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CAGLIOSTRO IN LONDON
Carlyle, in a very diffuse essay on this adventurer, thus introduces him: ‘The Count Alessandro di Cagliostro, Pupil of the sage Althotas, Foster-child of the Scherif of Mecca, probable Son of the last King of Trebisond; named also Acharat, and unfortunate child of Nature; by profession healer of diseases, abolisher of wrinkles, friend of the poor and impotent, grand-master of the Egyptian Mason Lodge of High Science, Spirit Summoner, Gold Cook, Grand Cophta, Prophet, Priest, and thaumaturgic moralist and swindler; really a Liar of the first magnitude, thorough-paced in all provinces of Lying, what one may call the King of Liars.
‘Mendez Pinto, Baron Munchaüsen, and others are celebrated in this art, and not without some colour of justice; yet must it in candour remain doubtful whether any of these comparatively were much more than liars from the teeth onwards: a perfect character of the species in question, who lied not in word only, but continually in thought, word, and act; and, so to speak, lived wholly in an element of lying, and from birth to death did nothing but lie – was still a desideratum. Of which desideratum Count Alessandro offers, we say, if not the fulfilment, perhaps as near an approach to it as the limited human faculties permit.’
And yet this man made a name, and was famous in his time, and even afterwards. Lives, novels, and romances, notably being immortalized by Alexandre Dumas in his ‘Memoires d’un Médecin,’ nay, even plays, have been written about this clever rogue, who rose from a poor man’s son to be the talk of Europe, and his connection with the famous diamond necklace, made him of almost political importance, sufficient to warrant his incarceration in the Bastille.
I do not propose to write the life of Cagliostro – enough and to spare has been written on this subject,109 but simply to treat of him in London; yet at the same time it is necessary to say when and where he was born – the more especially because he always professed ignorance of his birth, and, when examined in a French court of justice in relation to the famous diamond necklace on January 30, 1786, the question was put to him, ‘How old are you?’ Answer– ‘Thirty-seven or thirty-eight years.’ Question– ‘Your name?’ Answer– ‘Alessandro Cagliostro.’ Question– ‘Where born?’ Answer– ‘I cannot say for certain, whether it was at Malta or at Medina; I have lived under the tuition of a governor, who told me that I was of noble birth, that I was left an orphan when only three months old,’ etc.
But in a French book,110 of which an English translation was made in 1786, Cagliostro is made to say, ‘I cannot speak positively as to the place of my nativity, nor to the parents who gave me birth. From various circumstances of my life I have conceived some doubts, in which the reader perhaps will join with me. But I repeat it: all my inquiries have ended only in giving me some great notions, it is true, but altogether vague and uncertain concerning my family.
‘I spent the years of my childhood in the city of Medina, in Arabia. There I was brought up under the name of Acharat, which I preserved during my progress through Africa and Asia. I had apartments in the palace of the Muphti Salahaym. It is needless to add that the Muphti is the chief of the Mahometan Religion, and that his constant residence is at Medina.
‘I recollect perfectly that I had then four persons in my service; a governor, between 55 and 60 years of age, whose name was Althotas, and three servants, a white one, who attended me as valet-de-Chambre, and two blacks, one of whom was constantly about me night and day.
‘My Governor always told me that I had been left an orphan when only three months old; that my parents were Christians, and nobly born; but he left me absolutely in the dark about their names, and the place of my nativity: a few words which he dropped by chance have induced me to suspect that I was born at Malta; but this circumstance I have never been able to ascertain.’
Althotas was a great sage, and imparted to his young pupil all the scientific knowledge he possessed, and that awful person, the Grand Muphti himself, would deign to converse with the boy on the lore and history of ancient Egypt. At this time he says he dressed as a Mussulman, and conformed to their rites; but was all the time at heart a true Christian.
At the mature age of twelve, he felt a strong desire to travel, and Althotas indulged him by joining a caravan going to Mecca, and here comes an attempt to fasten his paternity upon the Cherif of that place.
