Front matter (continued 2)

THE FALSE RICHARD THE SECOND OF ENGLAND.

A.D. 1404.

English history, unfortunately, furnishes several examples of royal claimants, whose pretensions have but too frequently caused great effusion of blood. One of the earliest of these cases occurred soon after the mysterious disappearance of Richard the Second from Pontefract Castle. How the king died, and by what means, is an unfathomable secret; but there is little reason for doubting that he was murdered by the adherents of Henry the Fourth. Many favoured the idea, however, that he had escaped from the hands of his jailers and had reached a place of safety. "It is most strange," remarks the old chronicler, Speed, "that King Richard was not suffered to be dead after he had so long a time been buried."

For some years rumours of the king being still alive and in Scotland were industriously circulated all over the country, and believed in by many; so that in 1404, when Warde, a Court jester, who much resembled the deceased monarch, was induced by a gentleman named Serle, or Serlo, to personate him, numbers, including some titled personages, were deceived into deeming that Richard was still alive.

The late king's privy seal was counterfeited, and letters despatched to many of his old adherents to assure them of his being alive, and of his intention to shortly show himself in England again. These "forged impositions" produced the desired effect upon many, including the old Countess of Oxford, who either credited or pretended to credit the intelligence, and distributed a number of gold and silver harts, such as Richard was accustomed to give his followers, to be worn as cognizances.

Henry soon heard of these proceedings, and Serle's messenger being arrested, gave up the names of the parties with whom he communicated. Several monks were arrested; the old Countess was imprisoned; and her private secretary, who had repeatedly affirmed that he had spoken with King Richard, was barbarously executed. Serle was soon afterwards betrayed into Henry's hands, and is declared to have confessed everything connected with the conspiracy. He was drawn on a sledge through all the principal towns from Pontefract to London, and executed at the latter place as a traitor. The alleged originator of the scheme and his abettors having been thus disposed of, the whole affair would appear to have been speedily forgotten.

THE FALSE MUSTAPHA OF TURKEY.

A.D. 1425.

Bajaret the First, surnamed Yilderim, or "The Lightning," from his impetuosity, after a long, uninterrupted career of victory, during which he had held all Europe at bay, in a single battle in 1402 succumbed to the irresistible power of Timur the Great, losing everything but life. Amongst those who fell in the almost unprecedented carnage of this terrible field was, it is supposed, Mustapha, the Turkish Sultan's eldest son and heir.

In 1403 Bajaret died, or, according to another authority, brained himself against the iron bars of the cage in which his conqueror is stated to have retained him. The remaining sons of the deceased monarch contrived to elude the vigilance of Tamerlane, and at once commenced fighting amongst themselves. For eleven years they kept the tottering empire in a chronic state of intestine warfare, but finally, Mohammed, the youngest, obtained the reins of power, and speedily reinstated the nation in its former glory. In 1422, after a short but successful reign, Mohammed the First died, and was succeeded by his son, Amurath the Second, who had just attained his eighteenth year.

Up to 1421 no one would appear to have entertained any doubt of the death of Prince Mustapha at the famous battle of Angora, when suddenly he, or a claimant to his name, appeared, and demanded the sovereignty of the empire, by virtue of being Bajaret's eldest son. Who this man was still remains doubtful. With the single exception of Nectori, who is, however, a creditable authority, all the Turkish historians declare this soi disant Mustapha to have been an impostor, whilst Christian writers, favouring the Greek cause, persistently assert him to have been the veritable prince himself.

Be the pretender who he may, no sooner did he emerge from obscurity than he obtained allies and adherents only too willing to share in the promised plunder of an empire. Joined by the Prince of Walachia, and by Djouneid, Governor of Nicopolis, whom the too generous Sultan Mohammed had already twice pardoned for rebellion, the claimant invaded Thessaly. Defeated and put to flight in the neighbourhood of Salonica, he took refuge in that city, putting himself under the protection of the Greek commandant, who justified his confidence by refusing to give him up to the vengeance of his conquerors. The Emperor Emanuel highly approved of the commandant's conduct, and to the request of his powerful neighbour, the Sultan, that he should surrender the fugitive, responded that no monarch could act so shamelessly as to deliver up a prince who sought an asylum at the foot of his throne. He promised, however, that during the lifetime of Mohammed, the soi disant Mustapha should not be permitted to leave the Greek court. The Sultan contented himself with this promise of the Emperor, and agreed to pay a pension of three hundred thousand astres* to the pretender; thus, it has been pointed out, tacitly recognizing him as of the royal blood. The Governor Djouneid and thirty of his companions were included in the treaty of pardon, but Mohammed invaded and ravaged the dominions of the Prince of Walachia, in revenge for the aid he had afforded the rebels.

* A Turkish coin value half-a-crown.

The following year Mohammed the First was struck with apoplexy, and died suddenly, leaving his empire, as before stated, to his son, Amurath the Second. The new ruler immediately advised the neighbouring princes of his accession to the Turkish throne, entering into alliances, and making truces or treaties of peace with such as had been hostile to the Ottoman power. All but the Greek Emperor appeared to be friendlily disposed, and he, doubtless thinking to take advantage of the new monarch's youth, instantly summoned Amurath to place his brothers in his hands, as hostages for the performance of some clause in his father's testament. Emanuel, moreover, threatened the youthful Sultan that unless he complied with the demand, he would release Mustapha, his uncle, the legitimate heir to the Turkish throne, and assist him by force of arms to recover his usurped rights.

Amurath's clever minister refused the demand with indignation, asserting that the law of the prophet did not permit the children of true believers to be brought up amongst ghiaours.* The Greek Emperor, true to his menace, and all unmindful of the dangerous vicinity of the Ottoman dominions to his own, set the pretender free, and gave him every requisite for the commencement of his dangerous adventure, upon condition that he made over Gallipoli, and several other towns, to the Greeks.

* Infidels; literally, dogs.

Thus befriended, the royal claimant, accompanied by ten galleys containing his followers and adherents, proceeded to Gallipoli, where he no sooner disembarked than the town and suburbs acknowledged his pretensions, only the garrison of the fortress holding out. Leaving a small besieging force before the town, he made rapid marches towards the Isthmus of Athos, his army increasing rapidly as he proceeded, and several places falling into his hands. The Sultan sent his Vizier to Adrianople, where he collected an army of thirty thousand men, with which to oppose the invaders. Several great vassals of the empire having now declared for Mustapha, he was quite prepared to face the imperial army, and as soon as it came in view he advanced courageously towards it, and commanded the troops to lay down their arms. As if by magic, says one historian, the soldiers obeyed, and the pretender suddenly found himself master of the situation without having to lose a single man. The unfortunate Vizier and his brother were captured; the former was put to death, but the latter released.

On receipt of this intelligence the fortress of Gallipoli capitulated, and Demetrius, the commander of the Greek forces, was about to garrison it with his soldiers when Mustapha interposed, and, unmindful of his treaty with Emanuel, said that he was not making war for the Emperor's profit. The Greeks, thus beholding all their hopes of aggrandizement dissipated, sought to renew their alliance with the Sultan, but their monarch obstinately persisting in his demand for Amurath's brothers being placed in his hands as hostages, the negotiations fell through.

As soon as the Ottoman sovereign learnt the defection of his army, he energetically set to work to collect another, and to obtain the aid of surrounding nations. Encouraged by the promise of victory given him by the saintly Emir of Bokhara, he proceeded with his hastily improvised forces to meet the rebels, ultimately taking up a strong position behind the river Ouloubad. Mustapha, on his side, was advancing quickly to give battle, when he was suddenly seized with a violent bleeding at the nose, which weakened him so much that for three days he was compelled to suspend the attack. The delay was fatal to him. Taking advantage of the respite, emissaries of Amurath penetrated into the hostile ranks, and persuaded large numbers of soldiers and officers to return to their former master, whilst the Arabs, who remained faithful to Mustapha, having attempted to surprise the imperial troops, were cut into pieces by the Janissaries. Djouneid, the thrice-dyed traitor, seeing how matters were going, still further injured the pretender's cause by passing over to the enemy with all his followers. Believing themselves abandoned by their chiefs, the soldiers fled in all directions in disorder, leaving their unfortunate leader in the company of a few servants. He took refuge in Gallipoli, but seeing the fleet of his fortunate rival approaching to besiege the place, he resumed his flight, and took shelter in Walachia. Betrayed, however, by some of his personal attendants, he was seized, taken to Adrianople, and put to death, having been hanged, according to some accounts, from the battlements of the city walls.

When the defeat and death of Mustapha was communicated to the Greek Emperor, he began to fear for himself. He despatched ambassadors to the Sultan to make protestations of his friendship, and to leave no stone unturned to avert his wrath. His efforts were useless: at the head of twenty thousand men, Amurath, aided by a Genoese fleet, crossed over to Europe, and advancing to the walls of Constantinople, besieged Emanuel in his capital. Encouraged by the presence and prophecies of the Emir of Bokhara, the Mussulmans were impatient for the assault on the world-famed city. After long meditations, the holy man solemnly proclaimed that at one hour after midday of the 24th of August, 1422, he should mount his steed, and thrice waving his scimitar, and thrice giving the war-cry of "Allah and his prophet," the Mohammedans were to advance, and the city would be theirs.

