Marquis de Leuville: A Victorian Fraud?

By Dick Weindling and Marianne Colloms

Once called the greatest charlatan of his age, the Marquis was a fascinating Victorian 'renaissance man'. Born to an artistic family, he became a renowned poet and adventurer. A crack shot and excellent swordsman, the Marquis fought duels and has a seruies of high-profile love affairs. He joined Garibaldi during the unification of Italy and claimed an affair with the Queen of Naple. Louisa Tussaud (of the famous waxworks family) risked her reputation for him as they set out on an extravagant journey across Europe. In New York, he met wealthy widow and newspaper proprietor Mrs Leslie and their on-off affair lasted over twenty years. The charismatic Marquis made friends and enemies in equal measure. Accomplished orator, story teller and dandy, he cut a swathe through high society in London and New York. But his colourful life held a secret: who was the real Marquis de Leuville?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The History Press
• Release date: May 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9780752486413

Book preview

1

Introducing the Marquis and his circle

This is the first biography of an extraordinary Victorian, the Marquis de Leuville. It opens with a typically melodramatic episode from his life, in this case a bizarre attempt by the Marquis to regain the attention of one of his lovers. De Leuville was a minor socialite on the London scene, which begs the question, why write his biography? Quite simply, the more we discovered about the Marquis, the greater became our desire to unravel his life. Weird and wonderful, a bizarre dandy with a sense of humour, he became a poet, songwriter and artist. Often appearing pompous and self-opinionated, he inspired great loyalty, even adulation in some, but provoked curiosity, ridicule and jealousy in others. Above all else, de Leuville could amuse, attract or irritate, but he was never boring.

The Hyde Park incident

It was Saturday 9 July 1887. It had been a very hot summer and no rain had fallen for a month in London. An American visitor, the fashionable and well-connected Mrs Frank Leslie, was enjoying her annual trip to Europe. As was her custom, she decided on a leisurely drive, ordering her groom to join the procession of carriages that circled Hyde Park every afternoon during the ‘Season’. Mrs Leslie was a wealthy, middle-aged widow who owned a publishing empire in New York. Her attention was fixed on the man seated beside her, the Russian Prince George Eristoff de Gourie. Eristoff was Mrs Leslie’s latest lover – tall and handsome, with dark brown eyes and a small Van Dyke beard. For propriety’s sake, the couple were accompanied by Ella Bennett, Mrs Leslie’s travelling companion.

Hyde Park in the 1890s.

Buffalo Bill Cody.

Hyde Park was more crowded than usual. 1887 was the year of the Queen’s Golden Jubilee and London was the centre of the celebrations. Since the death of her beloved Prince Albert twenty-five years earlier, Victoria had rarely appeared in public. Huge crowds lined the streets on 21 June, when she travelled in an open carriage from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey. Properties along the route were patriotically decorated with Union Jack flags, each owner vying with his neighbour to have the best display. The enormous procession, according to Mark Twain, who watched it, ‘stretched to the limit in both directions.’ That night, beacon fires and rockets were lit on hills across the country and the next day 30,000 poor London children assembled in Hyde Park, where each was given a paper bag containing a meat pie, a piece of cake, a bun, an orange and a commemorative china mug. Concerts and exhibitions were held at most major venues during Jubilee week and some enterprising showmen took advantage of the hundreds of visitors who visited the capital, to stage entertainments over many months. Madame Tussaud’s, the famous waxworks, designed a special exhibit featuring the Queen as Defender of the Faith.

Queen Victoria at the Wild West Show, 1887.

Elsewhere, on his first visit to England, Buffalo Bill Cody packed them in with his Wild West Show as 200 cowboys and Indians performed twice daily before a grandstand at Earls Court that could seat 25,000 spectators. Victoria herself visited the show, where some of the royal party rode round the arena in the Deadwood stagecoach, ‘attacked by mounted Indians with much firing from inside and outside the vehicle.’

That Saturday, the main attraction was a regular annual event, the Eton v Harrow cricket match at Lord’s. This year Eton emerged the victors in front of more than 8,000 spectators. It had been hard work for the teams as the temperature in the shade was 81ºF.

