James Thalreuter or the “False Prince”—A notorious swindler—His early life and education—Adopted by the Stromwalters—Pledges their credit and robs their safe—Forges letter from a grand-duke—Squanders money thus obtained in wild dissipation—Makes full confession of his frauds—Sentenced to eight years’ imprisonment—“The Golden Princess,” Henrietta Wilke—Her luxurious mode of living and generosity to the poor—Curiosity as to her origin—Loans borrowed on false pretences—She is arrested—Startling revelations brought to light at her trial—Sentenced to twelve years’ penal servitude—“Prince Lahovary” or George Manolescu—Arrested in Paris at the age of nineteen charged with thirty-seven thefts—His criminal career—Campaign in America under the assumed title of “Prince Lahovary”—Imprisoned for personating the Russian general Kuropatkin—Leonhard Bollert, nicknamed the “attorney general”—A notorious criminal-adventurer who served many terms in different prisons.

The criminal records of Germany contain some rather remarkable instances of swindling and imposture. One of the most curious was that of James Thalreuter, commonly called the “False Prince.” He was the illegitimate son of Lieutenant-Colonel von Rescher and Barbara Thalreuter, the daughter of an exciseman. He was born at Landshut in 1809 and was acknowledged by his father. His mother died the same year and he was taken charge of by Baron von Stromwalter, an intimate friend of his father. The boy James was accepted in the house as a son of the family on equal terms with the Stromwalter children, and the baroness grew extravagantly fond of him. He was a clever, lively lad, full of mischievous ways, and very early he exhibited a fertile and promising genius for lying. The baroness exercised absolute sway in the house, for the family fortune and property was entirely hers. The baron was a mere cypher, a weak and foolish old man, who had no other means than his pension from a civil post.

The lad had been sent to school and was supposed to have gained a good education, but, as a matter of fact, he had learned very little. He wrote poorly and spelled abominably, but he had made good progress at arithmetic, and before he was sixteen possessed a surprising knowledge of financial and commercial affairs. A strongly marked trait was his power of inventing the most varied, ingenious and complicated lies, perfect in their smallest details and worked up with masterly skill. This seemingly inexhaustible talent was aided by a singularly comprehensive and accurate memory. Whenever he returned home from school, he quickly established an extraordinary influence over his fond foster-mother; he felt neither affection nor respect for her, but only esteemed her as the person able to minister to his selfish desires. The baroness, on her part, did everything she could to please him, lavished money upon him freely, and kept nothing secret from him, not even the safe containing her jewels and valuables to which he had always free access. It was testified afterward that he did what he liked with the baroness, sometimes by fair, but more often by foul means. As for the poor old baron, he was treated with supreme contempt, was often addressed in insulting terms before others, and once Thalreuter actually struck him.

The young villain made the most of his situation and took advantage of the old lady’s excessive fondness to pledge her credit and run heavily into debt. He plundered her right and left, carried away many valuable things from the house, and from time to time stole large sums from her bureau, the keys of which he could always obtain. The baroness caught him at last and proceeded to reprimand her foster-son severely, but he easily persuaded her to forgive him, and she went no further than to take better care of her keys. The success which he had so far achieved now inspired him with an ingenious plan for defrauding his foster-parents on a large scale.

In the early part of the year 1825 he began to let fall mysterious hints that it was altogether a mistake to suppose that he had been born in a humble station; that, on the contrary, he was really the son of a royal personage, the Duke of B., who, having lost one son by poison, had secretly entrusted this second son to Colonel von Reseller,—a special favourite,—who was to pass for his father and bring him up, preserving the most inviolable secrecy. Incredible as it may appear, the Stromwalters were gulled by this manifestly fraudulent story. They had known the young Thalreuter from his youth, had seen and possessed the certificate of his birth, and were fully aware of all the circumstances attending it. Yet they were easily imposed upon and dazzled by the grandeur of this tremendous fiction, backed up by the production of letters from the grand-duke, which in themselves were plain evidence of the fraud. Possibly Thalreuter had inherited his indifferent calligraphy from his illustrious parent, for the twenty letters purporting to come from his royal highness were illegible scrawls, poor in composition and wretched in style; but this very circumstance supplied the impostor with an excuse for retaining them and reading them aloud. They were couched in terms of deep gratitude for the foster-parents’ care, and a large return in cash and honour was promised as a reward for their services. The grand-duke did not limit himself to empty promises; he sent through Thalreuter a costly present of six strings of fine pearls of great value, very acceptable to the Stromwalters, who, thanks to the extravagance of their foster-son, the pretended prince, were much pinched for money. The pearls were pledged for a fictitious value, Thalreuter declaring that his grand-ducal father would be greatly offended if he heard they had been submitted to formal examination. The impostor studiously suppressed the fact that he had bought the pearls at two shillings per string at a toy shop with money which he had stolen. He had obtained a pair of sham earrings at the same shop. Any story was good enough to fool the simpleton Stromwalters; he exhibited the miniature one day of an officer in uniform, blazing with orders, as that of the grand-duke, and on another day showed them sketches of the estates that were to be bestowed upon the worthy couple. Again, he pretended that his highness had called in state in a carriage and four to pay a ceremonious visit when they were absent; and another time claimed that the royal chamberlain had invited the baron to share a bottle with him at the Swan Inn, but was called away by urgent business before the baron arrived.