Accordingly, on the day and the hour promised, the Emir, mounted on a magnificent charger, and escorted by five hundred dervishes, advancing towards the beleaguered city, gave the anticipated signal; his words were caught up and thrice repeated by the whole invading army. Uttering defiant war-cries, the Greek soldiery advanced, and in a short time both armies were hotly engaged. And now was beheld one of the most wonderful phenomena recorded in the annals of nations, but which is, unfortunately, so differently stated by the Christian and Mohammedan chroniclers, that it is difficult to reconcile the two versions; the better way will be, doubtless, to believe neither.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, without victory having declared for either side, when suddenly, say the favourers of the Greek version, in the midst of the golden rays of the setting luminary was beheld a virgin, clothed in a violet robe, and blinding the eyes of the besiegers with the supernatural glare which surrounded her. Panic stricken, the Mohammedans fled, and Constantinople was saved; saved, the Christians asserted, by the Virgin Mary herself.

As might be expected, the story told by the Mussulmans was very different, the miracle, if they are to be believed, having been performed on their behalf, and their withdrawal from before the city having been caused by a totally different occurrence. Their retreat, indeed, was the result of the Emperor Emanuel's policy. Seeing all his plans frustrated by the pretender's death, he hit upon the idea of resuscitating him. Having obtained a man to suit his purpose, another Mustapha was started, fresh revolts excited, and Amurath compelled to raise the siege of the imperial city, in order to make use of his army to put down the new aspirant to his throne.

The second soi disant Mustapha did not enjoy his borrowed plumes for long: some towns, it is true, succumbed to him, and others bought his forbearance, but no sooner had he got within reach of the hostile army than Elias, a man who had urged him to undertake the imposture, seduced by the Sultan's gold, betrayed him to Amurath, and he was executed on the field of battle.

THE FALSE EDWARD THE SIXTH OF ENGLAND.

A.D. 1486.

The frequency, in the middle ages, with which sovereigns and members of royal families met with mysterious deaths afforded full scope for the ingenious to exercise their talents in assuming the names and titles of deceased princes. As the murderers, or those who profited by the murder, often could not conveniently produce proofs of the absent person's decease, the claimant was frequently enabled to make good use of his rival's reticence; but, almost invariably, even if the fraud were not discovered, the pretender was overthrown, and nearly always paid for his temerity by an ignominious or, at all events, a violent death. The subject of the present sketch is almost the only impostor, proved to be one, who met with a luckier fate.

The manner in which Richard the Third disposed of his nephews, Edward the Fifth and Richard, Duke of York, was so mysterious and secret, that it is not strange that it gave rise to many curious complications, the perplexities of which had to be suffered by his successor. Presuming the two young princes to have been put to death, the next male heir to the throne, upon the demise of Richard the Third, was Edward, Earl of Warwick, the son of the late Duke of Clarence. At one time, indeed, Richard had treated the boy as heir-apparent, but his jealousy becoming aroused, he had him detained as a prisoner in the manor-house of Sheriff Hutton, doubtless with a view of causing him to share ultimately the sad fate of his cousins. One of the earliest acts of Henry the Seventh, after the defeat and death of Richard at Bosworth Field, was to secure the person of the Earl of Warwick; he had the youthful captive brought up to London, from Yorkshire, and then the poor boy, "born to perpetual calamity," as Hall remarks, "was incontinent in the Tower of London put under safe and sure custody."

The place of this unfortunate prince's durance, Henry's known character, and the apparently parallel case of his two cousins, quickly gave rise to the rumour that Edward had died suddenly. This intelligence corresponded with the projected schemes of a certain Richard Simon, a priest residing at Oxford. This man for some time past, if Bacon and other authorities are to be believed, had been educating a baker's son, Lambert Simnel by name, to play a daring and apparently hopeless part in his ambitious game, and the news of the Earl of Warwick's death afforded him the desired opportunity of taking the first step. The priest and his pupil, a lad of no small natural dignity and tact, proceeded to Ireland, and in November, 1486, landed at Dublin.

Simon introduced his pupil to the Earl of Kildare first, and finding him only too willing to accept his story, openly proclaimed the boy to be Edward, son of the Duke of Clarence, escaped from his imprisonment in the Tower. The nobles and gentry in Ireland crowded to see the pseudo prince, who is recorded to have been "not only beautiful and graceful in person, but witty and ingenious. He told his touching story with great consistency, and, when questioned, he could give minute particulars relating to the royal family." The Earl of Kildare, who was Lord Lieutenant, or Deputy of Ireland, presented Simon's protégé to the people "as sole male heir left of the line of Richard, Duke of York," and consequently the rightful ruler of that realm. A large number of Irish hereupon acknowledged him as their monarch; the citizens of Dublin declaring unanimously in his favour; "so that," says Bacon, "with marvellous consent and applause, this counterfeit Plantagenet was brought with great solemnity to the castle of Dublin, and there saluted, served, and honoured as king; the boy becoming it well, and doing nothing that did betray the baseness of his condition."

Messengers were sent into England and Flanders for assistance, in the meanwhile that the boy was solemnly crowned and anointed in the cathedral of Dublin, by the Bishop of Meath, as Edward the Sixth, under which name he issued writs, convoked a parliament, and performed other acts of legal authority, without there being a single sword drawn in King Henry's favour.

When intelligence of this affair reached Henry's ears, he at once summoned a council to meet at the Charterhouse, near Shene, and the result of their deliberations was that Edward Plantagenet should be taken out of the Tower, and publicly shown to the citizens, to prove the levity and imposture of the proceedings in Ireland; secondly, that a general pardon or amnesty should be granted "to all that would reveal their offences, and submit themselves by a certain day," and this pardon was to be so ample that not even high treason—"no, not against the King's own person"—should be excepted. Lastly, it was resolved the Queen Dowager, Henry's mother-in-law, should be arrested, imprisoned, and her goods confiscated, under the absurd pretence that she had broken her agreement with Henry in delivering her daughters out of sanctuary into the late King Richard's hands. This last resolution every one could readily perceive was adopted from a motive different to the alleged one, and Bacon hints that Henry suspected his royal relative of having prompted, to suit her own purposes, the priest and his protégé Lambert in their undertaking. Whatever the cause of her imprisonment, the King, says the historian, sustained great obloquy for it, "which, nevertheless, was somewhat sweetened to him by a great confiscation."

The pardon was accordingly proclaimed; the Queen-mother imprisoned in the nunnery of Bermondsey; and the unfortunate veritable Prince Edward was brought forth from his imprisonment in the Tower, and on a Sunday taken through the principal streets to St. Paul's Cathedral, where a large number of persons had congregated; "and it was provided also in good fashion, that divers of the nobility and others of quality (especially of those that the King most suspected and knew the person of Plantagenet best), had communication with the young gentleman by the way." The poor lad was then re-conducted to his place of durance, after having, so far as England was concerned, served his jailer's purpose. The Irish, however, had gone too far to be disconcerted by this exhibition, and they loudly declared that it was Henry who had "tricked up a boy in the likeness of Edward Plantagenet, and showed him to the people," to suit his own plans.

At this time, also, unexpected succour arrived in Ireland for the pretender. John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, nephew of the two late kings, Edward the Fourth and Richard the Third, and, after Edward Plantagenet, the legitimate heir to the Yorkist claims, had fled from the clutches of Henry the Seventh to the protection of his aunt, Margaret of Burgundy. The Duchess, ever ready to assist the Yorkist cause, had at once entered into the Simnel plot, and promised all the aid in her power. She fitted out a regiment of two thousand mercenaries, put them under the command of Martin Swartz, a skilled veteran, and sent them with the Earl of Lincoln into Ireland. Thus assisted, the Irish malcontents insisted upon being led into England, and, despite the more prudent advice of some of their council, this plan was adopted. Under the leadership of the Earls of Lincoln and Kildare, the pretender and his adherents crossed over to Lanarkshire, where they were joined by a small body of English under Sir Thomas Broughton.

Henry, meanwhile, lost no time in raising troops, and by the time the rebels had reached Stoke, near Newark, they came into contact with the King's army. The battle was obstinately contested, but the pretender's small and ill-armed forces had no chance against the royal troops. "Martin Swartz, with his Germans, performed bravely, and so did those few English that were on that side; neither did the Irish fail in courage or fierceness, but being almost naked men, only armed with darts and skeans, it was rather an execution than a fight upon them; insomuch as the furious slaughter of them was a great discouragement and appalment to the rest." The German veterans died in their ranks almost to a man, and the rebels did not succumb until one-half of their number, including nearly all their leaders, had fallen on the field; while some hundreds of the royalists perished. Amongst the slain were the Earls of Lincoln and Kildare, Sir Thomas Broughton, Colonel Swartz, and, it is presumed, Lord Lovel; whilst amongst the prisoners were the pseudo king, and his tutor, Richard Simon.

As soon as the pretender was proved to be only plain Lambert Simnel, Henry took him into his service, and employed him in the royal kitchen as a turnspit; ultimately promoting him to be one of the King's falconers,—"Henry," says Bacon, "out of wisdom, thinking that if he suffered death he would be forgotten too soon; but being kept alive he would be a continual spectacle, and a kind of remedy against the like enchantments of people in time to come." As for the priest, observes this same authority, "he was committed close prisoner, and heard of no more; the King loving to seal up his own dangers."

THE FALSE RICHARD THE FOURTH OF ENGLAND.

A.D. 1491-99.

The fate of the leading conspirators in Lambert Simnel's case, instead of acting as a warning to deter others from similar attacks, really appeared as if it were only designed as prelude to a far more serious attempt to wrest the crown from Henry's head. Unfortunately for the welfare of England, no sooner had the pseudo Edward been disposed of, than the King had to contend with another and a far more redoubtable claimant to the throne.