‘On our arrival at Mecca, we alighted at the palace of the Cherif, who is the sovereign of Mecca, and of all Arabia, and always chosen from amongst the descendants of Mahomet. I here altered my dress, from a simple one, which I had worn hitherto, to one more splendid. On the third day after our arrival, I was, by my Governor, presented to the Cherif, who honoured me with the most endearing caresses. At sight of this prince, my senses experienced a sudden emotion, which it is not in the power of words to express; my eyes dropped the most delicious tears I ever shed in my life. His, I perceived, he could hardly restrain…
‘I remained at Mecca for the space of three years; not one day passed without my being admitted to the Sovereign’s presence, and every hour increased his attachment and added to my gratitude. I sometimes surprized his eyes rivetted upon me, and then looking up to heaven, with every expression of pity and commiseration. Thoughtful, I would go from him, a prey to an ever fruitless curiosity. I dared not ask any question of my Governor, who always rebuked me with great severity, as if it had been a crime in me to wish for some information concerning my parents, and the place where I was born…
‘One day as I was alone, the prince entered my apartment; so great a favour struck me with amazement; he strained me to his bosom with more than usual tenderness, bade me never cease to adore the Almighty, telling me that, as long as I should persist in serving God faithfully, I should at last be happy, and come to the knowledge of my real destiny; then he added, bedewing my cheeks with tears, “Adieu, thou nature’s unfortunate child.” …’
This is one side of the question – his own. It is romantic, and in all probability a lie. There is another side; but the evidence, although far more within the bounds of reason, is unsupported by corroboration. The authority is from an Italian book of one hundred and eighty-nine pages, entitled: ‘Compendio della Vita, et delle Gesta di Giuseppe Balsamo, denominato Il Conte Cagliostro. Che si è estratto dal Processo contro di lui formato in Roma l’Anno, 1790. E che può servire di scorta per conoscere l’indole della Setta de Liberi Muratori.In Roma 1791.’ This book purports to be printed in the Vatican, ‘from the Printing press of the Reverend Apostolic Chamber.’111
In the preface of this book is the following sentence, which is intended to vouch for the facts it contains: ‘Thence comes the justice of that observation, that these Charlatans especially acquire credit, renown, and riches, in those countries where the least religion is found, where philosophy is most fashionable. Rome is not a place that agrees with them, because error cannot throw out its roots, in the centre, the capital, of the true faith. The life of Count Cagliostro is a shining proof of this truth. It is for this reason that it has been thought proper to compose this compendium, faithfully extracted from the proceedings taken against him, a short while since, at Rome; this is evidence which the critic cannot attack. In order to effect this, the Sovereign Pontifical Authority has deigned to dispense with the law of inviolable secrecy, which always accompanies, with as much justice as prudence, the proceedings of the Holy Inquisition.’
And the account of his life opens thus: ‘Joseph Balsamo was born at Palermo on the 8th of June, 1743. His parents were Pietro Balsamo and Felice Braconieri, both of mean extraction. His father, who was a shopkeeper, dying when he was still a baby, his maternal uncles took care of him,’ &c.
In another book, ‘The Life of the Count Cagliostro,’ &c., London, 1787, there is a foot-note to the first page: ‘Some authors are of opinion that he is the offspring of the grand Master of Malta, by a Turkish lady, made captive by a Maltese galley. Others that he is the only surviving son of that prince who, about thirty-five years ago, swayed the precarious sceptre of Trebisond, at which period, a revolution taking place, the reigning prince was massacred by his seditious subjects, and his infant son, the Count Cagliostro, conveyed by a trusty friend to Medina, where the Cherif had the unprejudiced generosity to have him educated in the faith of his Christian parents.’
I do not follow his career, but the most marvellous stories were current about him, vide the following extract from a book already quoted (see foot-note page 334): ‘The Comtesse de la Motte dares to assert that one of my men makes a boast of having been 150 years in my service. That I sometimes acknowledge myself to be only 300 years old; at others that I brag of having been present at the nuptials in Cana, and that it was to burlesque the Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist, the transubstantiation, that I had imagined to multiply the necklace, taken to pieces, into a hundred different manners, and yet it was delivered, as it is said, in its full complement to the august Queen.
‘That I am by turns a Portuguese Jew, a Greek, an Egyptian of Alexandria, from whence I have imported into France hyeroglyphics and sorcery.
‘That I am one of those infatuated Rosicrucians, who have the power of making the dead converse with the living; that I attend the poor gratis, but that I sell for something, to the rich, the gifts of immortality.’