This shameless deception profited Thalreuter greatly. As a prince in disguise, he was treated with much indulgence and liberally supplied with the means of extravagance. He now invented a fresh lie, that of a proposed match between the son, Lieutenant von Stromwalter, and the heiress of a rich and noble family, the Von Wallers, and the whole intrigue was carried forward even as far as betrothal without bringing the parties together, secrecy being essential to the very last, as Thalreuter explained to the old people. But he produced letters—of his own manufacture—from the grand-duke and various people of rank at court, all of them congratulating the Stromwalters on the approaching most desirable marriage. The ultimate aim of the fraud was at last shown when Thalreuter forged a letter calling upon the baroness to pay a sum of 10,000 florins into the military fund as a guarantee that her son was able to support a wife. The generous grand-duke had offered to advance a large part of this money, but at least 2,700 florins must come from the Stromwalters, and they actually handed the cash to Thalreuter, who rapidly squandered it in dissipation of the most reckless kind.

Were it not that all the facts in this marvellous imposture are vouched for by the legal proceedings afterward instituted, it would be difficult to credit the amazing credulity, amounting to imbecility, displayed by the Stromwalters. Thalreuter played his game with extraordinary boldness, and continually traded on the name of the son in support of his preposterous fictions. He invented the story of a seditious plot, in which the lieutenant was embroiled and for which he was arrested, only to extract a sum of one thousand florins for obtaining his release from prison.

The next fraud was a trumped-up tale that the lieutenant was in serious pecuniary difficulties and that, unless cleared, the marriage must be broken off; the result was a further advance by the baroness, who sold off a quantity of her furniture to obtain cash. Then it appeared that the lieutenant was involved in a dishonourable intrigue and could only be extricated by paying blackmail; he must make presents to his fiancÉe and the jeweller’s bill must be settled; a house for the young couple must be furnished, and hence the abstraction of many articles from the home of the old Stromwalters, all of which were pawned by Thalreuter.

Strange to say, relations were never opened up with the Von Wallers; stranger still, no direct communications were opened with the son. And it would seem perfectly incredible that his parents did not write to him on the subject of his coming marriage, of his arrest, or of his embarrassments and necessary expenditure. They did write, as a matter of fact, but Thalreuter intercepted all the letters and continued his thefts and embezzlements unchecked and undiscovered. He made a clean sweep of everything; emptied the house, dissipated the property, obtained the baroness’s signature to bills and drafts by false pretences, and ruined her utterly.

The large sums thus shamelessly obtained by Thalreuter were thrown absolutely away. He entertained his acquaintances, mostly of the lowest classes,—peasants and domestic servants,—in the most sumptuous manner at different inns and taverns. Not only were the most costly wines poured out like water at the table, but they were cast into adjacent ponds and dashed against the carriage wheels; the most delicate viands were thrown out of the window for boys to scramble for; splendid fireworks were set off to amuse the guests, among whom he distributed all kinds of expensive presents with the greatest profusion. One witness even stated that on one occasion he moistened the wheels of the carriage he had hired with eau de Cologne. A toyman, Stang by name, who was the constant companion of Thalreuter and partaker of his extravagant pleasures, sold him, in one year, goods to the amount of 6,700 florins, among which was eau de Cologne worth 50 florins. Stang, on first witnessing the boy’s extravagance, thought it his duty to report it to Baroness von Stromwalter, but was told that the expenditure of her James would not appear surprising whenever the secret of his birth and rank should be revealed; that at present she could only say that he was the son of very great parents and would have more property than he could possibly spend. The poor toyman was, of course, overjoyed at the thought of having secured the friendship and custom of a prince in disguise, and no longer felt any hesitation in accepting Thalreuter’s presents and joining his parties, and from that time forward they became almost daily companions.

Thalreuter’s behaviour did not escape the notice of the authorities, but when they applied to his foster-parents, they were put off by the same mysterious hints of his noble birth. But fate at last fell heavily upon the young impostor. When called upon to pay a long-standing account for coach hire, Thalreuter produced a cheque purporting to be drawn by a certain Dr. Schroll. The signature was repudiated as a forgery, and the young man was arrested. The baroness still stood by him and was ready to answer for it until the scales fell from her eyes at the swindler’s astonishing confessions. Thalreuter now recounted at length the repeated deceits and frauds he had practised upon his foster-parents, the extent of which could hardly be estimated, but there was little doubt that he had extorted by his dishonest processes a sum between 6,000 and 8,000 florins. He implicated the unfortunate Stang in these nefarious actions, and other well-do-do and respectable persons. Many of the charges brought proved to be utterly false, and it appeared that this consummate young rogue had acted chiefly alone. It was clearly made out that he had had no assistance in effecting the ruin of the too credulous Stromwalters, and had relied upon his own wit and the extreme weakness and simplicity of the old people.