In 1491 this new aspirant to the crown began to noise his pretensions abroad, proclaiming himself to be Richard, the younger of the two sons of the deceased King Edward, who were supposed to have been murdered in the Tower by order of their uncle, the late King Richard the Third. This young claimant, admitted to have been a youth of noble aspect, and in features much resembling the late Edward the Fourth, whilst acknowledging that his elder brother had been killed, asserted that he had been permitted to escape. In a letter, which is now in the British Museum, and which the youth wrote to Isabella of Spain, he states that at the time his brother was murdered he was nine years of age; that he was sent out of England secretly, in the custody of two persons, and was compelled to take an oath that he would not divulge his name and rank to any one until after a certain number of years. Having fulfilled the conditions of his promise, he left Portugal, where he had resided for some time, and in 1492 landed in Ireland. The citizens of Cork, which was the first city he honoured with a visit, undeterred by the exposure of the late pretender to royalty, were for warmly espousing the cause of this claimant, yet were somewhat restrained by the prudence of the new Earl of Kildare. At this critical moment Charles, King of France, being at war with Henry the Seventh, sent a cordial invitation to the soi disant prince to come to Paris. The invitation was readily accepted, and the pretender once more crossed the seas. In France he was received everywhere with royal honours, and treated by everybody as the Duke of York, heir to the English crown. This courtesy was, however, as Bacon points out, doubtless only trickery on the part of the French king in order to force Henry into a peace. A treaty was speedily concluded between the two monarchs, one result of which was the dismissal of the young adventurer, King Charles refusing, nevertheless, to deliver up his youthful guest to the English king's untender mercies.

Forced to forsake France, the pretender betook himself to the Court of Burgundy, where the old Duchess, whose nephew he claimed to be, protected and assisted all adherents of the House of York. The old Duchess Margaret, sister of Edward the Fourth, had long asserted her belief in the existence of one of her nephews, and was only too likely to acknowledge any presentable claimant; but the support which she had rendered Simnel in his recent exploit did not tell in favour of her present protégé. Upon this occasion she was, or pretended to be, very searching in her scrutiny into the adventurer's story, but, at last, appearing to be perfectly convinced of the justice of his claims to kinship, she recognized him as her nephew; embraced him affectionately; styled him "The White Rose of England;" appointed him a guard of thirty persons, and furnished him with everything suitable for the maintenance of his presumed princely rank. The lad, indeed, is universally admitted to have displayed in all his conduct a noble bearing, and if he were, as Henry's partisans assert, only a wandering trader's son, he certainly did credit to the alleged secret instructions of his putative aunt.

Lord Verulam, to account for the likeness between the young pretender and the late King Edward, as also to explain his courtly bearing and princely deportment, tells a strange and extremely improbable story, to the effect that the lad was son of a converted Jew, named variously John, and Peter, Osbeck, a resident of Tournay, but whom business brought to London. This Osbeck resided in London for some time, having with him his wife, who, during the period of their residence in the English metropolis, was confined of a boy. Osbeck, says Bacon, "being known in Court, the King, either out of a religious nobleness, because he" (the father) "was a convert, or upon some private acquaintance, did him the honour to be godfather to his child," and, it is to be presumed, endowed him with regal inclinations. This needless legend is set in contrast with another in the next page, wherein the chronicler, forgetting the "religious nobleness" of the licentious monarch, subjoins that it was said, "King Edward the Fourth was his godfather, which, as it is somewhat suspicious for a wanton prince to become gossip in so mean a house, and might make a man think that he might indeed have in him some base blood of the House of York, so at the least it might give occasion to the boy, in being called 'King Edward's godson,' or, perhaps in sport, 'King Edward's son,' to entertain such thoughts in his head. For tutor he had none (for aught that appears), as Lambert Simnel had, until he came unto the Lady Margaret, who instructed him."

The advocate for the crafty, avaricious, old Tudor king, next indulges in a lengthy and apparently imaginative account of the secret tuition of the comely lad by the Duchess of Burgundy, with whose innermost thoughts Bacon professes the closest acquaintanceship. He shrewdly guesses that "Perkin Warbeck" had counterfeited for so long a time the person of the murdered prince, that at last, "with oft telling a lie, he was turned by habit almost into the thing he seemed to be, and from a liar to a believer." Be this as it may, the soi disant Richard, comfortably installed at the Court of Flanders, speedily discovered means of opening communications with England. Many members of the highest families, including, so it was alleged, Sir William Stanley, a relative of the King, and who had even saved Henry's life and crown at Bosworth, were involved in a plot, having for its object the overthrow of the reigning monarch, and, apparently, the substitution for him of the Burgundian protégé. Henry was well provided with spies, who kept him closely informed of all that was brewing; but his efforts to obtain possession of "le garson," as he termed the claimant, were unavailable; whilst all his declarations that he was perfectly at his ease with respect to the "impostor, as every one knew who and what he was," only served to display his anxiety.

By means of the King's gold, the whole of the conspiracy on foot was revealed: Sir Robert Clifford, one of the conspirators, betrayed his companions for five hundred pounds and a free pardon, and two other accomplices for sums proportionate to their lower rank. The whole details of the plot were unravelled, and the chief members of it, including Stanley, were brought to the block. Stanley's complicity in the "Perkin Warbeck" conspiracy has been doubted by modern historians, who have not hesitated to aver that his wealth was his principal crime in the King's eyes; indeed, the only charge that was made against him was, that if he were sure the claimant was King Edward's son, he would not bear arms against him.

The discovery of the plot, and the fate of its principal concocters, appeared to be a death-blow to the young adventurer's cause; but he, all undaunted, taking advantage of Henry's absence in the north, with the aid of the Duchess of Burgundy fitted out an expedition, and tried to effect a rising in England. Some portion of his followers landed at Deal, but instead of obtaining assistance were attacked by the Kentish men, and either killed at once or made prisoners, and subsequently hanged. Discouraged by this hostile reception, "Perkin" returned to Flanders, whence he shortly betook himself once more to Ireland. There he again failed to arouse the populace on his behalf, although joined by Desmond and some others of less note. "As," says Bacon, "there was nothing left for Perkin but the blustering affection of wild and naked people," and as he had lost three of his vessels in a futile attempt to capture Waterford, he had to relinquish his efforts in that quarter.

Again repelled in his efforts to obtain a footing in Ireland, the intrepid wanderer crossed over to Scotland, to the warlike monarch of which country he carried recommendatory letters not only from the Duchess of Burgundy, but also from the French King and the Emperor of Germany. By the Scottish King the presumed prince was received with open arms, and in every way treated as if he were the personage he claimed to be. There is every reason for believing that James credited his guest's story; outwardly, at least, he paid him all deference; addressed him as "cousin," and gave him for wife his own relative, the beautiful Lady Catherine Gordon, daughter of the Earl of Huntley, and granddaughter of James the First of Scotland. It seems very unlikely that the Scottish monarch would have sanctioned the marriage of Lady Catherine with the adventurer unless convinced of his royal birth.

Under the pretext of assisting his youthful guest to regain his dominions, James headed two warlike incursions into England. Unable to resist so good an opportunity of looting, the Scottish army carried off everything of value; and when the young adventurer, according to Polydore Vergil, the historian, "feigning" to be distressed at the devastation inflicted, implored the King to spare his miserable subjects, James replied, sneeringly, that it was very generous to be so careful of what did not belong to him, as not a man had yet joined his standard. No one, indeed, of any consequence did join the claimant upon these occasions; and as the raids proved disastrous to the Scottish forces, Henry was enabled to make peace on his own terms with James; offered him his eldest daughter, Margaret, in marriage, and forced him to withdraw his protection from Perkin.

Compelled once more to resume his search for an asylum, the luckless pretender, accompanied by his beautiful wife and a few faithful followers, left Scotland; not, however, without bearing away with him some substantial proof of the Scottish King's regard. Again he sought shelter in Ireland, but the Irish appearing less disposed than before to espouse his cause, he departed for Cornwall, where much discontent prevailed on account of Henry's oppressive taxation. With only three vessels and seventy men the claimant landed at Whitsand Bay, near Land's End, on the 7th September, 1497. He sent his wife to St. Michael's Mount for safety; and then, at the head of an irregular body of three thousand men, whom he had got together by liberal promises, he marched on Exeter, to which city he laid siege, in compliance with the advice of his adherents that he should endeavour to make himself master of some walled town. He sent a demand to the citizens to surrender to him, but as he had no artillery to enforce his claims, his assumed title of Richard the Fourth, King of England, inspired little reverence, and after some unsuccessful assaults he was compelled to raise the siege and hastily retire to Taunton. Seeing clearly how utterly incompetent his undisciplined forces were to compete with the veteran troops Henry was sending against him, he forsook them in the night, and, accompanied by several of his principal followers, fled to the monastery of Beaulieu, in the New Forest, and there claimed sanctuary. His followers, left without a leader, surrendered without an effort; a number of them were hanged, and the rest heavily fined.

Not daring to violate the privileges of a sanctuary, Henry had the Beaulieu Monastery securely guarded; the meanwhile he contrived to obtain possession of the Lady Catherine Gordon, mightily afraid that she might give birth to a child, in which case, as Bacon shrewdly remarks, "the business would not have ended in Perkin's person." The politic king received the royal lady kindly, and sent her to the queen; awarded her "honourable allowance for the support of her estate, which she enjoyed both during the king's life and many years after."

Determined not to let go his hold on Perkin, the king promised him a full pardon upon condition that he confessed himself an impostor. Unable to discover any means of escape, the pretender accepted Henry's conditions, and on the 5th October surrendered to the royal troops at Taunton. He did not reach London until the end of November, and on his arrival was sent as a prisoner to the Tower. At first the supposed Richard was treated with much respect, and the evidence of his official examination kept strictly secret; although the garbled and absurd account of it which Henry caused to be published was so contradictory and generally unsatisfactory, that "men missing of that they looked for," says the chronicler, "looked about for they knew not what, and were in more doubt than before." Perkin, on his way to the Tower, was made to traverse the city on horseback, but not in any ignominious fashion; and although scoffed at by some, by the majority was treated with respect.

