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