However, cricket was the last thing on the mind of Mrs Leslie. As the carriage entered the park near Apsley House, she realised she was being pursued. The Marquis de Leuville was close behind in his coach. He’d long expected to marry the merry widow: she had led him on, promised much but never agreed to take the final step. De Leuville was furious and frustrated. Several accounts of what happened that afternoon were published in the American newspapers, the most detailed appearing in the Boston Daily Globe:

Mrs Leslie became aware of the Marquis’ presence and of his state of mind. He drove close behind the carriage containing Mrs Leslie and the hated Prince and laughed a great deal, strangely and unpleasantly. At Queen’s Gate Mrs Leslie’s carriage turned. The Marquis in passing, made a most elaborate and smiling bow, which Mrs Leslie and the Prince returned, the latter says the Marquis, with an air of sneering triumph. When next the carriages passed, the Marquis bowed to Mrs Leslie but ignored the Prince. The carriages passed again – this time on the drive running towards Oxford Street. The Marquis had determined on his action. He gave the lines to the groom and dashed towards Mrs Leslie’s carriage, brandishing his arms. He failed to get into Mrs Leslie’s carriage before it had passed on. The Russian Prince, who appeared to think the Marquis only wanted to speak to Mrs Leslie, smiled again. That enraged the Marquis still further. He jumped to his carriage seat and urged his horses forward until he reached a spot near the Marble Arch where he was able to draw close up besides Mrs Leslie’s landau. Mrs Leslie bowed nervously and the Prince raised his hat to salute. The Marquis raised his whip and struck the handle of it viciously across the Prince’s face. The Prince accepted the blow, which was a severe one. Mrs Leslie’s driver whipped up quickly and the Marquis, unable to make his vengeance more complete, rode behind for a while as closely as possible to Mrs Leslie’s carriage, bowing profusely and laughing gaily, and then turned back and disappeared.

We discover the Marquis

The authors first became aware of the Marquis while researching the history of Kilburn, a district in north-west London. A local paper noted de Leuville attending a garden party. At the time they were more interested in the person hosting the entertainment, a wealthy widow by the name of Mrs Ada Peters – the history of the family and their extensive property formed part of a project to trace the suburban development of the neighbourhood. The authors only decided to find out more about de Leuville following a chance discovery of a book on Romano’s, a restaurant in the Strand. This included a lengthy description of the Marquis and the fact he had been Mrs Peters’ lover. Intrigued, they embarked on an extensive search of autobiographies that described life in Victorian London, but these yielded very little information about the Marquis. At this point, the authors almost gave up hope they would be able to find enough material to write his life history.

For the most part the references consisted of rumours circulated during de Leuville’s lifetime and after his death in 1908. Successive books sometimes repeated, almost verbatim, a single anecdote. At other times the accounts conflicted or contradicted one another: he was the son of a humble shopkeeper, variously reported to be a barber, an Irish tailor or a hairdresser. As a young man he was said to have spent several years as the tutor to a Russian nobleman. Other sources mentioned jobs as varied as a wigmaker’s assistant, a hatter, valet to a French nobleman and a pageboy to a Bath doctor, or even that he had worked in a Parisian brothel.

No one took him seriously. His verse was mocked: ‘the poems which he published himself, and presented to any friend who would accept them, were poor stuff indeed.’ They made fun of his unusual appearance, generally ascribed to his wearing corsets, and the over-use of hair oil:

He was fat, broad-shouldered, double-chinned, oiled, scented and bejewelled, something between a fat French poet of the Quartier Latin and the overblown middle-aged tenor of romantic opera.

Most sources went on to describe him as little more than a gigolo whose sole aim in life was to find a rich partner who could support him. He was thought to have married a French noblewoman who bought the de Leuville title for him.

So as far as the authors were concerned, the biography remained a project on the back burner until the proliferation of searchable, online sources enabled them to access a much larger body of material. Slowly, but surely, the true Marquis emerged. Even so, it took fifteen years to disentangle fact from fiction to discover who he really was.

