving her all kinds of
presents, treating her not with ordinary friendliness, but with every
mark of ardent love. So she behaved to this child for the first four
years, that is to say, till Chiappini took her with him to Florence,
where he had her educated, and where he bought property with the price of
his frightful bargain.”
Thus spoke my venerable septuagenarians.
Fully satisfied with their story, there seemed no need of more, and that
now it would be enough to appear before my iniquitous parents and obtain
from them just reparation.
With this plan I set out for France with my third son, his
drawing-master, my maid, and my courier, a faithful and intelligent
servant.
By the Sieur Fabroni’s advice, we went straight to Champagne, and the
mere name of the place led us to Joinville. I asked the magistrates
for information, and was told by them all that no nobleman of the
neighbourhood bore the name of their city, and that it belonged solely to
the Orleans family.
After several inquiries, which all had the same result, I went to Paris,
arriving on July 5, 1823. As a cleverly used ruse may bring about an act
of justice, and as the bait of riches is nowadays the most powerful of
motives, I had the following advertisement inserted in several newspapers—
“The widow of the late Count Pompeo Borghi has asked Lady N.
S. to find for her in France a certain Louis, Comte Joinville,
who, with the Comtesse, his wife, was at Modigliana, a little
town in the Apennines, where the Comtesse gave birth to a son
on the 16th of April, 1773. If these two persons are still
living, or the child born at Modigliana, Lady N. S. has the
honour to announce to them that she has been empowered to make
them a communication of the highest interest. Supposing that
these persons can prove their identity, they have only to apply
to the Baronne de Sternberg, Hôtel de Belle-Vue, Rue de Rivoli.”
Two days later appeared a colonel bearing the much-desired name; I
received him with the warmest welcome. He spoke, recounting his various
titles. Alas! the one that had at first interested me so immensely was
quite recent, and came to him from Louis XVIII.
At that moment I was told that M. l’Abbé de Saint-Fare solicited the
honour of an interview; the colonel looked much astonished, and withdrew.
In his place entered an enormous man, wearing spectacles and supported by
two footmen. As soon as he was seated, the following conversation took
place—
“The Duke of Orleans, having seen your advertisement, has this morning
begged me to come and make inquiries about this inheritance; for we
presume that that is the matter in question, and at the date you mention
there was no one in existence outside the family to whom the title of
Comte Joinville could belong.”
“Was Monseigneur the Duke of Orleans born at Modigliana on the 16th of
April, 1773?”
“He was born that year, but in Paris, on the 6th of October.”
“Then I am very sorry that you should have taken the trouble to come; for
in that case he has no connection with the person I am looking for.”
“No doubt you have heard it said that the late Duke was very gay with
the fair sex, and the child in question might well be that of one of his
favourites.”
“No, no; its legitimacy is incontestable.”
“Could anything be more surprising! It is true the late Duke lived in the
midst of mysteries.”
“Could you not describe him to me, Monsieur?”
“Willingly, madame. He was a fine man, with a good leg; his complexion
was of a rather dark red, and, if it had not been for the numerous
pimples on his face, he would have been very good-looking.”
“And his character?”
“What people principally admired in him was his extreme affability to
every one.”
“Your description agrees exactly with that that was given me of the Comte
de Joinville.”
“Then it must be supposed that it was the Duke himself.”
“That can’t be if it is true that his son was born in Paris.”
“May I ask you if there is a large sum to be had, and when?”
“I am truly sorry not to be able to inform you; I am not at liberty to
say more.”
During the whole of this conversation, the big abbé had never left off
looking at me in an almost offensive way; and, trying to find out what
was my native tongue, he had spoken now in English, now in Italian,
without being able to make up his mind, in consequence of my speaking
both languages equally well.
After an hour’s talk he took leave, asking my permission to come again.
I replied that I should be delighted to see him again, and, in my
turn, begged him to be so good as to make inquiries amongst his many
acquaintances.
He kindly promised to do so, and added that he knew a very aged lady
from Champagne very well, and that she might be able to give him much
information, which he would transmit to me at once.
As nothing came of it, I sent M. Coiron, a teacher of French, who was
giving lessons to my son, to him.
M. de Saint-Fare treated him politely, pleaded indisposition, and made
all manner of excuses.
On Coiron presenting himself a second time, he was received very coldly,
and simply told that nothing had yet been done.
Moved by his own zeal and without my authority, he made a third attempt.
Then the abbé told him plainly that he might discontinue his visits; that
the lady knew nothing at all, and that he himself did not want to have
anything to do with this fuss.
Still, the first impression his visit made on me could not be effaced.
I procured a ticket, and went with my friends to the Palais Royal.
What was my surprise on seeing in some of the portraits their extreme
resemblance either to me or to my children. My astonishment increased
when my young Edward, catching sight of a picture I had not yet noticed,
exclaimed, “Dieu! Maman, how much that face is like old Chiappini’s and
his son’s!”