NAUNDORFF
What was this new mystery? Why should this man give me his name, for I
was forced to retain it? When we reached Weimar, my benefactor
disappeared. The freedom I breathed inebriated me and I ceased
wondering. On reaching Berlin, I put up at an inn, where I was soon
visited by the police who asked how long I intended to remain in the
capital. I referred them to the passport which I had delivered to the
city's authorities and thus did I imbue myself forever with the
personality of my fellow passenger. On filing an application for
admission into the army, I was coldly informed that His Majesty did not
receive foreigners into the Prussian ranks.
Discouraged and almost destitute, I bethought me of my knowledge of
watchmaking and so it came to pass that I established myself in this
humble business. Thérèse, this is the sign I displayed outside my door:
Schutzenstrasse, 52. I was well patronized and lived contentedly until
an officer called to see my license. He asked me many questions,
demanded to be shown my baptismal certificate and a testimonial of good
conduct from the last parish in which I had lived. Having no such
documents, I was in great perplexity. At this juncture, a woman who
called herself Naundorff's sister, advised me to apply to Monsieur Le
Coq, Superintendent of the Prussian Police and a Frenchman by birth.
Before proceeding, I must explain that this woman, whose devotion to me
was as genuine as it was unremitting, had some time previous come from
some mysterious quarter to live in my house. Her industry made my
slender income yield me some comfort. Following her advice, I wrote to
Le Coq, revealing to him my entire history. He came to visit me and
demanded to see the proofs of my identity. I showed him some of my
documents,--those which had been sewed by Montmorin in the collar of the
ragged coat which I had worn during my vagrancy. They included letters
belonging to our mother and our father's seal. Le Coq was amazed and
remarked that he could give me no advice until after consulting with the
King. On the following day, he came to say that I must relinquish the
documents. I was forced to obey, saving only a portion of the seal.
From that moment, I was dogged by the police and finally driven out of
Berlin.
"You are in danger here," said Le Coq. "The magistracy has not forgotten
that no corroborating documents rendered your passport valid. Go to some
little town and be there known by the name of Naundorff."
A guard was furnished for my protection. I was admonished to observe the
strictest reserve, for the eye of Napoleon was keen. Prussia dared not
incur his enmity.
"When you are asked for your papers," said Le Coq, as I was departing,
"answer that they are with the Court."
I went to Spandau in the search of peace, there to live in a coffin more
effectual than the one which had enclosed me as I left the Tower, that
is to say, the name "Naundorff." This spurious term was entered on the
village registers. There is not another instance in Prussian annals of
the right of citizenship being conferred upon a man in consequence of
the arbitrary adjustment of an official, in the absence of documentary
evidence.
I put out my sign. The faithful woman--the so-called sister of
Naundorff--was with me still. However the arrangement had originated,
whether or not she acted as an instrument of my enemies, her devotion
was genuine. To silence malicious tongues, I called her sister.
Europe was convulsed with war. "Is the Corsican's power to be broken?" I
would ask myself. And then a wild hope of recovering my name and rank
would take possession of me, in spite of the injunctions regarding
caution from Le Coq, who visited me about this period. Then came the
news of Napoleon's overthrow, followed by our uncle's ascending the
throne and of your marriage, Thérèse, to our cousin, the Duke of
Orleans. Thus did you become an accomplice in the usurpation. From many
sources you and our uncle had tidings of my misfortunes, and these
rumors were corroborated by documents found in the belongings of
Josephine, Barras, Pichegru and even Napoleon. I at the time wrote
letters to you both, letters which I know reached your hands. You, whose
lips so often speak the name of God, dare not deny that you read my
messages.