Translated from Russian by Geoffrey Carlson

PREFACE

This amazing story began in December 1995, when a man showed up at the Odessky Vestnik newspaper office and introduced himself as Yevgeny Rivilis, Bonaparte’s great-great-grandson. I was skeptical about his statement. Ever since humanity started documenting its history in writing, every civilization has witnessed the birth of imposters who have tried to take advantage of someone else’s name and glory for selfish or political purposes. One after the other, the world has seen the appearance of false gods and false messiahs, false Christs and false prophets, and after them, a long parade of swindlers, opportunists and adventure seekers passing themselves off as dead or slain emperors and kings (or members of their families).

The temptation of fame and power is great. Russian history, which is relatively young (compared to world history), has not escaped invasions of pretenders. There have been three false Dimitris, several pseudo-Peter the Thirds (the most famous was Yemelyan Pugachev), and numerous false children of Tsar Nicholas II, who supposedly escaped after the royal family was shot (pretenders claiming to be Anastasia, Tatiana, Olga or Alexei). These were followed by the swindlers of modern times, people of lower rank who became false veterans and false heroes of the Great Patriotic War in order to receive social benefits. The atmosphere of the Soviet land encouraged their «glorious deeds».

But in a way, the history of the USSR itself is an imposter. The original pages have been rewritten many times, events and facts have been freely re-interpreted, and political and military leaders have shamelessly appropriated the military exploits and deeds of people they themselves have eliminated. Only in an Orwellian country could there be this type of literary parody so close to reality: literary satire depicting fictitious imposters fighting among themselves «for a piece of the Socialist pie,» such as Ilf and Petrov’s «thirty sons and four daughters of Comrade Lieutenant Schmidt, Hero of the Revolution.»

Yevgeny realized that he would be taken for a swindler trying to get some sort of benefits for belonging to a noble family, and he asked me to read a story he had brought along that described several generations of his family. I changed my mind when I read through the narrative, and I asked my friend’s wife, who was a senior researcher at the regional history museum, to act as a reviewer (or to debunk the story, if in fact the author turned out to be a clever opportunist). Once I had received a positive review (the researcher was dumbfounded), I presented this unusual story to the newspaper editor, and I came up with a catchy headline: «Napoleon's Great-Great-Grandson Speaks.»

The story/testimonial was published in the two January issues of Odessky Vestnik. As it turned out later, I was actually doing Yevgeny a great disservice by assisting in the publication. He ran into troubles that forced him to emigrate – and I had no idea that this was happening, since I was absorbed in my own problems during my first years of life overseas.

Eight years later we happened to meet each other in the USA (if I remember correctly, in April 2004). We reminisced about Odessa, his appearance at the editorial office, and the long-ago publication. Yevgeny was preparing to leave for Vanuatu, an island in the Pacific Ocean. He gave me the address of a bank in Manhattan and the number of a safe deposit box that was paid for ten years in advance, where he kept the story of his life in America. He gave me the key and left instructions that if he did not return, the safe should be opened when the payment expired, on December 31, 2014. I don’t know why he decided to trust me; I suppose it had to do with the long-ago publication in which I was involved. Or maybe he wanted to leave something to be remembered by in case anything happened to him, or he wanted to settle a score with someone in hindsight – and it seemed to him that when I turned up at that time, I was suitable for this purpose.

Unfortunately, I have no information about what happened to him after he left for Vanuatu, and I have not the slightest idea whether he is alive or not. However, I am taking advantage of his authorization to dispose of Yevgeny Rivilis’ memoirs as I see fit, and with a minimum amount of conjecture where there are logical gaps in the text, and with some small literary changes that allow me to put my own name on the cover, I am publishing his amazing reminiscences. They may seem incredible and fantastic, just like the long-standing stories of Napoleon Bonaparte (skeptical readers can find them in the newspaper archives), with which I am introducing these memoirs.