But it is not of these things I wish to treat; it is of the facts connected with his residence in London. Two or three accounts say that he visited London in 1772, where he swindled a Doctor Benemore, who had rescued him from prison, under pretence of painting his country house, and his enemy, De Morande, of the Courier de l’Europe, who, in No.’s 16, 17, and 18 of that journal, made frightful accusations against Cagliostro, reiterates the story of his being here in 1772. In page xiv. of the preface to ‘The Life of the Count Cagliostro,’ 1787, there occurs the following passage: ‘M. de Morande is at infinite pains to persuade us that the Count resided in London in 1772, under the name of Balsamo, in extreme poverty, from which he was relieved by Sir Edward Hales. That Baronet professes, indeed, to recollect an Italian of that name; but, as M. de Morande positively assures us that the Count is a Calabrois, a Neapolitan, or a Sicilian, we can desire no better argument to prove the fallacy of his information.’
In a pamphlet entitled, ‘Lettre du Comte Cagliostro au Peuple Anglois pour servir de suite à ses Memoires,’ 1786, p. 7, he says distinctly: ‘Nous sommes arrivés, ma femme et moi, en Angleterre, pour la première fois de ma vie, au mois de Juillet, 1776,’ and on p. 70 of the same work is the following (translated):
‘The greatest part of the long diatribe of M. Morande is used to prove that I came to London in 1772, under the name of Balsamo. In view of the efforts which M. Morande makes, in order to arrive at such proof, an attempt is made to show that the Balsamo with whom they attempt to identify me ought to have been hung, or, at all events, he rendered himself guilty of some dishonourable actions. Nothing of the sort. This Balsamo, if the Courier de l’Europe can be believed, was a mediocre painter, who lived by his brush. A man named Benamore, either agent, or interpreter, or chargé d’affaires to the King of Morocco, had commissioned him to paint some pictures, and had not paid for them. Balsamo issued a writ against him for £47 sterling, which he said was due to him, admitting that he had received two guineas on account. Besides, this Balsamo was so poor that his wife was obliged to go into town herself, in order to sell the pictures which her husband painted. Such is the portrait which M. de Morande draws of the Balsamo of London, a portrait which no one will accuse him of having flattered, and from which the sensible reader will draw the conclusion that the Balsamo of London was an honest artist who gained a livelihood by hard work.
‘I might then admit without blushing that I had lived in London in 1772 under the name of Balsamo, on the product of my feeble talents in painting; that the course of events and circumstances had reduced me to this extremity, etc…
‘I am ignorant whether the law-suit between Balsamo and Benamore is real or supposed: one thing is certain, that in London exists a regular physician of irreproachable probity, named Benamore. He is versed in oriental languages: he was formerly attached, as interpreter, to the Moroccan Embassy, and he is, at this date, employed, in the same capacity, by the ambassador of Tripoli. He will bear witness to all who wish to know that, during the 30 years he has been established in London, he has never known another Benamore than himself, and that he has never had a law-suit with anyone bearing the name of Balsamo.’
Now take Carlyle, with whom dogmatism stood in stead of research, and judge for yourselves. ‘There is one briefest but authentic-looking glimpse of him presents itself in England, in the year 1772: no Count is he here, but mere Signor Balsamo again, engaged in house-painting, for which he has a peculiar talent. Was it true that he painted the country house of a “Doctor Benemore;” and, not having painted, but only smeared it, was refused payment, and got a lawsuit with expenses instead? If Doctor Benemore have left any representatives in the Earth, they are desired to speak out. We add only, that if young Beppo had one of the prettiest of wives, old Benemore had one of the ugliest daughters; and so, putting one thing to another, matters might not be so bad.’
Who set this story afloat, about Cagliostro being in London in 1772? Why, Monsieur de Morande, the editor of the Courier de l’Europe, and of his veracity we may judge by an advertisement in the London Evening Post of November 27 to 30, 1773, p. 4, col. 4, (translated).
‘Monsieur Le Comte de Lauraguais has kindly consented, after the humble apologies I have made to him, to forego the action commenced against me for having defamed him in some verses full of untruths, injurious both to his honour and his reputation, of which I was the author, and which I caused to be inserted in the Morning Chronicle of 24 and 25 June last, entitled: “Answer of the Gazetteer Cuirassé.” I therefore beg you, Mr. Woodfall,112 to publish through the same channel by which I made my verses public, – my sincere repentance for having so injuriously libelled Monsieur le Comte, and my very humble thanks for his having accepted my apologies, and stopping all action in the matter.