After about six months of detention, the pretender contrived or was permitted to escape; but such diligent pursuit was made that he was compelled to again take sanctuary, and this time in the Priory of Shene, in Surrey. As soon as his retreat was publicly known, the King was advised to take him forth and hang him, but Henry was too prudent for such a course. At the intercession of the Prior of Shene, the King promised to spare the fugitive's life, bidding them "take him forth, and set the knave in the stocks." Taken from his place of refuge, and brought back to London, the wretched youth was fettered and placed for a whole day in the stocks, and on the following day, the 14th June, 1499, was compelled to read from a scaffold, erected in Cheapside, a lengthy and rambling confession, in which, among other matters, he acknowledged himself to be Perkin, son of John Warbeck, a Flemish tradesman, and that he had been taught to enact his part by various enemies of King Henry.

After the second reading of this "confession," which was so badly composed that it served rather to confirm than dissipate the belief that the so-called "Perkin" was the personage he had assumed to be, the prisoner was again incarcerated in the Tower, where he became the companion and friend of the unfortunate Edward, Earl of Warwick, whom Lambert Simnel had formerly counterfeited. Such was the fascination of the claimant's manners that he not only won the friendship of his fellow-prisoners, but also the favour of his keepers, the four servants of Sir John Digby, the Lieutenant, who, apparently, conspired together to permit the escape of the two captives, and to aid them to excite another insurrection. The whole plot in all probability originated in the cunning of Henry, who made it a pretext for the trial and execution of both his troublesome prisoners. "The opinion of the King's great wisdom," as Bacon dexterously recounts it, "did surcharge him with a sinister fame, that Perkin was but his bait to entrap the Earl of Warwick."

About the time of this presumed plot, and most opportunely for Henry, another claimant to the name and title of the young Earl of Warwick appeared in Suffolk. Although this pretender was speedily taken and executed, the state of disquietude these events kept the country in afforded the King ample excuse for proceeding to extremities, notwithstanding the fact that the whole affair was regarded as a subtle device of the Sovereign. Accordingly, on the 16th November, 1419, Perkin was brought to trial, and was found guilty upon the indictment of having conspired, in company with the hapless Earl of Warwick, "to raise sedition and destroy the King." Upon the 23rd of the month Perkin was taken from the Tower to Tyburn, and, after having again read his confession and vouched for its truth, was executed. Such was the end of this strange drama, which was, as Bacon remarks, "one of the longest plays of that kind."

The case of Perkin Warbeck is one of the most mysterious on record; and in attempting to gauge the truth or falsity of his claim to royalty it must not be overlooked that the only contemporary records of him and his adventures are by those who professedly wrote on King Henry's behalf, and were not, therefore, likely to be over scrupulous in suppressing any facts tending to support the pretender's claims. The confession wrung from him under fear of death is of little or no value; the absence of all allusion in it to the Duchess of Burgundy seems to disprove the assertion that it was written by Perkin himself; whilst the absurd statement it contained that he, a thorough master apparently of the language, did not learn English until forced to, after his arrival at Cork, is most suspicious. He was never confronted with his supposed mother, the Queen Dowager, whom Henry had in safe keeping at Bermondsey, nor were any judicial steps taken to expose his imposture, if such it were. The King was most studiously careful to keep all records of the affair out of the people's sight; he took Tyrrell, the supposed chief murderer of the young princes, into his favour, and never had, what might have satisfied the suspicions of many, the remains of the two lads publicly exhumed. According to the account of Sir Thomas More, the murdered princes were first buried "at the stairfoot, deep in the ground, under a heap of stones," but were afterwards taken up, at the desire of King Richard, and reburied by the Tower Chaplain "privately, in a place that, by reason of his death, never came to light." This account, if true, would seem to cast a doubt upon the identity of the "small bones" discovered under the staircase in the reign of Charles the Second, and by him had interred and commemorated as the remains of the royal princes.

The circumstantial account of Lord Verulam is so enveloped in mystery and innuendo, and his desire to screen the Tudor King is so self-evident, that it has caused many, including the sophistical and shallow Walpole, to believe and assert that "Perkin Warbeck" was indeed the royal personage he claimed to be.

THE FALSE MUSTAPHA THE SECOND OF TURKEY.

A.D. 1555.

The Sultan Soliman the First, surnamed the Legislator, raised the Turkish Empire to its highest pinnacle of glory. Owing, however, to the great extent of frontier which his dominions possessed, he was continually at war with one or the other of the neighbouring powers. In 1555 he was engaged in hostilities with Persia, but, despite his desire to pursue the contest with vigour, the weight of sixty years, and the fatigues of twelve personally conducted campaigns, rendered repose necessary to him; he, therefore, left the command of his forces to the Grand Vizier Rustem.

The repose which Soliman had promised himself did not last long; the interruption came whence it was least expected. Of his numerous sons Mustapha, his eldest, was the child of a Circassian, whilst several others were children of Roxelana, a jealous and ambitious woman. The sister of this latter woman, married to the Grand Vizier Rustem, was the link by which she succeeded in obtaining his co-operation in her schemes. Seeing every probability of Mustapha eventually obtaining the throne to the exclusion of her own sons, Roxelana determined upon his death. Conspiring with Rustem, she forged letters purporting to be addressed by the heir-apparent to a friend of his, informing him that he was treating with his father's foe, the King of Persia, with the view of obtaining one of his daughters in marriage. At the same time that this communication was adroitly placed before Soliman, he received intelligence from his Grand Vizier that Prince Mustapha displayed a disposition to revolt, and was attending complacently to the seditious propositions of the emissaries.

This startling news aroused the old hero; he immediately quitted his palace and its pleasures, placed himself once more at the head of his army, and summoned his son to his presence. On the 21st September, 1555, ignorant of the charges against him, or relying upon his innocence, the Prince arrived at his father's camp, was met by the chief captains, and conducted with all the pomp due to his rank as heir-apparent to an audience of the Sultan. On entering the imperial tent, the unfortunate man was seized by seven mutes, and strangled with a bowstring, calling vainly upon his father, who, hidden by a silken curtain, witnessed the horrible deed. Not satisfied with his son's death, the old monarch also caused his grandson Murat, Mustapha's child, to be put to death in the same way as its parent. Prince Ziangir, a younger brother of the assassinated man, was so distressed at the catastrophe, that, after reproaching his unnatural father, he committed suicide. The two princes were interred together, and a mosque erected over their remains.

The army deeply deplored the loss of the unfortunate Mustapha, who was held in great esteem, and attributing his death to the schemes of Rustem clamoured for his dismissal. Yielding to the universal indignation, Soliman consented to deprive the Grand Vizier of his post, which was bestowed on Ahmed Pacha. The general feeling of grief which the heir-apparent's death caused throughout the empire found expression in numerous poems and elegies; and amongst others Yahïa, a celebrated contemporary poet, composed verses that were known and repeated in all parts of the empire. Two years later, when Rustem returned to power, he was desirous of having Yahïa executed, but this the Sultan would not consent to; and the Grand Vizier had to satisfy his vengeance with depriving the poet of his post of Administrator of Charity to the crown.

Meanwhile the death of Mustapha, so far from having secured rest for either Soliman or the Empire, only gave rise to fresh complications. Bajazet and Selim, two sons of the infamous but clever Roxelana, both desirous of grasping the sceptre before their father's death, by means of a deep-laid conspiracy, raised the standard of revolt; and in order to obtain the sympathy and assistance of the army gave out that Mustapha, instead of being dead as was generally imagined, was alive, and heading the rebels. It was averred that the prince had been permitted to escape, someone else having been substituted in his place for execution. A man, bearing a resemblance to the deceased Mustapha, was found and taught to play the part destined for him.

The army, eager to vent its rage upon Rustem, deserted largely to the pretender, whom many officers of position recognized, or appeared to, as their veritable prince. The Sultan was equal to the emergency; he sent vigorous instructions to the governors of the provinces where the disorders were; raised large bodies of mercenaries, and, above all, sowed his gold broadcast. This latter method had the desired effect: the impostor was betrayed, and by a man whom he had created his Grand Vizier. Conducted to Constantinople, and put to the torture, the claimant revealed the whole plot. Selim fled for refuge to Persia, but was ultimately delivered up to his father for a large sum of money by the Shah; and, together with his five little sons, put to death. Bajazet's apparent contrition, and his mother Roxelana's intercession, procured his pardon; but the unfortunate instrument of his villainy, the pseudo Mustapha, was executed on the gallows.

THE FALSE SEBASTIAN OF PORTUGAL.

A.D. 1598-1603.

No claimant's case is more remarkable than that of Don Sebastian of Portugal, exhibiting, as it does, the tenacity of tradition; for, although more than two hundred years had elapsed since their sovereign's death, hopes of his return were entertained down to the beginning of the present century by his superstitious countrymen, who cherished his memory much as the memory of those semi-mythical monarchs—Arthur of England, and Barbarossa of Germany—was cherished by their respective countrymen in the middle ages.

Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, led by an insane desire to emulate the deeds of his ancestors against the Arabs, availed himself of every opportunity of mixing in the dynastic quarrels of the Moors. In 1578, contrary to the wishes and remonstrances of his allies, relatives, and people, he accompanied an expedition to Africa, with the avowed purpose of setting the Cross above the Crescent, but virtually in hopes of gaining a warrior's renown. His first battle on the field of Alcaçarquivir was as ill-fated as it was ill-advised; the Portuguese army was cut to pieces, and Sebastian, so it was supposed, was amongst the slain. After the fight, a corse, recognized by one of the survivors as the King's, was discovered by the victorious Moors, and forwarded by the Emperor of Morocco as a present to his ally, Philip the Second of Spain. In 1582 this monarch restored it to the Portuguese, by whom it was interred with all due solemnity in the royal mausoleum in the church of Our Lady of Belem.

