Pretenders to Royalty numerous—Contest between the Houses of York and Lancaster gives rise to various Pretenders—Insurrection of Jack Cade—He is killed—Lambert Simnel is tutored to personate the Earl of Warwick—He is crowned at Dublin—He is taken Prisoner, pardoned, and made Scullion in the Royal Kitchen—Perkin Warbeck pretends to be the murdered Duke of York—He is countenanced by the King of France—He is acknowledged by the Duchess of Burgundy—Perkin lands in Scotland, and is aided by King James—He is married to Lady Catherine Gordon—He invades England, but fails—His Death—Pretenders in Portugal—Gabriel de Spinosa—He is hanged—The Son of a Tiler pretends to be Sebastian—He is sent to the Galleys—GonÇalo Alvarez succeeds him—He is executed—An Individual of talents assumes the Character of Sebastian—His extraordinary Behaviour in his Examinations—He is given up to the Spaniards—His Sufferings and dignified Deportment—His Fate not known—Pretenders in Russia—The first false Demetrius—He obtains the Throne, but is driven from it by Insurrection, and is slain—Other Impostors assume the same Name—Revolt of Pugatscheff—Pretenders in France—Hervegault and Bruneau assume the Character of the deceased Louis XVI.

The seductions presented by a throne, and some circumstances which seemed to give a chance of success, have, in various ages and countries, stimulated individuals to personate the descendants of sovereigns, and, in some instances, deceased sovereigns themselves. To mention all of them, even briefly, within the narrow limits of a chapter, would be impossible; and, therefore, passing over the false Smerdis, the Alexanders, and others of ancient times, we will select a few specimens from modern history.

During the reigns of Henry the Sixth and Seventh, infinite carnage and misery were caused by the contest between the houses of York and Lancaster. That contest also gave rise to several remarkable impostures on the part of the Yorkists. The Duke of York, in the time of Henry the Sixth, animated one Jack Cade, a native of Ireland, to personate Mortimer, and, in consequence of this, a formidable insurrection actually burst out in Kent during the Whitsuntide week. On the first mention of the popular name of Mortimer, the common people of that county, to the number of twenty thousand, flocked to Cade’s standard. He marshalled the vast multitude that followed him, and marched to Blackheath, and, shortly after, to London. Having served in the French wars, he was enabled to encamp them with some military skill. He presented two petitions to the king, in the name of the people; and his demands, not in themselves unreasonable, were supported even by some of the king’s friends. In spite of his attempts to maintain discipline, some of his followers pillaged a few houses in London, and thus alarmed the city, which at first had favoured him. The citizens consequently rose against him, and a sharp conflict ensued, which terminated to his disadvantage. A pardon being offered to his men, they accepted it, and immediately dispersed. He himself took horse, and fled towards Lewes, in Sussex; but he was overtaken, and discovered in a garden, by an esquire, named Alexander Iden, who slew him after a desperate combat.

The discontentment of the Yorkists against the House of Lancaster showed itself more remarkably during the reign of Henry the Seventh, whose increasing unpopularity, about the year 1486, induced the opposite party to attempt some singular impostures, and set up pretenders to the crown.

The first fictitious prince was introduced to the world, by one Richard Simon, a priest, possessed of subtlety and enterprise. The youth was in reality one Lambert Simnel, the son of a baker; endowed with understanding above his years, and address above his condition, he seemed well fitted to personate a prince of royal extraction.

A report had been spread, and received with great avidity, that Richard, Duke of York, second son to Edward the Fourth, had secretly escaped from confinement, saved himself from the cruelty of his uncle, and lay concealed somewhere in England. Taking advantage of that rumour, Simon had at first instructed his pupil to assume that name; but hearing afterwards that Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, was reported to have made his escape from the Tower, he changed the plan of his imposture, that Simnel might personate that unfortunate prince.