‘De Morande.
‘Nov. 26, 1773.’
This is what in law would be called a tainted witness, as, about that time he was, on his own confession, given to lying.
According to his own account he came to London in July, 1776, possessed of a capital of about three thousand pounds in plate, jewels, and specie, and hired apartments in Whitcomb Street, Pall Mall East, and here he fell into evil company. The story is not very lucid – but it seems that his wife’s companion, a Portuguese woman named Blavary, and his secretary and interpreter, Vitellini, introduced to him a certain Lord Scot. They were a lot of sharpers all round. Scot introduced a woman as his wife – Lady Scot, if you please – (in reality Miss Fry), who got money and clothes from the countess, and Cagliostro lent my lord two hundred pounds on his simple note of hand.
He declares that he gave them lucky numbers for the lottery, and that they gained much money thereby – on one occasion, when he gave Miss Fry the number eight, she won the sum of fifteen hundred guineas; but she was requested by Cagliostro not to visit, or bother himself, or his wife again. He moved into Suffolk Street in January, 1777, but the persevering Miss Fry took lodgings in the same house. She attempted to borrow money, and to get lucky numbers, but, failing in both, she had him arrested on the 7th of February for a pretended debt of one hundred and ninety pounds. He recovered his liberty the next day, by depositing in the hands of the sheriff’s officer, jewels worth double the amount.
Then a warrant was taken out against him and his wife, signed by one Justice Miller – on the charge of practising witchcraft. This does not, however, seem to have been acted on, but he was frequently harassed by actions for debt brought against him by Miss Fry, and he became well acquainted with the inside of a spunging-house. On the 24th of May he was taken into custody for a debt of two hundred pounds, at the suit of Miss Fry, but he managed to find bail. The case was tried before Lord Mansfield, in the Court of Queen’s Bench, on the 27th of June, but his lordship suggested that it was a case for arbitration, which was agreed to.
The arbitration took place on the 4th of July, when Cagliostro’s lawyer deserted him, and the decision was that the count had lost his case, and must pay all costs. As if this was not bad enough, as he was leaving the court he was arrested at the suit of one Aylett, who had lodged a detainer against him for a debt of ten pounds and upwards, by the name of Melisa Cagliostro, otherwise Joseph Balsamo, which debt he said was due to him from Balsamo, who had employed him in 1772 to recover a debt from Dr. Benamore. He got bail, but, as his money was getting scarce, it was at the cost of ‘two soup-ladles, two candlesticks, two salt-cellars, two pepper-castors, six forks, six table spoons, nine knife handles with blades, a pair of snuffers and stand, all of silver.’ He had, however, suffered six weeks’ imprisonment, as he was not liberated from the King’s Bench till the 24th of September, 1777.
In vain his friends endeavoured to stir him up to commence actions for fraud and perjury against all concerned, but either his cause was not just, or he had had enough law to last him some time – and he refused. He paid up his debts and left England, with only fifty guineas and a few jewels in his possession.
Rightly or wrongly, he was connected with the ‘Diamond Necklace’ affair, and suffered incarceration in the Bastile. If he can be at all believed, the police plundered him and his wife right royally. He says he lost fifteen rouleaux, each containing fifty double louis, sealed with his seal; one thousand two hundred and thirty-three sequins (Venetian and Roman): one rouleau of twenty-four Spanish quadruples, sealed also; and forty-seven billets of one thousand livres each on the Caisse d’Escompte. They also took papers which were to him of inestimable value; and, as to diamonds and jewellery, he knew not what was taken, besides plate, porcelain, and linen, etc. After an examination, he was acquitted, but he had to leave France, and came to London, where he lived in Sloane Street. Here he became acquainted with Lord George Gordon, and this acquaintance afterwards cost him dearly, when he was arrested at Rome. To show the intimacy between the two, I will quote from the Public Advertiser of the 22nd of August, 1786, p. 2, col. 3.
