“HONOURED LADY,
“It is enough for me that you are pleased with what I have
done, and if you keep your goodwill for me, my delight will be
complete.
“You must never doubt of our everlasting remembrance of you,
whom we love and esteem for your rare and excellent qualities.
I have heard how much vexed you were by the ignorance of the
copyists; I could not have believed they could be so stupid and
illiterate; but the Bishop will have all that remedied.
“All these unlooked-for difficulties must have worried you and
delay our progress still more; I am truly sorry for it, and
if I could have foreseen it, I would have offered to make the
copies myself.
“During my examination I answered every question put to me,
and I wanted to add what I told you at Ravenna; but I was
told that, as that could not strengthen my deposition, it was
useless to include it in the case. I did not fail to ask the
sisters Bandini if they had not still got some remains of the
correspondence between the Countess Camilla and the Comte de
Joinville, but they always answered that they had absolutely
nothing left of it.
“And that must be true; for if they possessed any of your
parents’ letters they would have thought of making something
out of them to relieve their poverty.
“Your nurse at Modigliana was the mother of a woman who is
still alive; as to that of the exchanged boy, no one has been
able to give me news of her; and prudence would have prevented
the author of so atrocious a crime from choosing her about
here, and also from leaving any trace of the direction in which
the Comtesse de Joinville, with her attendants, went.
“I will go to Modigliana shortly, where I will make it my duty
to make every possible inquiry, as you desire; but I greatly
fear they will be fruitless, like those of so many others whom
you employed before me, amongst whom was the Signore Ragazzini,
who took immense trouble.
“I think I have now answered all the questions in your letter,
which I received from your courier, from whom we heard, to
our great delight, that you and your beloved Edward, to whom
we send our best love, are in perfect health. Your friend[6]
swears an eternal affection for you; she joins with me in
wishing you the greatest success and a full recovery of your
sacred rights.
“Believe, honoured lady, that my protestations of respect and
attachment could not be more sincere; and I can flatter myself
that, from the moment I made your personal acquaintance, I
was, and shall always be, proud to be your humble and devoted
servant, as well as your very affectionate friend.
“NICHOLAS BORGHI-BIANCOLI.”
After so much anxiety, worry and fatigue, I felt the greatest need of
rest, and my dear Marchioness of B. having most luckily told me that she
was at the baths of Lucca, I hastened to throw myself into her loving
arms there.
She told me that, about six weeks after my going to Paris, she had
written the _Duke of Orleans_ a second letter of introduction for me,
and said that she had been much surprised that _that Prince_ had not
acknowledged its receipt, and had not even taken the trouble to thank her
for the news she had given him of her daughter’s marriage to Lord S.
For it is as well to know that, during the time of their exile, the _Duke
and his two brothers_[7] had received from Mr. C., the Marchioness’s
father, an annual pension of £200 and permi to dine with him as often as
they pleased.
[Illustration: THE DUKE OF ORLEANS]
The Marquess of B. had given them a similar invitation, and had offered
them the use of a country house a short distance from London.
The Duc de Montpensier, filled with gratitude, was so greatly attached to
him that he had himself carried to him just before his death, saying that
he must go to give an eternal farewell to his best friend.
This Prince having died of consumption at the age of thirty-two, the
unfortunate Comte de Beaujolais, already attacked by the same disease,
was taken by his _elder brother_ to a milder climate, and died at Malta
during his twenty-eighth year.
On his return to England, the present Duke applied once more to Mr. C.
and the Marquess of B. and obtained fresh favours and assistance, to
supply, as he said, the needs of his mother and _sister_.
A short time after the Restoration, the Marchioness being in Paris, he
went to see her, thanked her for all her good offices, vowed eternal
gratitude to her and pressed her to go to spend a few days at Neuilly.
Her health prevented her from yielding to his gracious entreaties or
those of the Duchess, who also showed her great kindness; but from that
time there began a very friendly and almost fraternal correspondence
between the Duke and my friend, which was interrupted only by the sending
of the letter concerning me.
I could easily explain to my friend the cause of this silence, by telling
her of all that had happened since I had had the happiness of seeing her.
The enormous expenses I had incurred had exhausted my funds, and I asked
her to be so good as to advance me something.
At first she refused, pleading that her intimacy with the Duke would not
allow her to provide weapons against him; but my arguments, and still
more her own love for me, little by little convinced her, and she ended
by lending me the sum I needed.
With scrupulous delicacy she informed my adversary of this, assuring him
that it was solely to give me the power of paying off my old debts and
not with the intention of helping me to make war on him.