Thalreuter, in consideration of his youth, was sentenced to only eight years’ imprisonment at hard labour and a corporal punishment of twenty-five lashes on admission to prison. He only survived to complete two years of his sentence and died in 1828 at the bridewell in Munich.

Not many years after the coming and going of the false prince, Thalreuter, at Munich, another fictitious aristocrat flashed across the horizon of Berlin society, springing suddenly into notoriety and attracting universal attention. She was generally known as the “Golden Princess,” but no one knew certainly whom she was or whence she came. She appeared about 1835, when she adopted a sumptuous style of living which dazzled every one and made her the universal topic of conversation. She occupied a luxuriously furnished villa in the Thiergarten, kept a liveried man servant, a coachman, a cook, a maid and also a lady companion, and habitually drove about Berlin in a beautifully equipped carriage. She frequented the most expensive shops, where she made large purchases, to the intense satisfaction of the tradesmen, who considered the “Golden Princess” their best customer, particularly as she was quite above haggling and bargaining. She was generous to a fault; the poor besieged her door, and her deeds of charity were many. She often travelled, and her journeys to London and Brussels were much discussed; she visited German baths and would post to Carlsbad with four horses. From all these places she brought back splendid presents which she lavished upon her acquaintances, although they were not always cordially accepted, for her social position during the earlier part of her career by no means corresponded with her general magnificence. She did not frequent fashionable circles, nor did she receive much company at home.

A woman of this kind could not escape gossiping criticism. Many reports were current of her quality and antecedents. One story was that she was betrothed to a Brazilian, Count Villamor, who was supposed to have fallen in love with her abroad and was now providing the means for her to live in Berlin and to travel, so that she might fit herself for the high position of his wife. Others said that she was engaged to marry a Hamburg senator. German counts, and even princes, were also suggested as the future husbands of this interesting girl. The consensus of opinion, however, was in favour of the Brazilian, and her very ample means gave some colour to this assumption. She was an attractive woman, although not strikingly beautiful; she had good features and fascinating manners, and it was natural that this wealthy foreign count should fall in love with her. To call her an adventuress was unjustifiable.

This Henrietta Wilke, for such was her modest name, was no stranger in reality, nor was she of distinguished parentage. She was born of humble people who died when she was a child, and she had been befriended by some wealthy folk who gave her an education above her station, so that when, at their death, she was obliged to go into domestic service, she was treated more as a friend than a servant. She began as a nurse-maid and then became companion to an elderly maiden lady of Charlottenburg named Niemann, who played a large part in her subsequent history.

Henrietta Wilke had borne a good character as a respectable, unpretending girl, and there was no reason whatever to suspect her of frauds and malpractices for the purpose of acquiring wealth. The police could urge nothing against her, even if the sources of her wealth were obscure. She did not thrust herself into the society of well-to-do people to cheat and impose upon them. On the contrary, she consorted with a lower class and behaved with great propriety; her reputation was good; she paid her way honourably, was extremely charitable and never seemed ashamed of her poor relations. Still, there were those who smiled sarcastically and hinted that some strange truths would yet be disclosed about this enigmatic personage.

Among those who trusted her implicitly was the proprietor of a large furniture establishment in Berlin, Schroder by name, from whom she had made large purchases, always paying for them in cash. One day he made so bold as to ask her if she would lend him a few thousand thalers to increase his business, as she seemed to have a large capital at her command. She replied that she had not attained her majority—she was twenty-three years old, but the age of majority in Germany was twenty-four years. She would otherwise gladly give him the sum herself, she said, but in the meantime she promised to try to procure it from a friend of hers who had the control of her own fortune. The following day she informed Schroder that her old friend FrÄulein Niemann, of Charlottenburg, was quite prepared to lend him 5,000 thalers at four per cent., on the security of his shop. The money, however, was invested in debentures, and it could not be released until the repayment of 500 thalers which had been borrowed on them. If Schroder would advance that sum, the whole business might be settled at once.

Schroder, after making inquiries and hearing nothing but satisfactory reports about FrÄulein Niemann, went to Charlottenburg and, in the presence of Henrietta Wilke, gave her the 500 thalers to secure the 5,000 thalers which were to be shortly handed over. But on the following day FrÄulein Wilke came to him again and said that the debentures could only be released by the payment of 1,000 thalers; to compensate him she offered to raise the loan to 8,000 thalers. Schroder, after some hesitation, agreed to pay the further 500 thalers; but he first sought further information as to FrÄulein Niemann’s solvency, taking her promise in writing to lend him on June 28th, 1836, a capital of 8,000 thalers and to repay him his loan of 1,000 thalers.