‘M. Barthelemy, who conducts the affairs of France in the absence of Comte Dazimer, having sent M. Daragon with a message to Comte de Cagliostro, in Sloane Street, intimating that he had received orders from the Court of Versailles to communicate to Comte de Cagliostro that he now had permission to return to France; yesterday morning, the Comte, accompanied by Lord George Gordon and M. Bergeret de Frouville, waited upon M. Barthelemy at the “Hotel of France,” in Piccadilly, for an eclaireissement upon the subject of this message from the Court of France, delivered by M. Barthelemy, relative to the permission granted to the Comte de Cagliostro to return to Paris. M. Barthelemy, the Comte de Cambise, and M. Daragon seemed much surprised to see Comte de Cagliostro arrive in Lord George Gordon’s coach, with his Lordship, and M. Frouville, and, having expressed their desire that the Comte de Cagliostro alone should speak with M. Barthelemy, they were informed that Lord Gordon and M. Bergeret de Frouville were there on purpose to attend their friend, and that Comte de Cagliostro would not dispense with Lord George Gordon’s absence from the Conference. Will any friend to liberty blame Comte de Cagliostro, after ten months’ imprisonment in a dungeon, for having his friends near him, when insidious proposals are made to him by the faction of Breteuil and the supporters of the Bastile Men who have already sought his destruction, and, after his innocence was declared by the judgment of the Parliament of Paris, embezzled a great part of his fortune, and exiled him from France? M. Barthelemy (seeing the determination of the Comte’s friends) then read the letter from M. Breteuil; but, upon the Comte de Cagliostro desiring a copy, M. Barthelemy refused it. A great deal of conversation then ensued upon the subject, which in all probability will give rise to a full representation to the King of France, who is certainly very much imposed on. The Queen’s party is still violent against Comte de Cagliostro, the friend of mankind; and De Breteuil – le Sieur De Launey – Titon – De Brunières – Maître Chesnon – Barthelemy and Dazimer are mere instruments of that faction. The honour of the King of France, the justice and judgment of the Parliament of Paris, the good faith of the Citizens, and the good name of the nation, are all attainted by the pillage and detention of the property of Comte de Cagliostro.’
And again, in the same paper, 24th of August, 1786, p. 2, col. 3, is another paragraph respecting him:
‘Comte de Cagliostro has declared he will hold no intercourse with any of Le Sieur Breteuil’s messengers from France, except in the presence of Lord George Gordon. The gang of French spies in London, who are linked in with M. de Morande, and the Sieurs Barthelemy, Dazimer, Cambise, and the Queen’s Bastile party at Paris, are trying the most insiduous arts to entrap the Comte and Comtesse, and have the effrontery and audaciousness to persecute them publicly, and vilify them even in this free country, where these noble Strangers are come to seek protection in the arms of a generous people. The friendship and benevolence of Comte de Cagliostro, in advising the poor Prince Louis de Rohan to be upon his guard against the Comtesse de Valois, and the intrigues of the Queen’s faction, (who still seek the destruction of that noble Prince) has brought upon the Comte and his amiable Comtesse the hateful revenge of a tyrannical Government. The story of the Diamonds has never been properly explained to the Public in France. It would discover too much of the base arts practised to destroy Prince Louis, and involve in guilt persons not safe to name in an arbitrary kingdom.’
This airing of private grief in public extorted some strictures in a letter in the Morning Post, of 29th of August, 1786, in which it was suggested, generally, that foreigners should wash their dirty linen at home. But Monsieur de Morande, editor of the Courier de l’Europe, published many assertions, be they facts, or fiction, relative to Cagliostro, and he once more blossomed out into print in his old champion, the Public Advertiser (vide that newspaper, 5th of September, 1786, p. 2. col. 1), translated in the number of 7th September. In this curious letter, he adverts to his adversaries’ slanders, and the following singular passages occur:
‘Of all the very good stories which you relate at my expense, the best, without comparison, is that of the pig fed with arsenic, which poisoned the lions, tygers, and leopards of the forests of Medina. I am going, Mr. Railer, to give you an opportunity of being witty on a perfect comprehension of the fact. You know that, in physics and chymistry, reasoning proves but little, ridicule nothing, and that experiment is all. Permit me, then, to propose a small experiment to you, of which the issue will divert the public, either at your expense, or mine. I invite you to breakfast with me on the 9th of November next, at nine o’clock in the morning. You shall furnish the wine, and the appendages. For myself, I shall only furnish a single dish, after my own fashion – it shall be a sucking pig, fattened after my method. Two hours before breakfast, I shall present you the pig alive, fat and healthy. You shall order it to be killed as you please, and prepared, and I shall not approach until it is served at the table. You shall cut it into four equal parts, you shall chuse that which most flatters your appetite, and I shall take that which you please. The day after that of our breakfast, one or more of four things will happen. Either both of us shall die, or we neither of us shall die, or you shall die and I survive, or I shall die and you survive. Of these four chances I give you three, and I bet you 5000 guineas, that, on the day after our breakfast, you shall die, and I be perfectly well. You must either accept of this Challenge, or acknowledge that you are an ignorant fellow, and that you have foolishly ridiculed a thing which is totally out of your knowledge.