From his being better informed of circumstances relating to the royal family, particularly of the Earl of Warwick’s adventures, than he could be supposed to have learned from one of Simon’s condition, it was conjectured that persons of higher rank, partisans of the House of York, had laid the plan of the conspiracy, and had conveyed proper instructions to the actors.

The first scene opened in Ireland, a country zealously attached to the House of York. No sooner did Simnel present himself to Thomas Fitzgerald, Earl of Kildare, and claim his protection as the unfortunate Warwick, than the credulous nobleman, not suspecting so bold an imposture, paid him great attention, and consulted some persons of rank on a matter so extraordinary.

These parties were more sanguine in belief than even himself; and in proportion to the circulation of the story, it became the object of greater enthusiasm and credulity, till the people of Dublin with one consent, tendered their allegiance to Simnel as the true Plantagenet.

Simnel was lodged in the castle of Dublin, and was crowned with a diadem taken from the statue of the Virgin, and publicly proclaimed king by the appellation of Edward the Sixth.

In order to prove the imposture of Simnel, Henry the Seventh ordered that Warwick should be taken from the Tower, led in procession through the streets of London, conducted to St. Paul’s, and exposed to the view of the whole people. This expedient put a stop to the credulity of the English; but in Ireland the people still persisted in their revolt, and even retorted on the king the reproach of propagating an imposture, and of having shown to the populace a counterfeit Warwick.

Simnel landed in England, and opposed the king in battle; but his faction having been routed, he was soon reduced to his original insignificance. He was pardoned by the king, was made a scullion to the royal kitchen, and was subsequently raised to the rank of a falconer.

Notwithstanding the failure of Lambert Simnel, a second attempt was, six years afterwards, made to disturb the government; it introduced one of the most mysterious personages recorded in English history.

The Duchess of Burgundy, it seems, full of resentment at Henry the Seventh, propagated a report that her nephew, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, had escaped from the Tower. To personate the duke, a youth, named Perkin Warbeck, was discovered, fit for her purpose. He is asserted to have been the son of one Osbeck or Warbeck, a renegado Jew of Tournay. This Jew had been to London in the reign of Edward the Fourth, and during his stay his wife brought him a son: being in favour at court, he prevailed with the king to stand godfather to his son, though it was hinted that there was, in reality, a much nearer connexion between the king and the youth; and by this, people accounted for the resemblance which was afterwards remarked between young Perkin and that monarch.

Having been well tutored by the Duchess of Burgundy, Perkin repaired to Ireland, which was chosen as the proper place for his first appearance. He landed at Cork, assuming the name of Richard, Duke of York, son of Edward the Fourth, and drew around him many partisans from among that credulous people. The news soon reached France; and Charles of France, then on the point of war with Henry, sent Perkin an invitation to repair to him, at Paris. On his arrival, he was received with all the marks of regard due to the Duke of York, as the rightful heir to the British throne. Perkin, both by his deportment and personal qualities, supported the opinion which was spread abroad of his royal pedigree; and the whole kingdom was full of the accomplishments, as well as the singular adventures, of the young Plantagenet.

Wonders of this nature are commonly augmented by distance. From France, the admiration and credulity diffused themselves into England. Sir George Neville, Sir George Taylor, and above one hundred gentlemen more, went to Paris in order to offer their services to the supposed Duke of York, and to share his fortunes. Alarmed by the pretender having gained so powerful a friend, Henry the Seventh signed a treaty of peace with Charles, who immediately ordered the adventurer to retire from his dominions. Perkin now solicited the protection of the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy. She gave him a warm reception, and bestowed on him the appellation of the White Rose of England. This behaviour of hers induced numbers to give credence to his story, as it was thought impossible that the aunt could be mistaken as to the personal identity of her nephew.

In consequence of the great communication between the Low Countries and England, the English were every day more prepossessed in favour of the impostor. Disgusted with Henry’s government, men of the highest birth and quality began to turn their eyes to the new claimant, and even opened a correspondence with him.