Instead of the money, however, Henrietta Wilke came to him again and announced that FrÄulein Niemann meant to make his fortune. She would lend him 20,000 thalers instead of 8,000 thalers, but to release so large an amount of debentures she required a further sum of 500 thalers. Schroder at first demurred, but, after paying the two ladies another visit, he relented. He paid the third 500 thalers and for this was to receive on February 10th the whole sum of twenty thousand thalers. The 10th of February passed, but the money was not forthcoming. Instead, a message came to say that 8,000 thalers at least should be paid on the following Monday. FrÄulein Wilke appeared on the Monday without the money, indeed, but with the news that as her friend’s banker had not made the promised payment, she would borrow the sum from another friend. Schroder believed her, and his confidence was such that he gave her 100 thalers more, which she still required to draw out the necessary debentures. He received a receipt from FrÄulein Niemann, and February 13th was fixed as the day of payment. But on the day when this agreement was made, Schroder heard that other persons had received from FrÄulein Wilke some of the bank-notes he had given to her or FrÄulein Niemann for the release of the debentures. Indeed, he learned that FrÄulein Wilke had bought two horses with one of his 300 thaler notes.

He rushed to Charlottenburg and found Henrietta and her companion at FrÄulein Niemann’s. A violent scene took place, but a reconciliation followed, and Schroder allowed himself to be persuaded to wait until February 27th. When on that day the money was again not forthcoming, he very naturally grew uneasy and applied to the police. Herr Gerlach, at that time the head of the force, found no cause for prosecuting Henrietta Wilke or the blameless FrÄulein Niemann, and although the celebrated police magistrate Duncker did not agree, no steps were taken to arrest them. Schroder now decided to sue FrÄulein Niemann. A compromise, however, was reached. He then limited his demands to the repayment of the 1,600 thalers and to the loan of a small capital of 8,000 thalers, both of which were conceded. To disarm his suspicion, FrÄulein Wilke required of FrÄulein Niemann that she should at least show him the money he was to receive. The old lady accordingly took out of her cabinet a sealed packet with the superscription “10,000 thalers in Pomeranian debentures.” Schroder asked that it should be given over to him at once, but FrÄulein Wilke, always the spokeswoman for FrÄulein Niemann, explained that this was impossible on account of family circumstances, and that he could not have the debentures until March 30th. The day came but not the money; FrÄulein Wilke and her companion FrÄulein Alfrede called upon him and continued to allege complicated family affairs as the cause of the delay. To reassure him, however, and to disarm suspicion, she handed over to him, in FrÄulein Niemann’s name, the sealed packet with the 10,000 thalers in debentures, but with the injunction not to open it until April 5th, otherwise, no further payments would be made; then to convert the debentures into cash, keep 1,600 thalers for himself, take 8,000 thalers as a loan, and return the rest to FrÄulein Niemann. All parties now seemed satisfied.

On the date fixed, Schroder went to a notary’s office under police instruction and broke the seals, when, in the place of the 10,000 thalers in debentures, they found nothing in the envelope but several sheets of blank paper. A fraud had evidently been committed which pointed to other irregularities. It would be tedious to describe in detail the ingenious deceptions practised for years past by Henrietta Wilke on FrÄulein Niemann, whose god-daughter she was, and upon whom she had continually imposed by pretending that she was the protÉgÉ of great personages, more especially the princess Raziwill, who had secured the good offices of the king himself, William III, on her behalf. The FrÄulein Niemann was deluded into making large advances, ostensibly to help the princess in her necessities and ultimately the king, but which really were impounded feloniously by Wilke. The king was also supposed to be mixed up in the backing of Schroder’s furniture business, and the packet containing the sham debentures was represented to have been really prepared by royal hands. This farrago of nonsense failed to satisfy Schroder, who now gave information to the police and the “Golden Princess” had reached the end of her career. She was taken into custody and subjected to judicial examination. When before the judge, all her powers of intrigue seemed to abandon her. She made a full confession and admitted everything. What was the motive which led so young a girl to commit such gigantic frauds, was asked. The criminal herself gives the simplest explanation of this in her own statement:

“In first practising my frauds on Niemann, I was actuated by a distaste for service as a means of support. It proved so easy to procure money from her that I continued doing so. At first I thought that she was very rich and would not be much damaged if I drew upon her superfluity. When, however, she was obliged to raise money on her house, I saw that she had nothing more, but then it was too late for me to turn back.” When asked if she had never considered the danger of detection, she replied with complete unconcern that she had entertained no such fears. She had spent everything she had received from Fraulein Niemann and others to gratify her desire to live like a fine lady, and had retained nothing but the few articles found in her possession at the time of her arrest. In this simple statement the whole explanation of her way of life was contained. All the witnesses who had known her previously testified to her being a quiet, good-tempered person and that she was well conducted from a moral point of view was certain. Her relatives confirmed all this, but stated that they had always considered the education given her to be above her condition, and had thought it encouraged her in her frivolity and her desire to play the lady of quality. All this tallies with the whole story of her life which was based upon the desire for luxury and show.

Opportunity creates thieves and also begets beings of her sort, addicted to speculative transactions. They begin in a small way and good luck spurs them on to greater enterprises. Like her imagination, her talent for intrigue grew apace. From the humble position of a nurse-maid, she aspired to raise herself to that of a lady companion. She only pretended to act as the favoured agent of a king, after having posed as the pet of a princess and the betrothed of several counts, her early desire to be a school mistress having been cast aside as unworthy of her soaring ambition.