Rafael Grugman

NAPOLEON'S GREAT-GREAT-GRANDSON SPEAKS

My grandfather's notebooks, translated from Yiddish to Russian with my mother's assistance, have given me no peace for many years now. This may be difficult to believe, but I am a direct descendant of Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte.

For many long years, this secret was kept «behind seven seals» in our family, for its disclosure bore the threat of exile-and by no means on the exotic island of Saint Helena. Rather, somewhat farther off…say, in Solovki Prison.

With the passing of two centuries, the world has become a different place. The illegitimate offshoots of crowned families-once seriously feared by the powerful of the world, lest they encroach upon their thrones-today may sleep in peace. They are not put to death, nor are they confined in fortresses. They don't find themselves under lifelong surveillance by secret police. Nowadays, they lead ordinary lives, exciting, at best, the interest of journalists.

None of this makes it any easier for my forebears, who all swallowed their bitter portion in life. I will give their sufferings their due, and, two centuries later, reveal the secret. Of my family, of Napoleon, and of France. No matter what life throws their way, let my descendants not be ashamed of their name; and let them be proud of their pedigree, which has roots extending back to the shores of the Mediterranean Sea.

One more remark, no less important, but obligatory under today's circumstances. In order to avoid possible speculation and conjecture, I hereby give notice in advance: I am pursuing no political ends whatever, and entertain no pretensions to the French throne.

The sole reason for my decision to publish is a desire to pay homage to the memory of my forebears. Let historical justice make amends for the sacrifices they bore.

Now, after these explanations as to why I have decided to break a silence of almost two centuries' duration, stubbornly kept by my family, it is time to tell with what, strictly speaking, the story began. I am supplementing my grandfather's notes with references to the universally accessible diaries of Bonaparte's ministers, Fouché and Talleyrand.

In August, 1807, unexpectedly for everyone, the Emperor disappeared. His headquarters was on the estate of one of the most distinguished Polish princes, and his courtiers did not worry, supposing that the Emperor, being in excellent spirits after the brilliant victories he had sustained on the battlefield, had decided to transfer his military maneuvers to the bedrooms of Polish countesses.

Only one pair-Minister of Secret Police Fouché and Foreign Minister Talleyrand-while outwardly maintaining their peace, even to the point of supporting the retinue's opinion about the Emperor having a romantic intrigue, were perturbed.

Fouché, observing Talleyrand's impenetrable visage, was trying to understand: either the old fox was bluffing, and was also concerned by Napoleon's disappearance; or, after the conclusion of the Peace of Tilsit with Russia, the Emperor had fallen to thinking of the succession again, and had gone off to Petersburg to seek the hand of some grand duchess in marriage.

Although, mused Fouché in his diaries, in spite of the fact that royalist attempts to reinstate the monarchy have been crushed long ago, anything may happen: some fanatic might suddenly decide to repeat the same joke on the Emperor that they played on the Duke of Angiens and the Prince of Condé. Conspirators supported by England have still not given up on schemes to reinstate the Bourbons on the French throne.

To say that Talleyrand was furious is to say nothing. It was thanks to his efforts that Russia's long resistance after the battles of Putulsk on December 26 and Preussisch Eylau on February 6, and the Battle of Friedland on June 14, had ended on July 7 with the touching Peace of Tilsit.

Napoleon and Alexander I had kissed. Alexander, forgetting the epithet «usurper,» bestowed not so long ago by his Empress mother, had called Bonaparte «brother,» embraced him tenderly, and drunk to brüderschaft…

For the Emperor to disappear without informing him, the main «culprit» in the Peace of Tilsit, did not bode well for Talleyrand. He did not trust Napoleon. The Emperor's decampment, without even wishing to consult him, was additional evidence of the correctness of his thoughts.

It seemed as though no one could disturb the Peace of Tilsit, which promised both sides not inconsiderable acquisitions.