Sir Robert Clifford, with others, went over to Burgundy and tendered to Perkin their services. Clifford even wrote back to say that he knew perfectly the person of Richard, Duke of York, and that this young man was undoubtedly that prince himself. The whole nation was in suspense, and a regular conspiracy was formed against the king’s authority.

Henry showed great ingenuity in detecting who this wonderful person was that thus boldly advanced pretensions to his crown. His spies insinuated themselves amongst the young man’s friends, and bribed his retainers and domestic servants—nay, sometimes his confessor himself; and, in the end, the whole conspiracy was laid before him, and many of the chief conspirators were condemned and executed.

Perkin, however, continued at large, and made a descent on Kent, where he was repulsed. He then returned to Flanders, whence he sailed to Cork, but the Irish were no longer disposed to espouse his cause. In Scotland, however, to which he next proceeded, he was more fortunate. James, the monarch of that country, recognised him as “the true prince,” and not only gave to him in marriage a near relation, Lady Catherine Gordon, but also took up arms in his behalf. But, failing in two incursions in England, James grew tired of the contest, and consented to treat with Henry. Either fearing that he might be given up, or having received an intimation to withdraw, Perkin quitted Scotland with four ships and eighty followers, made a vain attempt at Cork to obtain aid from the Earl of Desmond, and finally landed in Cornwall, the men of which county had recently been in rebellion. Six thousand Cornishmen joined him, and at their head he assaulted Exeter, but was defeated by the citizens. Finding that Henry, with an overwhelming force, was now at hand, his courage failed him, and he took refuge in the sanctuary of Beaulieu, in Hampshire. He gave himself up on a promise of pardon, but was committed to the Tower. He was subsequently executed, on a charge of having, while imprisoned in the Tower, formed a treasonable plan with the Earl of Warwick to effect their escape, and raise the standard of insurrection.

Pretenders to royalty have not been of uncommon occurrence in other countries. In Portugal, the doubts respecting Sebastian having been really slain at the battle of AlcaÇar, gave rise to several attempts to personate that chivalrous but rash monarch. Five or six impostors succeeded each other; of one claimant to the name and title of the Portuguese sovereign, however, the pretensions were so plausibly or so truly supported, that serious doubts have been entertained whether he was not “the true prince,” and no “false thief.”

Of the most conspicuous of these pretenders, the first is said to have been a pastry-cook of Madrigal, Gabriel de Spinosa by name. He was tutored to act his part by Father Michael de los Santos, an Augustin friar, who had been chaplain to Don Sebastian. The friar had spoken so freely in Portugal against the Spanish usurpation, that Philip of Spain removed him out of the country, and made him confessor to a convent of nuns, at Madrigal. Donna Anna of Austria, Philip’s niece, was one of the inmates of this convent. To this princess the friar introduced the pretended Sebastian, who played his assumed character so well that she gave him some rich jewels to raise money. While he was endeavouring to dispose of these valuables privately at Madrid, he was apprehended as a thief. He declared his real profession, and that the jewels belonged to Donna Anna, and he would perhaps have been released, had not his plot been betrayed by the intercepting of a letter, in which he was addressed with the title of majesty. The result was that he and the friar were hanged, and the princess was removed to another convent and rigorously confined for the rest of her life.

The pertinacious belief of the Portuguese, that Sebastian would yet return, and their hatred of the Spanish domination, soon encouraged others to follow the example of Spinosa. The son of a tiler at AlcobaÇa, who, after leading a loose life, had turned hermit, next came forward to personate the much-desired monarch. He was accompanied by two companions, one of whom assumed the name of Don Christopher de Tavora, and the other took the title of the Bishop of Guarda. They began to raise money, and to collect partisans round them. Their career was, however, cut short by the archduke, who caused them to be apprehended. The pseudo Sebastian was ignominiously paraded through the streets of Lisbon, and then sent to the galleys for life; the self-appointed bishop was sentenced to be hanged.