The Crown of Portugal, upon the intelligence of Sebastian's death, devolved upon Don Henry, an elderly Cardinal, who, enjoying a brief reign of seventeen months, died without leaving any heirs. After a short but decisive struggle, Portugal fell an easy prey to Philip of Spain, but he was not long allowed to enjoy quiet possession of the usurped realm. The people had never credited the account of their idolized monarch's death, and rumour after rumour had been circulated to prove his existence. Three claimants to the name and title of the slain Sebastian arose, one after the other, to disturb and perplex the country, and afford the Spanish pretexts for further plunder and murder. Although these three played their part well, and occasioned the Government much trouble, there is little doubt as to their having been impostors; but over one, a fourth pretender, still hangs a cloud of impenetrable mystery.

This last aspirant appeared at Venice about twenty years after the battle of Alcaçarquivir, a very plausible account of his escape from which he was enabled to give, further stating that he had subsequently reached Portugal, and revealed his presence there to his great uncle Henry, who was then reigning; but as he had then stated that, sick and broken-hearted at his overthrow by the infidel, he had no present intention of resuming his sceptre, no notice was taken of the notification. As soon as his wounds were healed, the soi disant Don Sebastian stated, he, and two Portuguese nobles who were alleged to have saved themselves in his company, started on their travels, and travelled over Europe, Africa, and Asia, visiting the colonial possessions of Portugal, and even taking a personal share with the Persians in their war against the Turks. The King also paid visits to the Grand Llama of Thibet, and to Prester John in Ethiopia, encountering no end of marvellous adventures on his journeys, during which, however, his two companions, worn out with wounds and fatigues, succumbed to death. The royal wanderer then retired to a hermitage in the Georgian desert, and stayed there until the year 1597, when, admonished by a dream to resume his crown, he returned to Europe. He landed in Sicily, and at once despatched letters to several of his most attached nobles in Portugal. Catizoni, his messenger, was arrested on landing, and never heard of again; but through some unknown channels the tidings of which he was the bearer transpired, and threw the whole country into a profound state of excitement. Had the soi disant monarch had courage to have landed in Portugal at this time, it is pretty generally believed that, whatever may have been the value of his claims to the name of Don Sebastian, the whole people would have acknowledged his rights; as one writer says, the nation "would have acknowledged a negro to be their lost king, so that he delivered them from the hated rule of the Spaniards."

Wanting the resolution, or the means, to seek Portugal, the claimant fell from one state of wretchedness to another, until, at last, it is averred he was discovered by some compatriots in Padua selling pies in the street for a livelihood. Convinced that they had discovered their legitimate sovereign, the Portuguese residents and exiles at once acknowledged his claims, and supplied him with all the necessaries of life. Apprised of this event, the Spanish ambassador immediately requested the Venetian senate to banish the "insolent adventurer" from their states. The Podesta of Padua being commanded by the Seignory to banish from his city within three days "a man calling himself falsely Sebastian, King of Portugal," and this mandate being communicated to the soi disant monarch, he boldly repaired to Venice, and requested the Senate, the only free tribunal in Europe, to investigate his claims. Upon his arrival, he was seized and thrown into a dungeon, at the instance of Philip's ambassador, who suborned witnesses to accuse him of horrible crimes. This, however, caused his pretensions to be speedily noised about all over Europe. A large number of the Portuguese in Italy presented several petitions to the Senate, calling upon it to investigate the prisoner's claims, whilst Sampayo, a Dominican of considerable influence in Padua, wrote and published a full statement of the facts, and dedicated it to the potentates of Europe.

In the meantime the Spaniards were not idle. They averred that the claimant was a Calabrese impostor, of bad repute, if not a renegade monk; they alluded to the gross improbabilities in his story, and the little likelihood there was of Sebastian, even if he had escaped from the battle of Alcaçarquivir, remaining out of the pale of civilization for twenty years without affording anyone an intimation of his existence. They pointed out that the pretender's Portuguese was anything but pure, and that whereas Sebastian's complexion was fair this man's was dark.

Sampayo, on behalf of the prisoner, replied that the king's wounded pride at his defeat, and youthful feelings of self-dependence, had carried him into all his romantic wanderings, whilst his fair complexion and native accent had necessarily changed during twenty years' rambling in the sultry lands which he had visited.

Whilst this discussion was going on, the prisoner was being severely examined by the Venetian Senate, and displayed, so all averred, such knowledge of their most secret dealings with the true Don Sebastian as fairly startled them. He declared himself ready to undergo the punishment of death if his claims were proved to be unfounded, and petitioned that he might be personally examined for any marks which the King of Portugal had been known to possess. The Portuguese residents warmly supporting the latter part of the memorial, the Seignory granted their request, and sent Sampayo with a safe conduct to Lisbon to ascertain these distinctive marks, and to get a written declaration of them signed by competent people. After an absence of two months the Dominican returned, with an attestation, witnessed by persons who had been attached to the late royal household, and countersigned by the apostolical notary, as a proof of the document's genuineness.

During Sampayo's absence the Spanish Government had made such forcible representations to the Venetian Senate, that on his return the Doge stated "it did not beseem the Republic to take cognizance of the claims of the pretender to the Portuguese Crown, unless at the request of a member of the family of European potentates." Nothing daunted, the unwearied envoy of the soi disant Sebastian undertook a journey to Holland to procure the intervention of the House of Nassau. His exertions were aided by the warm support of several Portuguese nobles, and by the influence of Henry the Fourth of France, who, through his ambassador at Venice, intimated that if the Dutch intercession failed, France would take the claimant under her protection. The States of Holland, however, having requested the Italian Republic to proceed with the inquiry, the Spanish ambassador withdrew his protest, and commissioners were appointed to examine the prisoner for the bodily peculiarities which the king was known to have possessed.

These peculiarities were alleged to be "a right hand longer and larger than the left; the upper part of the arms longer than the part between the elbow and the wrist; a deep scar above the right eyebrow; a tooth missing from the lower jaw, and a large excrescence or wart on the instep of the right foot." An investigation of the prisoner was then made, in the presence of Sampayo, by four Venetian officers of justice; and they reported that not only were all these peculiarities found upon him, but that his head and face bore the scars of sabre wounds; whilst, when his jaw was being examined, he had asked whether Sebastian Nero, the Court barber at Lisbon, who had extracted the tooth, was still alive.

The next day this evidence was laid before the senate, which held a secret deliberation of four days' duration, shared in by the Spanish ambassador and Don Christavao de Portugal, an apparent advocate of the captive. The threats of Philip are alleged to have overpowered the intentions of the Seignory, and, accordingly when, at ten o'clock at night, on the fourth day of the conference, the claimant was brought before them, they, without expressing any opinion respecting his identity with Don Sebastian, simply repeated the mandate formerly sent to the Podesta of Padua, banishing the person who styled himself King of Portugal from the Venetian states within the space of three days. Sampayo, and the Portuguese with him, declare that a seat was provided for the prisoner; and that whilst he remained covered during the reading of the decree the senators stood around respectfully. This averred deference, and the evasion of a direct award after so lengthy and solemn an assemblage, confirmed even waverers in the belief that the pretender was indeed the true Sebastian.

Whatever may have been the belief or reason of the senate, they contented themselves with banishing the soi disant monarch, and refused to deliver him up to the Spanish ambassador. Countenanced by all the enemies of Spain, the claimant now sought refuge in Tuscany, en route, it is said, to Rome, to claim the protection and recognition of his claims by the reigning Pontiff, Clement the Eighth. The Grand Duke Ferdinand, desirous of propitiating his powerful foe Philip, is alleged to have made an agreement with him, that if the adventurer entered the Tuscan territories he should be at once arrested and delivered up to the custody of the Spanish. Be this as it may, the pretender was seized as he was attempting to leave the Grand Duke's dominions, put on board a small frigate, taken to Naples, and delivered up to the Conde de Lemos, Philip's viceroy.

The unfortunate man, according to popular story, was placed in a dungeon, and starved for three days, in order to compel him to confess his imposture. When the three days had expired he was visited by the Auditor-General, and urged to acknowledge his fraud. "Do with me as you please, and say what you will, I am King Sebastian," is reported to have been his response. Subsequently taken before the Viceroy, he is alleged to have referred to certain secret political transactions which took place at Lisbon when the Conde de Lemos had been ambassador there. Notwithstanding this revelation, the Conde affirmed his conviction that "the prisoner was an impostor;" but had him transferred from his dungeon to a pleasant chamber overlooking the Bay of Naples, and allotted him the sum of five crowns daily for his support.

For a twelvemonth the claimant was left in peaceful possession of his cell, when another insurrection breaking out in the Portuguese possessions, a mandate arrived from Madrid, directing the claimant to be returned to his dungeon, and again interrogated. He persisted in his protestations, and begged to be sent to Lisbon, where his statements might be strictly investigated. This was refused, and sentence pronounced upon him as "a vagabond, impostor, and liar;" and he was condemned to the galleys for life, after being paraded through the streets of Naples on an ass, whilst his imposture was proclaimed by the public crier. On the 17th April, 1602, this punishment was carried out. "Behold the justice and severity of his Catholic Majesty! He commands that this miserable man shall be degraded and condemned for life to the galleys, because he falsely and flagitiously declares himself to be the late Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, when he is but a vile impostor from Calabria!" was the proclamation made as the prisoner was taken through the streets of Naples. He was then clothed in the garb of a galley slave, and, according to some authorities, publicly flogged, all the while calmly and positively reiterating his assertion that he was Sebastian, King of Portugal.