The Marquis de Leuville

For most of his life the Marquis lived in London but with periods abroad, notably in Europe and America. As a young man he spent several years in Italy: writing, adventuring and generally experiencing life to the full. Having spent much of his inheritance, de Leuville’s nature was such that he turned his back on anything as straightforward or mundane as a profession. He was full of ideas, self-confident and enthusiastic. The Marquis decided to exploit his skills to become a popular poet and his books of verse were marketed by a reputable publisher. One critic commented unfairly, ‘He is a strange combination of genius and mediocrity. He came near being a poet, painter and a wit, but lacking balance, he never achieved success in any line.’ Although he only collected and published favourable press opinions, there is enough evidence to demonstrate that de Leuville’s poetry did make a positive impact at the time.

His songs followed on from the poems, a fact predicted by a reviewer who described his early verses as ‘ballads which seem but to await a musician worthy of the poet.’ Generally accepted in literary, musical and theatrical circles, the Marquis’ earnings were sufficient to ensure a comfortable existence. But he craved a more luxurious life style and this was often achieved at somebody else’s expense.

Although he criticised self-promotion in others, a desire for publicity formed a persistent thread running through all aspects of the man’s life and work. On occasion, he was guilty of appallingly bad judgment, for the Marquis tried to make as much capital as he could from almost everything he did. Unfortunately, he seemed not to care if the publicity was good or bad! He often used his books of verse in the manner of a calling card or advertisement, giving away hundreds of unsolicited copies, which could help explain the large number printed. De Leuville’s verse appealed strongly to women; in New York ‘he presented each lovely guest with a handsome bound volume’ as they left his afternoon poetry recitals. Such largesse hinted at a distinct lack of business acumen, born out by the fact that de Leuville threw himself with great gusto into various commercial projects that generally proved unprofitable. The actual number of books sold is uncertain but his most popular book was printed in tens of thousands.

The Marquis was connected with many well-known personalities or causes of the time, from politicians and explorers to writers and entertainers. So Disraeli and the Suffragists keep company with the explorer Henry Stanley, author Mary Braddon, and the American poet Joaquin Miller. Household names such as the Tussaud family and even Buffalo Bill, who provided such brilliant entertainment for the Jubilee crowds, make their appearance in his biography, along with a host of supporting characters.

Women were very important in de Leuville’s life: from his adoring audiences who came to his recitals to his mistresses, among them Mrs Leslie, who featured in the Hyde Park incident. Fidelity posed a problem for the Marquis, who, by his own admission, strayed on more than one occasion. The fact his expenditure often exceeded his income meant that de Leuville increasingly selected partners with an eye to their bank balance. But, while he accepted their financial support, at the same time the Marquis was a great romantic, a good companion and a considerate lover. Independent and intelligent women sought him out.

The second thread that pervaded de Leuville’s life and work was chivalry. In his mind’s eye he saw himself as a knight in armour, but onlookers observed a Victorian ‘Don Quixote’. Here was a man more comfortable upholding the values of bygone times than with many aspects of nineteenth century life. Chivalry informed de Leuville’s interpretation of ‘courtly love’ in his poetry: to him it was pure, sometimes unhappy or unrequited. There are verses and images of ladies with suitors kneeling at their feet or kissing their hand, willing to fight duels to defend their lady’s honour. The Marquis was known to do this in real life – when a lady had been insulted, he issued a challenge. He was a good shot with a pistol but the sword was his weapon of choice. Undeniably brave, he believed in resolving arguments face to face, rapier on rapier. He dedicated one verse to the fair sex in general – ‘Woman: the boldest in danger, the truest in love, and the bravest in all just cause.’ It is not surprising that one of the best summaries of the man was penned by an American lady admirer and provides a fitting introduction to the story of this larger than life character:

I can readily understand why, in the presence of the Marquis de Leuville, I always thought of Madison Square Gardens and the three rings – because he is the greatest show on earth.

2

The Young de Leuville

The Marquis was born on 2 September 1841, at 26 Charles Street in Marylebone, London. His parents, William and Emma, were talented and successful artists. The family had moved to Kensington by the time of the 1851 census which has them at 22 Ovington Square, off the Brompton Road. De Leuville was then nine years old and hadn’t been sent away to school. Rather, his parents had enough money to hire tutors to provide a home education. Both parents would have taught their son painting and drawing. He showed some artistic ability and certainly accompanied his mother on one sketching trip, as they both exhibited views of ‘Rydal Water, Westmoreland’ in the early 1860s. He may also have travelled with his father, who made regular painting tours of the continent. De Leuville was an active child described as ‘a born athlete’, who became a physically strong young man, ‘early trained for all virile sports, and especially fencing, boxing and wrestling.’ He developed a lifelong passion for an age when knights in armour roamed the countryside on horseback. The values of chivalry were to infuse his life and work. This had its roots in childhood, when his imagination was fired by books he read, or stories told to him by his tutors. He grew up wanting to experience adventure and to welcome challenges.