Undeterred by this failure, no long time elapsed before another pretender started up, to supply the place of the tiler’s son. This was GonÇalo Alvarez, the son of a mason. His first act of royal power was to give the title of Earl of Torres Novas to Pedro Alonso, a rich yeoman, whose daughter he intended to marry. He succeeded in raising a body of eight hundred men, and it was not until some blood had been shed that he could be put down. He was hanged and quartered at Lisbon, with his newly-created earl.

In spite of these examples, several new Sebastians arose. Only one of them, however, deserves mention; but this one, if an impostor, was at least an extraordinary character. It was at Venice that he made his first appearance, about twenty years after the battle of AlcaÇar. Of the manner in which he escaped from the slaughter, and of all his subsequent wanderings, he gave a minute and seemingly well-connected account. The Venetian senate, on complaint being made to it, ordered him to depart. He sought a refuge at Padua, but, being expelled from that city by the governor, he returned to Venice. The Spanish ambassador now called loudly for the arrest of the supposed Sebastian. He accused him not only of imposture, but also of many atrocious crimes. The wanderer was in consequence seized, and thrown into prison. The ordeal to which he was subjected was no slight one. He underwent twenty-eight examinations before a committee of nobles; and he is said to have fully cleared himself of all the crimes attributed to him, and even to have given so accurate a statement of the former transactions between himself and the republic as to excite the wonder of his hearers. His apparent firmness, piety, and patience, also gained him many friends.

The senate refused to examine the charge of imposture, unless some allied prince or state would request such an investigation. The request was made, and a solemn inquiry was instituted. No decision, however, followed; all that was done was to order the asserted Sebastian to quit the Venetian territories in three days. He bent his course to Florence, where he was arrested by order of the Grand Duke, who delivered him up to the Count de Lemos, the viceroy of Naples. The count died some time after; and his successor appears to have forgotten the claimant to the Portuguese throne, who, for several years, suffered the severest hardships, as a prisoner in the castle of del’ Ovo. It is probable that attention was at length called to him by attempts to excite, at Lisbon, an insurrection in his behalf. Be this as it may, he was brought out of his dungeon, led disgracefully through the city, and proclaimed to be an impostor. On this occasion, he did not belie his pretensions, nor display any want of courage. Whenever the public officer exclaimed, “this is the man who calls himself Sebastian,” he calmly said, “and Sebastian I am.” When the same individual declared him to be a Calabrian, he exclaimed, “it is false.” When the exposure of him was over, he was shipped as a galley slave; he was next imprisoned at St. Lucar; and was subsequently removed to a castle in Castile. From that moment his fate is buried in oblivion.

In Russia, the seductive hope of ascending a throne has tempted various individuals to simulate deceased princes, and to stake life on “the hazard of the die,” for the chance of obtaining their object. One only, with more ability and better fortune than the rest, succeeded in grasping for a short time the prize. On the death of Feodor, son of Ivan the Terrible, the throne was occupied by Boris Godunoff, who had contrived to procure the murder of Demitri, or Demetrius, the younger brother of Feodor. For a while Boris governed wisely, and acquired much popularity with the multitude; but it was not long before the nobles began to plot against him; the affections of the populace were alienated, and universal confusion ensued. This state of affairs was favourable to imposture, and an individual soon appeared who had talents to turn it to his advantage. There was a monk named Otrefief, who bore an almost miraculous likeness to the murdered Demetrius. He was also possessed of qualities well calculated to win the suffrage of the crowd; for his figure was fine, his manners prepossessing, and his eloquence forcible.