According to contemporary chronicles, his head was then shaved, and his hands and feet put in irons; he was then sent to the galleys, and compelled to row. He was afterwards carried on board a vessel and taken to St. Lucar, at that time the largest convict station of Spain. During the voyage the prisoner's irons were removed, and his labours suspended. When the galley arrived at St. Lucar, the Duke and Duchess of Medina Sidonia are asserted to have seen the captive and conversed with him; and a curious story is told of the interview. The Duke and his consort had formerly given Don Sebastian a magnificent entertainment when on his ill-fated expedition to Africa, and the Portuguese monarch had then presented a sword to his host and a valuable ring to the Duchess. Upon the claimant's arrival at St. Lucar, the Duke desired to be allowed to try and select him from amongst the other felons, but failed to recognize him. The soi disant King was then introduced to the nobleman and his wife, and recounted many incidents of their interview with Don Sebastian. He asked the Duke if he still possessed the sword which he had presented him upon that occasion, saying that he could identify it if conducted to the ducal armoury. Hearing this the Duke called for several swords, but upon their production the prisoner exclaimed, "My sword is not amongst these!" Another quantity of swords, this time including the veritable weapon, were now produced, and, so runs the story, the weapon was instantly recognized and unsheathed by the claimant. He then reminded the Duchess of the ring given her by Sebastian as a memento of his visit, and asked if she still retained it. She thereupon sent for her jewel-case and desired him to select it from amongst more than a hundred rings which it contained, and this he did immediately.

The Duke and Duchess of Medina Sidonia, it is averred, then departed sadly, and sorrowing at such an evidently unjust detention; but it is somewhat singular, and throws much doubt upon the anecdote, that no record appears of them having ever attempted to obtain an amelioration of the captive's lot, which, from their position and interest at the Spanish court, they could, undoubtedly, have procured.

The unfortunate pretender was now removed to Seville, but Sampayo having excited an insurrection in Portugal, he was again taken to St. Lucar, and on the 20th April, 1603, was hanged from its highest bastion. The Dominican, and several other of the claimant's adherents, suffered the same fate shortly afterwards.

THE FALSE DEMETRIUS OF RUSSIA.

A.D. 1603-1606.

Ivan the Terrible of Russia, having murdered his eldest son, left the crown to the next, Feodore, a prince so feeble in body and mind that the government of the country had to be committed to the care of his brother-in-law, Boris. This bold and unscrupulous man aspired to the throne, but between him and the imbecile who occupied it stood Demetrius, another child of the late monarch. The Regent left this boy to the care of his mother, the Dowager Czarina, under whose charge he attained to the age of ten. One afternoon of May 1591, the child was playing with four other boys in the palace courtyard, his governess, nurse, and another female servant being close by. According to the testimony of these persons he had a knife in his hand. For a moment he disappeared, and the next instant was discovered dying, with a large wound in his throat; he died without uttering a word. Suspicion of foul play was at once aroused, and some known emissaries of Boris being discovered in the neighbourhood, they fell victims to the fury of the populace. The Regent instituted an inquiry, and the result was a verdict that the boy had died from a wound accidentally inflicted upon himself. The towns-people were either put to death or dispersed for their hasty judgment upon the supposed assassins, the palace was razed to the ground, the flourishing town turned into a desert, and the Dowager Czarina forced into a convent. The slovenly way in which the inquiry had been made, the fact that it had been conducted by creatures of Boris, that the body was never examined, nor the knife compared with the wound, together with the attempted obliteration of all surrounding dwellings, afford very strong evidence that a murder had been done, and by the instigation of the Regent; but that Demetrius died there can scarcely be the shadow of a doubt.

After seven years Feodore died, and Boris succeeded in obtaining the vacant throne. Hated and feared by all classes, the whole country was longing for a change from his tyrannical rule, when a rumour came from the Lithuanian frontier that Demetrius, believed to have been murdered at Uglitch, was still alive, and in Poland. Amid the many contradictory reports, one main fact was positively proclaimed—that was, the young prince was alive, and preparing to contend for the throne of his ancestors.

The story which this aspirant to empire gave to Prince Adam Wiszniswiecki, of Brahin, in Lithuania, in whose employ he was, was that the physician in attendance upon him (Demetrius), having been solicited by Boris to destroy him, consented, but instead of doing so, substituted the body of a serf's child for that of the to-be-slain prince, and safely carried off the heir presumptive, and placed him in the charge of a faithful adherent of the royal family. Unfortunately, both the physician and the faithful guardian being dead, the tale had to be received for what it was worth; nevertheless, the unknown produced a Russian seal, bearing the name and arms of the Czarevitch, and a valuable jewelled cross. This was in the summer of 1603, when Demetrius, if living, would have been about twenty-two—an age apparently corresponding with that of the claimant to his name. Visitors arrived who quickly recognized their resuscitated prince; warts which the late Emperor's son had had on the forehead, and under the right eye, were discovered, whilst one arm being longer than another was a still surer sign. The deportment and acquirements of the young pretender were suited to his birth, not the least of them being his good horsemanship and skill in fencing. The Poles, ready for mischief, espoused his cause; George, the Palatine of Sandomir, gave him his daughter in marriage, and the Pope of Rome, upon his secret confession of the Catholic faith, sanctioned his pretensions. Thus encouraged, he invaded Russia with a small force, and, assisted by a variety of conflicting circumstances, including the sudden death of Boris, in the course of a few months found himself the undisputed master of the whole empire. On the 20th of June, 1605, the adventurer entered Moscow in state, amid the acclamations of believing multitudes. On entering the church of St. Michael, the pseudo Demetrius, according to all accounts, acted his part admirably; kneeling before the tomb of Ivan, his face suffused with tears, he clasped his hands and exclaimed, "O father! thy orphan reigns!—this he owes to thy holy prayers!" The audience was convinced, sobbed in unison, and from all sides arose the cry, "He is the son of the Terrible!"

But a still more formidable test was to be undergone. The Dowager Czarina forsook the convent in which she had so long been immured to behold the man claiming to be her son. Demetrius went to meet her in regal state, and their first interview took place in a magnificent tent, specially prepared for the interesting ceremony. After they had been left together for a few minutes they came out, and threw themselves into one another's arms, in the full view of the enormous multitude which had assembled. Ivan's widow had recognized her son, and the new monarch was master of the situation. He respectfully conducted the Czarina to a carriage, walking bare-headed by its side. In the capital he treated her with every attention, visited her daily, and provided her with a competent revenue to maintain her royal dignity. A few moments after the murder of her son at Uglitch, she was on the spot and recognized the body; and yet, after having maintained for fourteen years her belief in his death, she came forward and recognized him in the successful adventurer, at the exact instant that recantation was worth any price.

Demetrius now set to work to govern with humanity and justice; both qualities quite unsuited to Russian tastes, who soon grew as tired of their new Czar as they had been of his predecessors. He appears to have been an able and forbearing man, but he outraged the nobles by pointing out their educational deficiencies, and the Greek priesthood by a careless or irreverent demeanour towards their Church. This latter error was his ruin. The treasury being exhausted, he began to cast wistful glances at the swollen revenues of the clergy, who at once determined upon his destruction.

On the 29th of May, 1606, "Death to the heretic!" rang through the streets of Moscow. The excited mobs, headed by priests and Shuiski, a discontented noble, who had previously been pardoned for conspiracy, broke into the palace, hunted their prey from room to room, until, already bleeding from a sabre wound, the unfortunate victim leaped out of a window into the court below, a height of thirty feet. He broke his leg in the fall, and fainted. The insurgents speedily found him, dragged him mid curses and blows into the palace, dressed him in a pastrycook's caftan in mockery, and taunted him as to his birth. The wretched man, collecting his strength, exclaimed, "I am your Czar, the son of Ivan Vassilievitch!" when his agony was terminated by a shot from an arquebuss.

His followers were destroyed, his wife barely escaped with life, and every kind of indignity was offered to the Polish ladies in attendance upon her. The body of the murdered man, after lying exposed for some days, was unceremoniously buried without the walls, then disinterred and burnt, the ashes collected, and, to make sure of no further resuscitation, mixed with gunpowder and fired off from a cannon.

Shuiski, the leader of the revolution, was raised to the throne, but finding the memory of his predecessor still cherished by many, he sought to eradicate the feeling by proving him an impostor. The Dowager Czarina, ever complacent, gave him a written declaration that the deposed Czar was not her son; but the nation placed little reliance upon her testimony now. Shuiski then pretended to have discovered the body of young Demetrius in the ruins of Uglitch, and his clerical friends contrived a miracle for the occasion. When the body was brought to Moscow, they recognized the corpse as that of the real prince, and affirmed that by heavenly providence it had been preserved in its then condition—it being found quite uncorrupt, and the glow of life not even faded from the cheek. But this miraculous interposition did not satisfy everybody, and whilst the partizans of the late Czar were affirming that a body had been substituted for the occasion, the whole country was roused to a state of frenzy by a rumour that the conspirators had murdered, burnt, and fired from the cannon's mouth the wrong man!

This time a substituted corpse could not be produced. A civil war broke out, but it was some time before a suitable claimant could be discovered. At last a Lithuanian Jew was selected by the insurgents, who, aided by the Poles, advanced into Russia at the head of a large army. A feasible story was invented to account for the escape of the intended victim of the late massacre; and to confirm the nation in the belief of his identity with their late Czar, Marina, the widowed Czarina, publicly acknowledged him as her own Demetrius, lived with him as his consort, and had a child by him. Her father, the Palatine of Sandomir, also recognized him as his son-in-law, and in a short time almost the whole empire declared for him.

