The Gazette des Tribunaux of the 3d, 4th, and 5th of November, 1834, gave the details of this trial. Spectators poured in from all sides, and also, in an unexpected manner, witnesses who declared themselves ready to prove the identity of the Baron de Richemont with the Duke de Normandie, son of Louis XVI. The accused appeared entirely calm and dignified before the bar, and when the counsel for the government accused him of appropriating a name that did not belong to him, he asked quietly, "Gentlemen, if I am not Louis XVII., will you tell me who I am?"
No one knew how to reply to this question; but many eminent legitimists had come to solemnly declare that the accused was in truth their king, and that he was the rescued orphan of the Temple.
Even the president of the court seemed to be convinced of this, and his closing words in addressing the jury were these: "Gentlemen, who is the accused who stands before you to-day? What is his name, his lineage, his family? What are his antecedents, his whole history? Is he an instrument of the enemies of France, or is he, much more, an unfortunate who has miraculously escaped the horrors of a bloody revolution, and, laid under bans by his birth, has now no name and no refuge for his head?"
The jury, however, were not called upon to answer this question; they had simply to reply to the question whether the accused was guilty of a conspiracy against the state. This they answered with a "Guilty," and condemned the accused to an imprisonment of twelve years.
The Duke de Normandie, or King Louis Charles, as we may choose to call him, was taken to St. Pelagic; but during the next year, through the assistance of powerful friends, which his trial had gained over to him, he was released from prison, and again spent some quiet years in Switzerland.
Then came the year 1848, the year of revolutions, whose storm-waves drove Louis Philippe to England, never to ascend again the throne of France.
Again Louis Charles issued from his solitude, and this time not alone. A swarm of rich and powerful legitimists thronged around him, a journal--L'Iflexible--was secured to the interests of the Duke do Normandie, and La Vendee, with a thousand loyal voices, summoned King Louis XVII. to herself. There, as he was on the point of hastening to his faithful ones, God laid his hand upon him and held him back; a stroke of paralysis crippled his limbs. After recovering from this attack, the strength of his mind was taken away, and the decided, fiery, indefatigable pretender became a gentle, pious monk, who fasted and prayed, and wandered to Rome to have an interview with Pope Pius IX., and received absolution from him for all his sins.
The pope met the Duke de Normandie at Gaeta on the 20th of February, 1849, and had a long and secret conversation with him; and, when Louis Charles withdrew, it was as a quiet, pious, smiling man, who never denied his high extraction, but who had no longer a wish to be restored to the inheritance of his fathers. More and more he withdrew from the world, and lived only in the circle of a few noble-born legitimists, who never addressed him excepting as "sire."
He accepted the title as one that was his due, and never refused it even when approached by many adherents of the new Napoleonic dynasty. At that time he wrote to his friends:
"You ask me what I wish, what the end of my struggle is, which has now lasted more than a half century? I will tell you. You do not suppose, I trust, that I am still determined to ascend the throne of France: to do this would be a great misfortune for me, but it would certainly be a greater one for France, and it would rightly be said of both of us that we merit our misfortune; still less do I hope to attain to wealth and high station by being recognized. You know that I need very little for my support, and that this little is amply provided for. What else should I strive for? To avenge myself? My friend, I am at an age when the blood flows slower through the veins, and when one finds an inexpressible charm in forgiving. What, then, do I wish? What could I have? Why do I incessantly strive?
This is the reason, my friend: I should like, before my death, to convince all who have disinterestedly believed in me, that it is not a political adventurer, but the royal 'orphan of the Temple,' who owes them his friendship, and gives them his gratitude."
And this last goal of his life was within his reach. The friends and legitimists who surrounded him believed in him, and when he died his dependants and servants mourned for him as for a departed king. They bore him with solemn pomp to his grave, at the dead of night.
Some fifty persons followed his coffin, and a priest went before it.
He was buried in the churchyard of Villefranche, and his tombstone bears the following inion:
Here rests Louis Charles of France Born at Versailles, March 27, 1785. Died in the Chateau of Vaux-Renaud, August 10, 1858.