Relying on his personal likeness to the deceased prince, the love which the people cherished for the old royal stock, and the hatred to which they had been roused against Boris, the hardy adventurer spread abroad a report that he was Ivan, who had been saved from the assassins, by the substitution of another youth in his place. Leaving this to work in the minds of the Russians, he withdrew into Poland, where his arts, his eloquence, and his promises, soon gained for him numerous allies. Sendomir, a wealthy and powerful Boyard, promised him his daughter in marriage whenever he should become czar; and, through the influence of Sendomir, the support of the king of Poland was obtained. Boris denounced him, in proclamations, as an impostor, and sent spies to seize and put him to death; but both were unavailing. The false Demetrius advanced into Russia, in 1604, at the head of a small army of Cossacks and Poles. Boris despatched a much larger force to meet him, and a desperate battle ensued. The spirit-stirring language of the pretender to his troops, and his own signal intrepidity, turned the scale of victory in his favour. Numbers immediately espoused his cause; Boris every day found his subjects and his troops deserting him; and at length he poisoned himself in despair. The victor entered Moscow, and was crowned there.

Demetrius began his reign in a manner which seemed to promise that it would be lasting. He was prudent, just, amiable, and accessible even to his poorest subjects. But the possession of power seems to have exercised on him its usual intoxicating influence. His virtues vanished, and he began to excite disgust. But the circumstances which most contributed to alienate from him the Russians were his impolitic lavishing of honours upon the Poles, and his equally impolitic contempt of the national religion. These were two inexpiable offences in the eyes of those whom he governed. A conspiracy was formed against him by Prince Schnisky, the palace of the pseudo Demetrius was stormed, and he perished by the weapons of the revolters.

Several other Demetriuses subsequently started up. The first of these was a Polish schoolmaster, who, with the help of the Poles, obtained possession of Moscow; but he soon sunk into obscurity. The rest were still less lucky; some of them perished on the gibbet. The last of the species appeared in 1616, and pretended to be the son of Demetrius. He was seized and strangled, and with him terminated all attempts to personate a prince of the race of Ivan the Terrible.

A century and a half elapsed before another adventurer of this kind was seen in Russia. His name was Pugatscheff, and he was a coarse and ferocious specimen of impostor princes. He was a Don Cossack, and had served against the Prussians and Turks. A trifling circumstance was the cause of his aspiring to a throne. He was sent with a despatch to a general, whom he found surrounded by his staff officers. On seeing Pugatscheff, all the officers at once expressed their surprise at the striking likeness which he bore to the murdered Emperor Peter.

This was sufficient to awaken ambition in his mind. He deserted, and took refuge in Poland, where he spent some time in acquiring the information which was requisite for carrying his plan into effect. He then entered Russia, spread his forged tale among the Cossacks, and at length collected sufficient followers to enable him to take the field. He began his operations in 1773, by seizing some fortresses in the government of Orenbourg, swelled his numbers exceedingly, baffled the government forces, and, it is thought, might have made himself master of Moscow had he pushed boldly forward. Count Panin having brought together a considerable army, succeeded in driving him beyond the Ural mountains; but, in spite of every effort that was made against him, he contrived to keep up a harassing warfare for more than twelve months. It is probable that he might have held out longer had he not disgusted even his partisans by his acts of wanton and brutal cruelty. This, and the temptation offered by a reward of a hundred thousand roubles, induced some of his followers to betray him. He was carried to Moscow in an iron cage, and was executed there in January, 1775.

France, within the last fifty years, has had no less than three or four false dauphins; one of whom, of very recent date, was a German watchmaker. The most conspicuous of them were, however, Jean Marie Hervegault, and Maturin Bruneau. The former of these was the son of a tailor, at St. Lo. The strong resemblance of his features to those of Louis XVI. was doubtless that which inspired him with the hope of passing for the son of that monarch. He had a good address, much art, and a large stock of impudence, and succeeded in making numerous proselytes, even among people of education and fortune. He was several times imprisoned, but his blind admirers still persisted in paying him royal honours. He died in the BicÊtre in 1812. His successor, Maturin Bruneau, had neither equal skill nor equal success with Hervegault, yet he found a considerable number of credulous dupes. His career was stopped in 1818, by a sentence of seven years’ imprisonment, two years of which were imposed for his daring insolence to the court by which he was tried.

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