While in prison, she composed a letter to the king, supposed to be written by FrÄulein Niemann, in which this lady is made to implore his pardon for her protÉgÉ, and begs him to open the prison doors. To this she added some lines addressed to FrÄulein Alfrede, Wilke’s former companion, directing her to induce FrÄulein Niemann to copy it in her own hand; and it was then to be delivered by the companion to a trustworthy person who would see that it was given to the king. The contents of this epistle were divulged by another prisoner. It produced no results, of course, but bears witness to Henrietta Wilke’s courage and adroitness in continuing to weave her intrigues within the prison walls, and shows how long she must have held the old lady a captive in a net of lies.

The first verdict was pronounced on May 21, 1836. According to Prussian law, the fraud committed could only be atoned for by the reimbursement of double the sum misappropriated, and if the criminal were without means, a corresponding term of penal servitude would be inflicted. This duplicated fine was computed by the judge at 42,450 thalers, and he desired that on account of the self-evident impecuniosity of the girl Wilke, and of the allegation brought forward of aggravated circumstances connected with her malpractices, a sentence of twelve years’ penal servitude be pronounced.

Confined at first in Spandau and afterward in Brandenburg, the prisoner’s conduct seems to have been uniformly good. She occupied herself with embroideries, which were said to be very skilfully executed. A petition for her pardon was sent in some years ago, but was rejected, as there was no reason for letting out so dangerous a prisoner before her term had expired. Even when the period for release arrived, she was not allowed her freedom until the administrator of the institution had satisfied himself that she had really been improved by the punishment endured, was capable of earning her livelihood honestly, and that her liberation would not endanger the public safety.

A case of the pretentious impostor of recent date, imprisoned in various German prisons, is that of George Manolescu, whose memoirs have appeared in the form of an autobiography. So varied were the experiences of this thorough-paced scoundrel, so cleverly did he carry out his gigantic depredations and his numerous frauds and thefts great and small, almost always without any violence, that his story has all the elements of romance. Manolescu was highly gifted by nature. Endowed with a handsome person, he appeared to have an affectionate disposition, spoke several languages with ease and fluency, and his singular charm of manner made him at home in the most fastidious society. Exhibiting an utter disregard of the commonest principles of right and wrong, he devoted his talents and his marvellous ingenuity to criminal malpractices.

George Manolescu was born on May 20th, 1871, in the town of Ploesci in Roumania. His father was a captain of cavalry, who, owing to his implacable and haughty character, was constantly being shifted from one garrison to another; his mother, a great beauty, died when he was two years old, and the care of his early childhood was confided to his grandmother, whom he caused endless trouble. Later on he was transferred from school to school, for his passionate love of perpetual change and his undisciplined nature prevented him from settling down to work anywhere. This longing for travels and adventures was, indeed, deep seated and unconquerable, so that at last his father sought to give it a natural vent by sending him to an academy for naval cadets. At first his conduct was good, but soon his intolerance of control asserted itself and led him to insubordination. On his return to the academy after a vacation, he misconducted himself and was punished with close confinement in a small cell under the roof. He managed, however, to break open the door, climb out on the roof and let himself down into the street by means of the nearest telegraph post. He started at once for the harbour of Galatz, and with only one franc, 50 centimes for his whole fortune, stowed himself away on a steamer bound for Constantinople. The captain had him put on shore at that port. Half dead with fatigue and hunger, he obtained a portion of pilaf from the first vendor of that delicacy whom he met in the streets of the Turkish capital, and after satisfying his appetite, in lieu of payment he flung the empty dish at the man’s head and took to his heels. He ran up to Pera and entered the public garden, where an entertainment was in progress at a theatre of varieties. Here he met a Turkish officer who noticed him and with whom he had some conversation. Seeing the corner of a pocket book protruding from that worthy’s half-open coat, the boy with lightning speed possessed himself of it unobserved, and also picked the officer’s pocket of a cigarette case encrusted with diamonds. He then escaped with his booty. The pocket book contained 20 pounds sterling; with this sum he set up a sort of bazaar by filling a large basket with various articles for sale, and, assisted by a young Italian he casually met, cried his wares all over the town. This first venture was not successful, as he made no profit and the assistant ran away with the whole stock in trade, including the basket.

Thus living from hand to mouth, he decided to turn his back on Constantinople, where he felt the eyes of the police were upon him. Being penniless, he applied to the Roumanian legation to send him home, which they consented to do. On landing at Galatz, as he was entirely without money, he went into the nearest cafÉ, annexed the first overcoat he saw, and pawned it for a few francs. This was not enough money to pay his journey to Bucharest where his family now lived, so he sought other means to replenish his exchequer. Loving, as he did, everything pertaining to the sea, he visited the various foreign ships lying in the harbour and inspected all parts, always stealing as he went any valuables he could find in the cabins of the captain and chief engineer. Presently Galatz became too hot for him, and he found it expedient to proceed to Bucharest, where he made but a short stay.