Instead of a direct answer to so expansive a confidence, a thousand
tortuous ways were taken to convince my friend that my claims were
nothing but a tissue of lies, and everything possible was done to deprive
me of her affection.
But her never-failing answer was: “Let her ideas be true or false, my
heart will always be with one whom I love like another self.”
As soon as I had somewhat recovered, I went to Genoa, so as to be more
within reach of news from France, whither I had made up my mind to send
a certain Chevalier Montara whom a lady in Lucca had described as being
a very clever man. I gave him my instructions and £300 sterling, for the
journey as well as for the investigations he would have to make, and
ordered him to submit the whole thing to his Majesty Louis XVIII.
His first letters were very encouraging, and they came pretty frequently;
soon they became rarer and rarer; he tried to arouse fears in me; he
pleaded serious illness, squandered my money, and, in fact, did nothing
for me.
About this time, I was reminded that the Duc de Bourbon-Condé, during his
misfortunes, had received much civility from Lord Newborough’s relations.
Delighted at this reminiscence, I thought I might take the liberty of
writing a very respectful and touching letter to His Highness, begging
him to give me his advice.
My letter was delivered, opened, and having been looked at, was
ignominiously returned to the person who had undertaken to take it.
The secretary who gave it back to him censured my action, accused me of
audacity, and treated my business as a chimerical delusion.
After this disappointment I was advised to have recourse to Madame la
Dauphine.
A literary man of high reputation undertook to draw up my petition after
the most proper fashion; but when he came to read it to me, I must
confess that it seemed to me far from likely to convince any one of the
truth, especially at a time so fertile in impostors.
Despite the doubts which I thought might be caused by my ignorance of
a language that was still almost unknown to me, I decided to have it
presented by a gentleman residing in Paris, who, at the end of three
weeks wrote that he must not again be given such commissions; that he had
been asked several questions he could not answer, and that he had found
himself, without any manner of doubt, under the special observance of the
police.
This fresh worry was all the more trying since my stay in Genoa was
disturbed by a multitude of other anxieties.
Not content with distributing copies of the judgment given at Faenza,
I had an article inserted in a newspaper[8] containing a summary of my
case, in which I asked for fresh information concerning my father and
mother, whom I designated only by the initial J.
No one could believe that they were simply nobles; everybody was
whispering august names; but as the Orleans family was allied with all
the reigning families of Italy, fear seized upon all hearts and closed
all lips.
Only one man made his appearance: a former magistrate who had known old
Chiappini well.
As a matter of fact, his evidence would have been much more useful to
me before the verdict given in my favour, but at least it will serve to
confirm it. Let us listen to it.
“I, the undersigned, certify and declare what follows, on my
soul and conscience—
“In the year 1808, having sent in my resignation of the post
of substitute of the Attorney-General in the Criminal Court
of the department called that of the Apennines, I retired to
Florence, where I lived until the month of April 1813, the date
of my departure for Rome. At the beginning of my residence
in the first of these two towns, I made the acquaintance of
Lorenzo Chiappini, with whom I sometimes dined at the house
of the doctor, Pietro Salvi. In 1810, I met him, with other
Florentines, in the immense house of the old Chartreuse, where,
like me, he had hired rooms to spend the summer in. The more
we saw of each other the more intimate and familiar became our
intercourse, especially on his side.
“Very soon he told me the most minute details of a journey he
had made to London to see one of his daughters, married, he
said, to a rich English lord who had fallen in love with her on
hearing her sing in a theatre.
“He could not say enough about the splendour of his
son-in-law’s house, nor of the welcome he had received there;
told me some coarse stories about Great Britain; described the
manners of the inhabitants; constantly repeated that all his
happiness lay in that darling daughter, and assured me that
he would give the world to procure the pleasure of seeing her
again.
“The next year he was attacked by some slight malady, and one
day, as I went to see him pretty frequently, he confessed to me
that he had a great burden on his conscience. I tried in vain
to make him listen to some words of comfort; nothing could cure
his melancholy.
“Another time, the talk having turned on the same subject, I
said that if he had not been guilty of theft—a sin God does
not pardon without restitution—all else could be expiated by
repentance. At that he made a clean breast of everything, and
confided to me that, having been in his youth keeper of the
prisons at Modigliana, he exchanged his firstborn son for the
daughter of a foreign nobleman, and that it was that daughter
who was married in London, and that he should feel never-ending
regret for so having helped to deprive her of her birthright.