His reign, however, was short. Deserted by his foreign allies, he was forced to fly, and eventually was assassinated. His consort, Marina, died in prison, and Ivan, one of their children, although only three years old, was publicly hanged—the most ghastly act in the entire tragedy!

DEMETRIUS THE YOUNGER OF RUSSIA.

A.D. 1632-1653.

The account of this unfortunate young man is as romantic as any novelist could possibly desire. Its full details are probably only to be found in one work, and that one a work of great rarity and antiquity, by Jean Baptiste de Rocoles, historiographer of France in the latter part of the seventeenth century. The recital of Monsieur de Rocoles acquires greater interest from the fact that he himself derived a portion of his particulars from eye-witnesses, including the account of the hero's death, which was witnessed by an Austrian colonel named Bertrand.

According to the most reliable accounts of the defeat and overthrow of the second false Demetrius, his wife Marina was cast into prison, and their infant son, only three years old, publicly hanged. If this were true, and the following history veracious, the Czarina must have given birth to a second son whilst in captivity; but there does not appear to be any historic evidence on the point. The pretender always styled himself the son of the Czar Demetrius; not, of course, in any way admitting that there were two pseudo Demetriuses.

"The time of the confusion," as it is styled in Russian history, was fruitful in the production of such impostors. Besides the two more important claimants already spoken of, and the man whose story claims this chapter, another false Demetrius was started, under Polish protection, in 1611; and a short time before that, a claimant to the title of Czarevitch Peter appeared, and alleged that he was a son of the Czar Feodor the First; but after some short-lived success both perished.

According to the account of De Rocoles, the Czarina Marina, when thrown into prison by the murderers of her husband, escaped maltreatment by alleging that she was enceinte. This excuse was sufficient to preserve her from the terrible fate which befel many of her female attendants, but she was carefully guarded henceforth by her captors, who only waited for her child's birth to immediately put an end to its existence. Well aware of the fate which awaited her unborn babe, the ex-Czarina procured the body of a dead infant, and at her accouchement had it substituted for the male child which she gave birth to.

The newly-born boy was confided to the care of a Cossack woman, the mother of the dead babe, and was duly baptized Demetrius by a priestly confidant, and indelibly marked on the shoulder with a cross, to enable its royal birth to be proved when the opportunity arose. Some little time after this Marina found herself dying, and on her deathbed she confided to her attendants the stratagem by which she had preserved her son's life, and by them the secret was re-told to the Poles, who, four or five years later, came to Moscow with General Stanislas Solskonski. In the meanwhile, the Cossack to whom young Demetrius had been confided, and who brought him up in ignorance of his paternity, died without having any opportunity, or at all events availing herself of it, to reveal the secret of the boy's birth.

The year 1632 arrived, and the youthful Demetrius had nearly attained his twenty-sixth year. Going one day, by chance, to bathe in a small river in the vicinity of the little town of Samburg, in Black Russia, where he lived, another bather drew attention to the marks on his shoulder, and upbraided him for coming to bathe with honest men, deeming that he had been branded for some crime. The poor young man endeavoured to excuse himself by protesting that he had been born with this cross on his shoulder, as, indeed, he believed he had; and upon his companions examining the marks, they perceived that, though they were legible, they were quite different to anything they had ever seen upon the body of a malefactor. The story of the strange cross upon the young man's shoulder was soon noised about all over the neighbourhood, and coming to the ears of John Danielonski, the Royal Treasurer, he desired to see Demetrius. A number of his domestics were sent after the unknown, and he was soon found and taken before the grand official, where the poverty of his attire, and the wretchedness of his condition, were apparent to all.

The Treasurer, having some presentiment or knowledge of the way in which the young Demetrius had been marked, spoke to the young man kindly, and bidding him cast off all fear, asked to be allowed to see the said figuring upon his shoulder. The unknown, who was of handsome form and features, drew open his poor vest, and baring his shoulder, showed the marks which had been tattooed upon him at birth. Danielonski was enabled to trace the cross, but could not decipher the letters of which it was formed. A Russian priest, however, being found, he quickly read them, and affirmed that they stood for "Demetrius, son of the Czar Demetrius."

The joy of the Treasurer was immense at having discovered a son of the late Czar; he kissed the hands of the astounded prince, wished him every happiness, and placed all that could be wished for at his disposal. The joyous tidings spread in every direction; a courier was at once despatched to Vladislas the Fourth, who was then King of Poland, and the young man's claims bruited about everywhere. Vladislas, only too glad of an opportunity to annoy Alexis, the then Czar of Moscovy, sent at once for the young claimant to come to his court at Warsaw, and on his arrival awarded him an equipage suited to his presumed dignity. When the pseudo Czarewitch appeared at court, decked out in all his newly-acquired finery, he excited favourable attention by his handsome looks and kindly behaviour. He contracted a firm friendship with the nephew of the Grand Khan of Tartary, who, having been ousted from his possessions by an uncle, had sought and found an asylum in the Polish court. An apparent similarity of misfortune drew them together, and Vladislas, doubtlessly finding it suit his policy to encourage their pretensions, treated the two young men with every kindness, protested that he regarded them as sons, he not having any of his own, and declared that he would not leave anything undone to replace them upon their respective thrones.

Intelligence of the arrival and friendly reception of Demetrius at the Polish court was not long in travelling to Moscow; the Czar was greatly enraged when he heard of what had occurred, and sent an envoy to Vladislas to demand that the person of the soi disant Czarewitch should be given up to him. The Latin address which the Moscovite ambassador delivered to the Polish King when he made his demand is still preserved, and is chiefly remarkable for the hundred and one titles by which the Russian monarch was designated. Vladislas responded to the wearisome harangue in the same language, to the effect that no consideration would induce him to hand Prince Demetrius over to his rival Alexis, and he took no pains to conceal from the envoy that he meant to support the claims of his guest as far as lay in his power. The fruitlessness of this mission gave great uneasiness to the Czar, and caused him to seek out every possible alliance. Fate soon assisted him.

In 1648 Vladislas died, and was succeeded on the Polish throne by John Casimir, who, having to fight with Charles of Sweden, and other European powers, found it necessary to secure the neutrality of Russia; he was, therefore, obliged to banish Demetrius. The unfortunate man at first took refuge in Revel, in the little republic of Livonia. The magistrates and principal citizens received him with regal honours, but, on their refusal to deliver him up to the Czar, were threatened by that potentate with war. Reluctantly his hosts were compelled to request their luckless guest to seek another asylum, but on his departure they made him handsome presents, and had him safely and honourably escorted to the seaport of Riga.

The innocent impostor, as he has been termed, now made his way to Sweden, but political reasons drove him quickly thence, and he next sought safety with the Duke of Holstein Gottorp. He met with a friendly reception, but the fates had timed his visit at a most inopportune moment. The Duke had recently negotiated a treaty of commerce with the Czar, and while engaged on the embassy, Eurchmann, one of his envoys, had pledged his master's credit, without his authority, for a large sum of money, variously stated at one hundred thousand and three hundred thousand crowns; for which misdeed, upon his return to Holstein, he was decapitated. The Duke was, or appeared to be, in a state of embarrassment as to the liquidation of the debt, when a Russian agent, who was residing at Lubeck, and knew the value of the claimant to the Russian Czar, opened negotiations with Holstein's ruler, and, pretending to the only too willing prince that his guest was merely a common impostor, arranged for his delivery to Alexis in exchange for the receipts of the money brought away and owed for by his envoy. This is the common account of the nefarious transaction, but in all probability the whole affair had been previously arranged between the two sovereigns, and Eurchmann and Demetrius were the victims of the royal plot.

Be the truth what it may, suffices to say that the Duke of Holstein seized Demetrius, and delivered him up to the Russians sent to receive him, obtaining in return the bills for the money owing. The unfortunate man was hurried on board a vessel, transported to the Russian coast, and taken thence by rapid stages to Moscow. Directly he arrived in the metropolis the captive had a wooden gag forced into his mouth to prevent him speaking, and was confronted by an old woman, bribed for the purpose, who declared herself to be his mother, and upbraided him for unnatural ingratitude to her, and his presumption in disowning his parent; finally, desiring him to avow his misdeeds, and not to let her endure the misery of beholding him executed for his imposture.

Averting his head, Demetrius showed plainly by significant gestures that he neither acknowledged her claims, nor heeded them; whilst to the priests, who addressed him in a similar strain, and urged him to confess his imposture, he simply responded by uplifting his eyes and hands towards heaven, as if resigning himself to its decree. The unhappy man was then taken out on to the great esplanade in front of the castle of Moscow, and there executed on the 31st of December, 1653, in the forty-seventh year of his age.

The Czar Alexis was not contented with the mere death of his hapless rival, but had his head severed from his body, which was quartered and elevated upon four poles, whilst portions of his remains were left scattered on the frozen ground as a repast for the dogs. The Polish ambassador, who that same day had audience of the vindictive Emperor, was conducted to the place of execution, and shown all that now remained of the unfortunate being whom his late master had so delighted to honour.

The biographer of this pseudo Demetrius finds no little pleasure in recording that the Russian agent who negotiated the sale of our hero met with a miserable death, "in punishment for causing innocent blood to be shed;" that John Casimir, the King of Poland, who first drove him from his place of safety, was obliged to abdicate his throne, and that the Duke of Holstein was despoiled of his domains by his brother-in-law, Christian the Fifth of Denmark. He moreover records the general opinion that unless the execution of Demetrius had taken place as quickly as it did—that had it only been delayed for two hours—the populace would have risen against Alexis to despoil him of his kingdom, and place his victim on the throne in his stead.