Paris, the dream of every youthful vaurien, strongly attracted him. In the meantime he started on his travels once more, and again reached Constantinople, from whence he travelled on to Athens, defraying his expenses by clever thefts. One fine day, however, he found himself in the Grecian capital without funds and once more applied to the Roumanian legation to be repatriated. This request being refused, he drew his revolver, put it to his breast, pulled the trigger and fell down senseless. He was removed to a hospital, and although the ball could not be extracted, he did not die, as the surgeon expected. While he lay there, he attracted much sympathy and received several gracious visits from Queen Olga of Denmark, who was at that time in Athens. Her kindness so touched him the first time she came that he burst into tears. She caused him to be removed to the best room in the hospital, defrayed his expenses, and when he recovered ordered him to appear at the Greek court. Subsequently she provided the means for his journey home where, as before, he remained but a short time.

In July, 1888, his love of adventure again drew him away and eventually he managed to reach Paris, where he established himself in the Latin Quarter. His family agreed to make him a small monthly allowance, provided he should adopt some reputable means of livelihood. But the attempt was half-hearted, and as he soon found himself straitened in his means, he eked them out by thefts committed at the Bon MarchÉ, Louvre and other great department stores. His tricks and fraudulent devices were ingenious and varied and may be passed over. He soon aimed at higher game and began stealing unset precious stones from jewellers’ shops, by which he realised plunder to the value of about 5,000 francs monthly. He hired a beautiful villa in the rue FranÇois I, lived in luxury, kept race horses and was well received by members of fashionable society, in whose exclusive homes he was made welcome as the supposed son of a rich father, and where he gambled on an enormous scale, often losing large sums. One fine day, however, fate overtook him and he was arrested for thirty-seven thefts to the aggregate value of 540,000 francs. He was thus dashed from the height of prosperity into an abyss of misfortune, and in 1890, when still barely nineteen years of age, he was sentenced to four years’ imprisonment. After his release, he was again sent home to Bucharest, where as usual he remained only a short time.

He now visited various countries, including Japan and the United States. In Chicago, where many bankers are of German extraction, he was invited everywhere, partly because his German was so perfect and also because he adopted the title of Duke of Otranti and so made an impression by his imaginary high rank. Rich marriages were proposed to him, but the parents of a beautiful girl whom he desired to make his wife discredited the proofs he offered of his wealth and exalted rank. He continued his thefts and was twice imprisoned during this period of his career. But as we are chiefly concerned with his German experiences, we shall take up his life again at the time of his marriage to a German countess of an ancient Catholic family whom he met travelling in Switzerland. He managed to procure the consent of the girl’s mother, but the rest of the family were averse to the match. The young people were genuinely in love, and this marvellous adventurer never ceased to love his wife and was a tender, though not very faithful husband while they remained together. There were so many difficulties to be overcome and so much to be concealed that the marriage seemed hardly possible. But Manolescu procured his papers from Roumania and the couple were married by the bishop of Geneva, the Roumanian vice-consul being present, though the bridegroom, to add to other complications, belonged to the Greek Church. He travelled a great deal with his wife, and in 1899 visited some of her aristocratic relations at their fine country schloss, where he was warmly received. Later on the young couple settled in a lovely villa on the Lake of Constance, where their only child, a girl, was born.

Of course Manolescu was soon short of money, and he decided to start for Cairo to try to procure for himself a position there as hotel manager. The parting between husband and wife, although they supposed it would only be temporary, was most pathetic. They never lived together again. He never reached his destination, for when out of reach of his wife’s good influence, his thieving proclivities again overmastered him, and at Lucerne, one of his stopping places, he entered the rooms of a married couple staying at his hotel and stole most of the contents of the lady’s jewel case which he found in the first trunk he opened. In the husband’s trunk he also found valuable securities which he appropriated, and with this rich booty he escaped to Zurich. At the Hotel Stephanie there, he robbed the bed-room of an American gentleman, making off with bank-notes and French securities to the amount of 70,000 francs. Shortly after this coup he was arrested at Frankfurt and taken to a police station. A brief description given in his own words of some of his experiences there may be of interest.

“At the prison I was given in charge of the inspector. This man, wishing at once to assert his authority, ordered me in a brutal tone to strip where I stood, on a stone floor in a cold corridor where there was a terrible draught from the open windows. I submitted, knowing this measure to be usual at most prisons, though it does not take place elsewhere in a corridor, but in rooms specially arranged for this purpose; also prisoners are generally allowed to keep on their under-linen and shoes. I, however, had to divest myself of everything except my shoes. My garments were carefully searched one by one. During this time the inspector stood in front of me with an evil smile on his face, swaying himself from side to side. I begged him civilly to allow me to keep on my shirt, whereupon he replied that I was well protected from cold by my shoes. Beside myself with rage, I took them and flung them at his head. He threw himself upon me and tried to strike me with his bunch of keys, but I seized his wrist and twisted it, forcing him to drop them. Two warders now appeared at his call, and he ordered me to put on my clothes. To these irons were to be added, but I resisted, and a fight took place in which I came off the victor. The attempt to put me into irons was given up, and I was moved up into a small but airy cell, where I was securely locked up. Later, however, the chief inspector came to see me; he spoke to me kindly and begged me to behave quietly and he would see that I was not maltreated in any way.”