“Having strongly advised him to reveal such a secret to his
generous benefactress, who must most certainly rejoice over it
because of the honour and profit it would bring her, he said
that he had already thought of doing so, and only wanted to
avoid any sort of fuss during his life; but he should manage
so that everything should be discovered after his death. He
added that this seemed sufficient reparation due to the lady,
considering her present condition of grandeur and opulence.
“He talked after the same fashion to me on several other
occasions, and I always found him fixed in that resolve.
“This is what I heard from Chiappini’s own lips, and I am
prepared to confirm it, if necessary, legally and by oath.
“In testimony whereof,
“LOUIS COURTILLY,
“Lawyer.”
This very clear and precise deposition was far from compensating me for
all the disagreeables brought upon me by my harmless advertisements.
Researches made in the Public Archives of the town I was living in
brought to light almost nothing about the year 1773; the Keeper of the
Records declared that the books relating to that period had been put
together in a place I must not enter without special permission, and
where, he told me, memorandums of great importance were kept.
But it was impossible to get anything out of the Governor, who was my
sworn enemy.
The day after the appearance of my article he had severely reprimanded
the journalist I had employed.
He often gave balls, concerts and entertainments of all kinds, to which
all the English ladies, from those of high rank down to the wives of
the smallest tradespeople, were invited; I alone was deprived of this
_immense honour_.
One day he went so far as to express to my banker the greatest desire
for my speedy departure. “I am ordered,” he said, “to keep the strictest
watch over her.”
My banker replying that he could not understand the reason of it, since
all I was doing was in order to discover a Comte and Comtesse Joinville—
“Yes,” said this officious governor; “but it isn’t very easy to prove
that this Count and Countess are no other than the former Duke and
Duchess of Chartres?”
But that was not all.
Fifteen days after the appearance of my article in the _Gazetta di
Genova_, my ex-brother, the advocate Chiappini, sent me by post a
so-called answer he had had put into the public papers, boasting of
having obtained the permission of the Government. Adorned with all the
flowers of speech an infamous pen could indite, such a libel was well
worthy of its author.
Although my reputation stood immeasurably high above his insults, at
first I wanted to answer them.
The first printer I spoke to refused his services, under the pretext
that he had received orders in the matter; I had successive recourse to
several others, who all likewise put me off. Not only at Genoa, but at
Florence, Bologna and Alessandria—everywhere they had been threatened
with severe penalties in case of disobedience.
Tomaso Chiappini had not confined himself to spreading atrocious
calumnies against me; I heard that he was accusing my witnesses of
imposture, and that several of them, alarmed by the sinister rumours he
circulated, and believing themselves irretrievably ruined, were cursing
me and declaring that I had involved them in the greatest trouble.
Amongst these was the Count Borghi, who henceforth became once more my
enemy.
The whole country was topsy-turvy; but all these intrigues, all these
diabolical plots fell to the ground.
I wrote to the Bishop of Faenza, who could not get over his astonishment,
but exhorted me to suspend judgment on the persons whose perfidious
inconstancy I was denouncing, and assured me that the truth was too well
established for anything henceforth to shake it.
His letter, which I carefully treasure, is dated July 20, 1826.
If that of this venerable prelate, illustrious by his learning and
formerly Patriarch of Venice, was flattering and an honour, another,
which I received from the Cape of Good Hope, was as vile and filthy.
It can easily be guessed it was the work of that other Chiappini to whom
Lord Newborough had shown so much kindness.
The most malignant rage was manifest through the whole of it, beneath
the hideous hues of expressions as indescribably ignoble as they were
ridiculous.
To do full justice to it, it would doubtless be enough to let it be seen
as it is; but I should fear to disgust my readers.
V
I go to Nice—Rudeness of the Governor—Letter from
Alquier-Caze—My Precautions—Demands, and Remittances—Second
Journey to Paris—Conversation—A Gouty Colonel—Expenses—Return
to Nice—Letters from my Husband—His Arrival—That of the
Marchioness of B.—A Transient Happiness.
Being so ill-treated at Genoa, and also wishing to be still nearer to
France, in the month of September 1825, with my son, his tutor and my
servants, I left and went to live in a country house I had rented near
the gates of Nice, where I was unlucky enough to come across a governor
still stiffer and ruder than that of the town I had just left.
But what could so many unjust proceedings do but confirm me still more in
the justice of my high claims! For it was easy enough for me to see that
they were dictated by a powerful hand, and I could not believe that that
kind of enemy would fight mere phantoms.
A little before this I had received a letter from Paris, written by a
certain Alquier-Caze, who introduced himself and offered me his services.