Although Russia, in signing the agreement, ceded its Mediterranean conquests and evacuated the Ionian Islands, in return, she gained the vast Belostok Region. And, in return for Alexander's promise to support Napoleon in the war against England and join the Continental Blockade, Napoleon had promised to support him in the fight against Sweden and Turkey. Although, as he admitted that same day to Talleyrand, he was by no means prepared to yield either Constantinople or the Bosphorus to Alexander.

This, then, was the reason for the next steps taken by the Emperor, who never did become accustomed to unhurried diplomacy. His gaze was turned toward the northern shores of the Black Sea. There, where since 1803, Armand-Emmanuel du Plessis, better known to the world at large as the Duke of Richelieu, had settled as an emigrant.

Richelieu, grandnephew of the well-known cardinal who had governed France during the reign of Louis XIII, had fled after the revolution to Russia and Alexander's protection. From the hands of the Tsar, who affably welcomed the distinguished refugee, he had received a charter to open up new lands, becoming Governor of Odessa and Governor General of New Russia, the area between the Dniester River and the Caucasus.

The Emperor's daring might have been envied. He ought not to have occupied himself with feats of personal bravery as well. His reckless acts, which another might call insane, possibly were just that. But if Napoleon had been lacking in these qualities, he would scarcely have become a marshal, let alone an emperor.

Thus, the ink was hardly dry on the Tilsit Agreement, when, somewhere between July 20 and 25, 1807, the Emperor visited Odessa. He was dressed in women's clothing and bore documents in the name of his sister's governess.

It is difficult to say how his negotiations with Richelieu went. They lasted two days, after which the Emperor, wearing the same clothes in which he had appeared in Odessa, departed whence he came.

From Richelieu's letters to the King's brother in London, it is known only that Napoleon offered the Duke the title of King, should he, in case of a possible war with Russia, side with the Emperor and proclaim the territory under his control the Kingdom of Odessa.

Richelieu answered with a decided refusal. He did not arrest the «usurper»: the nobleman's code of honor did not permit it. Besides, he had always disdained the secret police, and did not want to besmirch his name…Having reaffirmed his loyalty to the crown and explained to the count his motives for not deciding to perform the functions of a policeman, the Duke requested that the contents of the letter not be divulged. So as, later on, not to place himself in an ambiguous position at Court.

Richelieu's devotion was generously compensated. Upon the Bourbons' restoration to the throne, as a reward for his faithfulness, the grateful King gave him the post of Prime Minister of France; and Alexander I, the highest order in the Russian Empire-the Order of Saint Andrew the First-Called.

Be that as it may, during his secret visit to Odessa, while he was incognito, Napoleon found himself holed up in the Governor's residence. And, naturally, he spent the night in the women's quarters. As it turned out, his time there was not wasted.

Nine months later, on April 10, 1808 (at every point thereafter, this day would exert its influence upon our family in a most unexpected manner), 19-year-old Italian servant girl Luisa Ravelli gave birth to a son.

He was christened by a Catholic priest and, according to the young mother's wishes, entered in the church registry under the name of Joseph. Incidentally, this was the name of Bonaparte’s older brother. When, two years later, Luisa chanced to discover that on that very day, April 10, 1810, the Emperor had married the daughter of the Emperor of Austria-Maria-Luisa-she was terribly upset, seeing this as a bad omen. She confessed to her priest; and the latter, having pardoned her sin, counseled her to tell no one of her meeting with the Emperor, and, henceforth, to name her son in the Russian manner-Yosif.

Until the age of thirty-eight, Yosif lived in total ignorance of his true father, firmly believing the story told him by his mother, that his father had died in Odessa in 1812, during a plague epidemic that broke out in the city and carried off a quarter of its people.

But in 1848, through rumors that reached Odessa, Luisa found out that the Bonapartist party had acquired unprecedented influence in France; and nostalgia for the empire outweighed all other feelings. Hoping that her son's fate would take a decided turn for the better, she told him the truth about his real father.