Manolescu’s attempt at escape, his simulation of madness, and the interviews with his wife, who came to Frankfurt that she might see him, need not be detailed at length. It is enough to say that he was extradited to Switzerland, tried and sentenced to only six months’ hard labour. Having regard to the strictness of the Swiss laws, this was a mild sentence, but Manolescu was not considered by the authorities to be in his right mind.

In September of 1900, after his release, he crossed once more to America, where he carried out a large robbery successfully, and returning to Paris, again lived on the very crest of the wave, frequenting the same fashionable circles and attributing his long absence from France to family affairs. He now assumed the title of Prince Lahovary, and had a neat prince’s coronet printed on his visiting cards. He posed as a bachelor, looked about for a wife, and proposed to a young American widow whom he met at Boulogne, where she was staying with her father and brother. She evinced some inclination to accept him and some of her relatives favoured the “prince’s” suit. At the end of three weeks’ courtship they parted, agreeing to meet later on in Berlin. Lahovary, as we must now call him, returned temporarily to Paris, where he literally wallowed in luxury. The large sums he spent he managed to provide for the time being by play, for he was a most inveterate gambler, although not usually lucky, as he calculated that he had lost altogether 1,800,000 francs at cards during his career. In November he arrived, as agreed, in Berlin, accompanied by a secretary and valet, and made his entry into the proud German capital as “Prince Lahovary,” a great personage by whom all Europe was presently to be dazzled and who was to be the subject of endless talk. He established himself with his suite at the Kaiserhof, still falsely pretending to be unmarried, and continued his courtship of the young widow. But his resources soon melted, and he was forced to undertake a fresh robbery on a large scale, which led to his undoing. On the evening of this theft he left Berlin for Dresden, where he sold some of the jewelry he had stolen to a court jeweller for 12,000 marks, and then returned to Berlin to take a temporary leave of his American friends, explaining to them that important affairs called him to Genoa. The father of the young widow proposed that as he and his son and daughter were shortly to sail for America from that port, they should all meet there, and they arranged a rendezvous for January 10, 1901. Now occurred a dramatic little incident in the life of this strange man worth recording.

On January 1, 1901, he left Berlin and went to the place where his wife lived with her child. He wanted to see them once more before proceeding to Genoa to sail from thence to the new world, although he had fully determined to marry the other woman, if possible, and settle down to a properly regulated life in America. He reached the town on January 2nd, at 9 o’clock in the morning, hired a carriage and drove to a shop to buy toys for his child and presents for his wife. He then drove to the villa where his wife lived and stopped at the gate, which he rang five or six times. No one answered or came to open the gate for him. His wife lived on the ground floor and from the window she could see any one who came without being seen. When she recognised her husband, she would not open the door, having promised her aunt never to resume relations with him. He was not to be gainsaid, however, and continued to pull the bell unceasingly. At last the outer door was unlocked and his wife came out as far as the garden gate, but this she did not open. With a trembling voice she asked him what he desired of her. He could hardly speak from emotion, and held out to her his presents, which she refused, saying she did not know with whose money he had bought them. He implored her to let him in to see their child, but she firmly declined. Then he fell into a passion and threatened to return with a representative of the law to help him claim his paternal rights. To prevent a scandal, she promised to show him the child from the window. At last he agreed to this compromise; she returned to the house and presently appeared at the window with the child in her arms. The little child looked at her father with uncomprehending eyes; he stared at his daughter for several minutes, then turned, hurriedly drove away and never beheld his wife or child again.

On reaching Genoa shortly afterward, he was arrested, as the police authorities in Berlin had discovered his theft, and he was sent back there and detained in the well-known Moabit prison. He was placed in a cell where he remained for nearly a year, until May 30, 1901. The examining magistrate was a humane and just man and the lawyer whom Manolescu retained for his own defence was a celebrated barrister. He had no hesitation in confessing his crimes. As doubts of his sanity existed, the medical reports from the Swiss prison, expressing uncertainty as to his mental state, were examined by the doctor of Moabit. Although the identity of the medical officer was suppressed, Manolescu guessed it by intuition and simulated madness so cleverly that he was sent to the infirmary in connection with Moabit, where he was kept under observation for six weeks. He was then taken back to the prison in December, 1901, armed with a certificate drawn up by specialists, stating him to be completely deranged, though this was doubted by the crown solicitor-general. At last, on May 28, 1902, he was brought before the criminal court, where he had some difficulty in maintaining his pretence of madness. The solicitor-general pressed for a conviction as an impostor, but a verdict of insanity was pronounced; he was acquitted as irresponsible, and transferred to the lunatic asylum at Herzburg.