“I have been well posted up in the case,” he wrote; “I know its delicacy,
I see its difficulties; but I don’t feel any qualms about undertaking it;
and I even count on a speedy success if you will deign to honour me with
your complete confidence.”
Afraid of falling again into the hands of a rogue, I sent him a very
guarded and cautious letter; but he was not at all put out by it, and
replied in these terms—
“Madame la Baronne, the position you are in is such as to cause you
great anxiety. The importance of the matter that fills your mind; the
uncertainty of its issue; the base machinations that perfidy has employed
against you; the kind of fatality that seems to pursue you, all combine
to give birth to endless doubts and apprehensions. But, believe me,
Madame, I feel the strongest conviction that, by my hands, Heaven will
give you the final victory over your enemies. Yes, that victory will be
my work. Up to now you have been deceived; up to now I have met with
nothing but ingratitude for my services; Fate keeps in reserve for each
of us an equally pleasant event; for you, that of seeing your confidence
justified by my vigorous efforts; for me, that of meeting at last with
a noble expression of gratitude. No, the soul of a Catalan is not an
ordinary soul, as the future will prove to you better than anything I
could say,” etc.
The confident warmth of this shook me. I had some inquiries made about
him, and as I was told he was a young lawyer of good repute, bold and
clever, I decided to confide my documents to him.
He wrote soon, declaring that he had already made some valuable
discoveries, intimating at the same time that the lure of gain was
absolutely necessary for obtaining good evidence.
I at once set about sending off a considerable sum to him, which was but
the prelude to the many other such disbursements the necessity of which
he was continually urging.
This had gone on for several months, when, some weeks after my arrival
at Nice, I received a fresh letter from Caze, telling me that he was
beginning the attack at the reopening of the Courts; that he greatly
wished to confer with me beforehand, and urging me so strongly to come
to Paris before the 1st of November, that I set out at once, taking with
me my dear son and his tutor.
In spite of all the haste we made, we could not manage to arrive before
the 2nd of November. I took a suite of rooms in a large hotel in the
Place Vendôme, and not till two days later did I receive the first visit
of my _assiduous_ lawyer.
Compliments exchanged, this represents the substance of what passed
between us—
“Have you got your husband’s authority, madame?” “No, monsieur.” “But
that is a document without which we can do nothing.” “You ought to have
warned me of that six months ago.” “I most sincerely beg your pardon
for not having thought of it.” “It is very annoying to have taken so
long and expensive a journey uselessly.” “Far from being useless, it was
indispensable.” “I don’t see why.” “Wasn’t it necessary for us to arrange
together what it would be best to attempt so as to ensure complete
success?”
“That could have been done by writing, or after I had been furnished
with the power-of-attorney.”
“Yes; but I was longing to tell you in person what I could not confide to
paper.”
“What are these very important communications, then?” “I have succeeded
in discovering that the very year of the exchange the Duc de Chartres,
your father, was staying at Berne, under the name of the Comte de
Joinville, in an inn the then landlady of which is still alive; and where
he scandalized everybody by his profligate conduct. I believe I can get
a certification of this from the local authorities. Another of my agents
has informed me that the Marquise de Boucherolles, an old friend of your
mother’s, testifies that that Princess was on bad terms with her supposed
son, and often made mysterious remarks that are in perfect agreement with
the facts of the case.
“The same agent spoke to me of a certain M. d’Echouards, who knows of
the testimony of the late Madame Cambise to the effect that, on her
death-bed, the Dowager suffered greatly from a troubled conscience. He
told me, too, that the late mother-in-law of the Comte de Saillan was
one of the travelling-party in 1773. Moreover, on this point I have
three witnesses _de visu_, and am just about to procure three more still
living.” “Will you be so very kind as to introduce them to me?” “Most
willingly; but I shall still need a little more money to give them enough
courage. That’s by far the best card to play, especially in Paris.”
Bewitched by his talk and his protestations, I opened my purse, and my
poor pennies disappeared into that of my artful juggler, who, the next
day, appeared once more, bringing with him a gouty old Colonel, who,
almost before he got into the room, addressed me in the following words—
“As I am well acquainted with the family of the Baron de Sternberg, I
want to help you as much as I possibly can. The judgments of men being
always doubtful, you may perhaps fail in obtaining the justice you seem
to expect from legal tribunals; but it would be quite easy for you,
through my intervention, to arrive at a satisfactory settlement.”
Astonished at such a speech, I promptly exclaimed: “No, no; I would never
consent to submit to such a disgrace.”