‘If you accept of this Challenge, I shall instantly deposit the 5000 guineas with any banker that you please. You shall do the same in five days, during which time you shall have leave to make your supporters Contribute,’ &c.
Monsieur de Morande’s reply was published immediately following the above letter. It is, like Cagliostro’s, too long for insertion; but its gist is, that he intends to unmask the pretender, and that he utterly declines to attend a poisoning match. He writes:
‘I solemnly defy you to contradict them’ (i. e., his assertions as to Cagliostro’s quackeries and adventures); ‘and that I even offer, without croupiers or supporters, to make you another wager of five thousand guineas that I shall compleatly unmask you.
‘But, Monsieur le Comte, I shall not put my foot in your house, and shall not breakfast with you myself. I am neither abject enough to keep you company, nor will let it be suspected for a single moment.
‘You clearly conceive that such an interview ought not, nor can be, within your doors; you would be liable to be found guilty of criminal practises, in case of accident. This your Council had not foreseen.
‘As no tavern would permit such infamous scenes to pass under its roof as those you propose, you must, Monsieur le Comte, return once more to the booth; and worthy disciple of Locusta,113 choose in London a public place to make an open-air exhibition of your talents.’
And like the scorpion, which carries its sting in its tail, he adds a foot-note, which refers to the heading of his letter:
‘M. de Morande’s Answer to Don Joseph Balsamo, self-created Count of Cagliostro, Colonel in the Service of all the Sovereign Powers in Europe.’
‘If it was not the case, it would be very singular to have seen, in the year 1777, M. Cagliostro calling himself in England Colonel of the Third Regiment of Brandenbourg, and, afterwards, in Russia, Colonel in the Spanish Service; for which, however, he was reprimanded by the magistrates of Petersburgh. Having forgot to take his Commission with him, he could not exhibit proofs, and was obliged to put down his regimentals. This check on his conduct made him abscond from Petersburgh. Every Russian nobleman in London knows this anecdote, and, without presuming to mention names, we trust that this will be found to be the case upon enquiry.’
To this letter Cagliostro replied with another in the Public Advertiser (p. 2, col. 1) of September 9, 1786, in which he repeats his challenge, and declines to sit down to breakfast with a carnivorous animal.
De Morande, of course, could not be silent, and replied in the Public Advertiser (p. 2, col. 1) of September 12, 1786. He reiterated the charges he made against Cagliostro in the Courier de l’Europe, saying, among other things, ‘I have said that you were in England in the year 1771, under the name of Balsamo, and that you were then a needy, as well as a very indifferent painter; that twenty persons, at least, are ready to prove it. You take no notice of this second assertion, which becomes serious, by the oath you have taken under that name, of which I have a legal copy in my possession.
‘I have said that you have made your appearance under another name, that of Cagliostro, in the year 1777. I have several affidavits, amongst which there are some of your own, which authenticate very curious anecdotes concerning you; to this you have replied nothing.
‘I have said that you falsely pretended then to be a Colonel of the third regiment of Brandenbourg; that you had, at that time, a law-suit in the Court of Queen’s Bench, about a certain necklace, and a gold snuff-box, which you asserted to have been given Madame la Comtesse, but which you were obliged to return, and pay all Costs, on the Clear proofs given by your adverse party, that you obtained them under false pretences. No reply has been made to this.
‘I have added that, were you curious to try the same experiment now, a new Act of Parliament, which you and your fellow-adventurers have rendered very necessary, would certainly have caused you to be sent to the Thames.114 To that direct and very clear observation you have not replied a single word.
‘I have said that you were ordered by the Police in Russia, not to presume to take the name of a Colonel in the Spanish service, and to strip off your Spanish regimentals. I have given you an opportunity to vindicate yourself, by giving to understand, that there is not a Russian nobleman in London who would not certify this fact. I might have added that I have in my possession the most respectable authority to say so. What have you said in reply to this?