What could Yosif change in his life, having found out the truth? Precisely nothing. Even if the story his mother told him were true, which he doubted, it could reflect in no way on his situation. For to demonstrate the fact of the Emperor's having visited Odessa was impossible.

For this reason, he continued his tranquil life, without taking any steps to change it.

As for the Emperor's many offspring, the French secret police began thinking seriously about them after, in the 1848 presidential elections, three quarters of the French electorate voted for Bonaparte's nephew, Louis-Napoleon; and the latter, taking over as head of the Republic, brought into government service his own cousin, Bonaparte's extramarital son Count Alexandre Walewski.

Four years later, following in his uncle's footsteps, Louis-Napoleon abolished the Second Republic and proclaimed a new empire, taking the title of Napoleon III. This happened in November 1852.

However, the next year began with an attempt on his life. An unsuccessful one, luckily. But, recognizing the danger that could come from the descendants of the Bourbons, Louis decided to insure his life-to save himself from foreign pretenders to the French throne. And at this point, the Minister of Police placed a document on his table-a long-ago dispatch from the dean of the Catholic church in Odessa to the Pope, intercepted at some point by French agents in Rome…

The Emperor demanded a detailed report. It turned out that Luisa Ravelli had died back in 1850, but her son, Yosif Ravelli, was even now alive and well. Moreover, soon after his mother's death, he had married; and three years ago, he had become the father of a son-Grigory Ravelli.

Tension mounted in relations with Russia. The Emperor understood: the presence in Russia of a pretender to the French throne would allow the Tsar to carry on a double game with respect to France, provoking intrigues and coup attempts.

His immediate response was France's joining the Anglo-Turkish coalition and a declaration of war on Russia. The combined army landed in the Crimea and began the siege of Sevastopol. However, Napoleon's primary goal, known only to the most trusted people, was Odessa. Parenthetically, let me say that a year later, the peace treaty announcing the conclusion of the Crimean War would be signed, on the French side, by none other than Foreign Minister Alexandre Walewski. Bonaparte's extramarital son was one of the few who knew the true reason for the war's beginning. Once he became President of the legislative assembly, Alexander Walewski would apply no little effort to searching out and arresting his Russian brother. But this would happen only in the following decade.

A month after the start of hostilities, on April 8, 1854, the powerful Anglo-French navy, consisting of twenty-seven warships, appeared on the Odessa roadstead.

On board one of the French vessels was a group of specially trained police agents, who were supposed to secretly land on the shore, kidnap the family of Yosif Ravelli, and carry them off to France. Should the second part of the operation become endangered, the agents were under orders to kill both Ravellis. Oversight of the operation was entrusted to the Commander of the French Navy, Admiral Hamelin.

On the morning of April 10 (again that fateful day!), the bombardment of the city began. Several thousand cannonballs damaged fifty-two stone houses and produced about fifty-two casualties. The six shore batteries (Lieutenant Shchegolev's battery especially distinguished itself, repelling the fire from seven enemy boats for seven hours), did not permit their opponent to approach the shore and unload a landing party.

Having achieved nothing, the enemy fleet turned around and set sail for Sevastopol. But the French had not abandoned their primary goal, for which they had gone to war. On April 30, under cover of a thick mist, the English frigate «Tiger» and a French gunboat had torn themselves away from the squadron and made a new attempt to land a group for the kidnapping.

However, on that day as well, success did not smile on the French. Having no local navigational charts, the captain of the frigate made an error; and, not far from Station 10 of Bolshoi Fountain, he ran the ship aground.

The motionless frigate became an excellent target for the Russian artillerymen, who, in revenge for the recent bombardment of the city-during which one of the shells had even hit the monument to Richelieu-pulled out all the stops.

The frigate was set afire with several well-aimed shots, and afterwards (and this was a first in the history of world wars!), the cavalry attacked the ship. The valiant hussars saddled their horses and, before the ship managed to sink, captured it with a swift assault, and even carried off a trophy or two.