Fourteen months later he escaped. He attacked and pinioned his warder, took forcible possession of his keys, locked him into his own cell, and then quietly left the institution by climbing over the garden wall. With the help of a lady, a member of the Berlin aristocracy, who was a friend of his, he was able to cross the Prussian frontier and to enter Austrian territory. As the papers, however, were full of his exploits, he was arrested at Innsbruck some time later and taken to Vienna, where he still feigned madness. The Austrian doctors supported the views of their Prussian colleagues, and he was acquitted also by the Viennese court of justice. Following this acquittal, Manolescu was sent to Bucharest, where he went determined to reform and to earn his bread honestly. He could find no employment until a publisher suggested he should write his memoirs in the form of an autobiography, from which this summary of his career has been taken. By this occupation he supported himself for a time. As he could find no other means of making his livelihood, he decided to emigrate to America, where he declared every industrious man could find work. He ends his autobiography with these words: “I do not bear my countrymen any grudge. I only wish that the unfortunate prejudices of the egoistic Roumanian form of civilisation which prevented them from holding out a hand to a repentant sinner may soon be removed. Thus ends the autobiography of George Manolescu, alias Prince Lahovary.”

We fear his career after leaving Bucharest was not all it should have been, as the following paragraph appeared in January, 1906, in the Daily Express.

“George Manolescu, the celebrated swindler, has lately escaped from the prison of Sumenstein in Germany by feigning madness and pretending to be General Kuropatkin.”

Another impostor, Leonhard Bollert, has stated that he was born in 1821. His father served as sergeant-major in the fifth chevau-legers regiment, and soon after the birth of the boy left the army, married the boy’s mother and settled with his family in his own birthplace, a small town in lower Franconia, where he gained his livelihood as a provision merchant. The boy, who was greatly gifted, was apprenticed to a shoemaker at WÜrzburg, where he learned the trade thoroughly. After serving six years in the same regiment as his father, he went to foreign parts, incidentally embarking upon a life of criminal adventure which lasted nearly forty years. While in the service of one of his employers, he was sentenced, for embezzlement, to a term in prison, which he served in WÜrzburg, a town which seems to have been at that period a high school for criminals. He then successively progressed, with longer or shorter intervals between the terms, through the prisons of Plassenburg, Kaisheim, Lichtenau, Diez in Nassau, the house of correction in Mainz and the Hessian penal institution, Marienschloss. By his aptitude and his thorough knowledge of shoemaking, he everywhere earned for himself recognition and good results. How he employed his time when at large could not be definitely established. At one time he served a Hungarian count, with whom he made long journeys. It must have been then that he acquired his refined manners and his aristocratic bearing. Why he left his employer at the end of six months is not clear. Probably some of his master’s coin found its way into his own purse. Bollert used to relate to a small and select circle of friends the more startling incidents of his career with great pride,—such as his appearance at Wiesbaden as an officer and bogus baron. He also served in the papal army for a short time until it was defeated and dissolved. He was not indifferent to the fair sex and, as a handsome man, claimed to have had many successes.

During his last period of liberty in 1870, Bollert followed the profession of burglary and swindling on a large scale. The scene of his activity extended from Munich to the Rhine. He was clever at disguises and used a variety of costumes, wearing false beards of different hues; he possessed the complete uniform of a Bavarian railway guard, in which he once got as far as Bingen without a ticket. He plied his nefarious trade in Frankfurt, WÜrzburg, Heidelberg, Darmstadt, NÜrnberg and Augsberg. At hotels he managed by means of false keys to enter the rooms of people who were absent, and often carried away all the articles of value he could lay hands on. In Frankfurt he was once arrested, but succeeded in breaking out of the prison. In WÜrzburg he was again caught and here the Court of the Assizes sentenced him to thirteen years’ penal servitude.

No one would have taken Bollert for a dangerous and bold burglar. In spite of his fifty-one years, he presented a handsome appearance, had a great charm of manner and looked well even in a convict’s dress. His expression was gentle, his address was civil and conciliating, but not in the least cringing; his bearing toward the officials was never too submissive, but always polite. Ladies, whose feet he measured in his capacity of chief shoemaker, were never tired of describing the elegant manner in which he bowed, and they took a great interest in the history of this attractive convict. He was entrusted with the purchase of all the leather required by the board of management of the prison, and not only acquitted himself of this task to their entire satisfaction, but also cut out the most perfect shoes the officials’ wives had ever worn. He was a Catholic and soon became an acolyte, serving the mass with a fervour never before manifested by a convict in prison. In his intercourse with the other prisoners he was always reserved, and he was and remained the “gentleman”—they always spoke of him as “Herr” Bollert. He never descended to frauds or low tricks, he never betrayed any one; but openly expressed his contempt for the behaviour of many of his companions in misfortune, without their daring to resent it. If he was offered a glass of wine or beer in the house of one of the officials, he never mentioned the circumstance. How was it that a man capable of thus altering his conduct, one may say his whole character, for a series of years, fell back into the old vicious course of action, upon being freed from restraint?

Bollert completed his thirteen years in prison, grew somewhat paler and older, but preserved his erect, graceful carriage. His end was never definitely known; no information reached the prison after his last release. Before his departure, the chaplain presented him with an old great-coat which he had repaired and remade, and he wore it with such a grand air that an acquaintance of the chief superintendent who had accompanied Bollert to the railway station, asked, “Was not that the attorney-general?”