It is a somewhat more agreeable pendant to this wretched story to know that the old companion in misfortune of Demetrius, the nephew of the Grand Khan of Tartary, ultimately succeeded to the throne of his uncle, and that he seized every occasion of expressing his hatred of John Casimir for having abandoned the beloved protégé of his brother Vladislas.

THE FALSE ZAGA CHRIST, OF ABYSSINIA.

A.D.1635.

The extremely romantic and improbable story of this soi disant prince is derived from the highly interesting work of De Rocoles; but unsupported, as would appear to be the case, by any evidence beyond the verbal testimony of the claimant himself, it may be safely regarded as purely fictitious. Nevertheless, the fact that his pretensions to royalty were, to some extent, recognized in various parts of Europe, entitles him to a place here.

According to De Rocoles, and the monks who favoured the pretender's story, his father Jacob had reigned peaceably over Abyssinia for seven years, when, having allowed it to transpire that he proposed extirpating the Roman Catholics, Susneos, a cousin of his, who had leagued himself with that body, availed himself of the pretext to commence a civil war; and the result of it, in 1608, was the defeat and death of Jacob, and the usurpation of the crown by the victor. The deceased monarch left two sons—Cosme, aged eighteen; and Zaga Christ, or The Treasure of Christ, aged sixteen.

At the time of their father's death the two princes were at Aich, in the Isle of Merse, where they resided for educational purposes. The new Emperor, beginning his reign by putting several of his predecessor's adherents to death, caused Jacob's widow to fear for the safety of her sons; she therefore sent trusty messengers to them with a quantity of gold and precious stones, and bid them quit the country for a more secure asylum until their friends had rallied sufficiently to recover them their patrimony. Acting on this advice, the two princes forsook Aich; Cosme going in a southerly direction, by which route, it is asserted, he ultimately reached the Cape of Good Hope; and Zaga Christ going northwards.

Traversing the kingdom of Senaar, which was alleged to have been tributary to his father, Zaga continued his journey to Tungi, where Orbat, a pagan monarch, reigned. This king, who also was a vassal of the Abyssinian ruler, received the fugitive prince with great honours, and for some months entertained him magnificently, having conceived the design of giving him his daughter in marriage, and assisting him to regain his father's dominions. The claimant, according to his own account, declined the proffered honour because the princess was an idolater. This rare example of royal abstinence naturally enraged Orbat, who threw his guest into prison, and sent to inform the usurper that Zaga was a captive in his hands.

As soon as he received this intelligence, Susneos sent a company of guards to Orbat's capital to take possession of his young relative. Zaga, however, being warned by a friendly Venetian, who was serving under the usurper, managed, or was permitted, to elude his captors, and, accompanied by a large body of followers, after a series of dangerous adventures contrived to reach a portion of the Turkish domain. Desirous of traversing Arabia Deserta, with a view of reaching Egypt, the young wanderer now dismissed all his followers with the exception of fifty, who elected to share his dangers. A few days after this little band had penetrated into the desert, the greater portion of its baggage was stolen by a native chieftain; and some days later, in seeking for water, fifteen out of the fifty men were lost through the giving way of the cistern walls. After a tedious and trying passage, however, the devoted band succeeded in reaching a small town on the Egyptian frontiers.

After a rest of three months, the young pretender pursued his journey to Cairo, where a large body of his countrymen and co-religionists resided. Zaga was enthusiastically received by his compatriots, whilst the Turkish pacha, or governor of the city, treated him with every respect, and for several days even lodged him in his own palace. After a short stay at Cairo, the young prince started for Jerusalem, taking with him only fifteen servitors, the remainder electing to stay with their brethren in Egypt. A large number of pilgrims also accompanied the caravan, which reached the Holy City safely about Lent, 1632.

The soi disant prince, followed by all his adherents, took up his abode with the Abyssinian priests then resident in Jerusalem. His servants, who appeared to treat him with immense deference, are described at this stage of his adventures. They are represented as great black men, attired in blue cotton shirts, wound round with yellow bouracan, six or eight yards long by one wide, and with turbans of check silk. Attended by these men, Zaga called on the pacha of Jerusalem to pay his respects, and in the same style honoured with his presence, during Holy Week, the ceremonies performed at the Holy Sepulchre by the Christians. After having spent some time in Jerusalem, he began to imbibe conscientious scruples as to the Abyssinian forms of Christianity, and at last requested the chief Roman Catholic priest in the city to receive him into the communion of that Church. This, however, was refused, the Catholics fearing that the pacha might take umbrage at so important a conversion, and make use of it to instigate a persecution against them. Nevertheless, desirous of not losing so exalted a convert, the priests persuaded Zaga Christ to quit the Holy City secretly, and, accompanied by some other pilgrims and the two or three servants who still followed his fortunes, to repair to Nazareth, where he would have perfect liberty to make his profession, the place being under the domination of Emir Fechraddin, an independent chief.

On the second Thursday after Easter, 1632, the soi disant prince arrived in Nazareth, and resided there until September of the same year; during which time he learnt to read, write, and speak a little French and Italian. It is stated that after Zaga had spent a few days at the Convent of Nazareth, the said religious house was visited by an Armenian bishop and his train, who were returning from solemnizing Easter at Jerusalem. The prince, meeting the ecclesiastic in the church, reproached him bitterly for teaching his countrymen such manifold lies and errors, such as that the sacred fire at the Holy City was sent from heaven instead of being merely ignited with a common flint, and so forth. The priest left Zaga without being able to make any reply; but in revenge for the affront he had received, he went to the prince's few remaining followers, informed them that their master had determined to pass into Europe and become a Roman Catholic, and warned them against accompanying the heretic; as Europe was, he told them, a country of perpetual frost and snow, where natives of warmer climes would speedily die, even if they escaped being captured by the corsairs, and sold as galley-slaves, whilst on the journey. Moreover, he threatened them with excommunication if they continued to associate with such a renegade to the true and pure faith.

Thus frightened, the poor Abyssinians went to their master, and represented to him that they should have to quit him if he determined to leave for Europe, as they neither wished to be frozen to death nor made galley-slaves of. Their master wept at this discourse, and reproached them for their idea of abandoning him after having so long shared his fortunes; they, the only three left out of all those who had left Abyssinia with him. He pointed out to them that if they went with him they would only have the same risks he would have himself of dying through cold, or of being sold into slavery; and that it would be far better for them to live amongst fellow-Christians than with Mohammedans, who might any day massacre them all. They were much afflicted at their master's grief, but the persuasions of the cunning Armenian were too much for them; they abandoned their master to his fate, and followed the priest to Aleppo, where two of them died, and the third returned to Jerusalem.

Thus left alone, Zaga took up his abode in the convent, where he finally abjured the heresies of the Abyssinian Church, and, on St. Peter's Day, 1632, received communion and absolution in the Catholic faith. During the five months that the prince was residing at Nazareth he was the subject of ceaseless plots and schemes, in which the Abyssinians at Jerusalem took the chief part. They tried, under various pretexts, to persuade the pacha of that city to obtain possession of Zaga; but as the convent was under the protection of a friendly chief, the Emir Fechraddin, he would not undertake or permit the expedition; and at last the prince, in obedience to an invitation from the Pope, crossed over to Italy, and was received at Rome with great magnificence, the head of the Church placing a palace at his disposal.

For two years the supposed prince was hospitably entertained in the Eternal City, and at the end of that time he accepted the invitation of the Duke de Cregui, the French ambassador, to visit France. Zaga made the journey, and for three more years resided in Paris, caressed and supported by the French. Going to Ruël, a village near the capital, to pay his court to Cardinal Richelieu, he was attacked by pleurisy, and died there in 1638, at the age of about twenty-eight years. He had been supported royally during his residence in France, and now, at his death, was interred by the side of a prince of Portugal, and a monument erected over his remains. The epitaph, however, placed upon the tomb of our soi disant prince, expressed public opinion faithfully by doubting the justness of his claims to royal lineage.

THE FALSE IBRAHIM OF TURKEY.

A.D. 1644.

The story of this pseudo prince is no less romantic than those of the other claimants mentioned in this work, but it differs from most of them inasmuch as the hero of it was an innocent victim rather than a conscious impostor. His history has been variously stated, some works asserting that the man was the eldest son of the Sultan Ibrahim of Turkey, and elder brother of Mehemet the Fourth, whilst others, including De Rocoles (the chief authority for our version) describe him as the illegitimate child of some unknown personage.

Tumbel Aga, according to the account given by De Rocoles, was chief of the eunuchs to the Sultan Ibrahim, as he had also been to his predecessor, Sultan Amurath. Having had occasionally to employ a certain well-known merchant of Constantinople, named Cesi, to execute various commissions for the imperial seraglio, he fancied he might entrust him with a delicate matter on his own behalf, and accordingly favoured him with instructions to procure him as pretty and modest a maiden as he could purchase in the market, regardless of cost. It is, of course, difficult to say what the Aga's object was in giving so strange a commission to Cesi, nor is it material to the story to know whether the girl was to be presented to the Sultan as a gift, or whether she was to be retained as an ornament for Tumbel's own abode. The merchant speedily informed the would-be purchaser that he had obtained a girl—a Russian, named Sciabas—who was as modest as she was beautiful. Delighted at this intelligence, the Aga paid the price demanded, and had his purchase sent to his rooms. Her beauty and manners were everything that could be desired, but Tumbel had not long had his purchase home before he discovered that she was likely to increase his household in a way neither wished for nor calculated upon. Indignant at the deception which had been practised upon him, but probably somewhat softened by the beautiful captive's manner, the old Aga pretended to chase her out of the seraglio, but meanwhile gave private orders that she should be cared for in every respect.