His father William died suddenly in 1853 when de Leuville was only twelve. Two years later his mother, Emma, remarried John Sedgwick, a wealthy solicitor from Watford. De Leuville was chosen to be a witness at their wedding at Trinity Church, Brompton. Under his father’s will, if Emma remarried, his father’s estate passed to de Leuville, to be held in trust until he became twenty-one. De Leuville and his sister, Emma Caroline, moved out of Ovington Square and into their stepfather’s home in Watford. He used the Watford family address twice when submitting paintings to London exhibitions in 1861 and 1862, but by then he was rapidly approaching his maturity and independence. The 1861 census shows the Sedgwick family living over John’s business on Watford High Street: John and Emma with children Caroline and young Ethel, born in 1857, but no de Leuville, who was almost certainly in Italy.

There is no account of how the relationship between de Leuville and his stepfather developed. From what we know about him it seems likely that de Leuville would have found it difficult to settle into his new circumstances and take orders from John Sedgwick. Adolescents are often rebellious and biographical snippets indicate the young man was quite often away. Uprooted from his old haunts and friends, the strong-minded teenager was not best suited to life in a quiet country town. John appears to have sent his stepson on the ‘Grand Tour’ and there is a report that, aged sixteen, de Leuville climbed the Buet (a mountain next to Mont Blanc), with his tutor.

But what should be made of the claim that as a fourteen year old, de Leuville fought with Garibaldi and earned his first wage of 10 pence half-penny a day as a ‘full private’?

With Garibaldi

National hero Giuseppe Garibaldi (1807–82) was a republican with a passionate belief in the unification of Italy. Following the First and unsuccessful War of Independence (when he supported the Republic proclaimed in the Papal States), Garibaldi fled to New York in 1850. He returned to Italy in 1854 and spent the next five years as a farmer on Caprera island, off the north-west coast of Sardinia. It was during this peaceful interlude that de Leuville claimed he joined Garibaldi’s army.

Garibaldi as a Redshirt.

But maybe de Leuville wasn’t lying (as he so often did during his life), but simply exaggerating. By saying he was a fourteen-year-old soldier, he made his exploits appear exceptionally remarkable. In 1859 when the Second Italian War of Independence broke out, it is quite probable that de Leuville was one of the many young, educated, middle-class men from all over Europe, who flocked to Italy to fight with Garibaldi. His mother is unlikely to have agreed to this, but judging by his later life choices, de Leuville was confident and full of self-belief. Such an adventure would have greatly appealed to him as a variant on the ‘knights of old’ theme.

Garibaldi.

Garibaldi set up a fund for ‘A Million Rifles’ – £30,000 was collected in England, and New York sent both money and ships. He gathered about 1,000 volunteers called the ‘I Mille’ (The Thousand) or, more popularly, ‘The Redshirts’ and sailed to Sicily. It is easy to imagine the headstrong nineteen-year-old de Leuville, travelling to enlist and excited at the thought of what lay ahead. After several bloody battles Garibaldi gained control of Sicily by the beginning of June 1860, then crossed the Straits of Messina and went on to Naples. After more fighting and negotiations, he chose to hand over his territorial gains in the south to enable unification. Garibaldi met and greeted Victor Emmanuel II as the King of Italy and rode alongside him into Naples.

De Leuville’s inheritance

In 1862, at the age of twenty-one, de Leuville inherited his father’s estate. This would have made him quite well off, with a steady rental income from various properties. He decided to return to Italy, where he wrote his first poems in Rome during the mid-1860s. He was a popular young man: both the Count D’Usedom (whom he lodged with), and the Grand Duke of Parma were said to be ‘much attached to the careless youth’. Stories relating to this period of his life are somewhat farfetched but again, not necessarily inventions: for example, one states that he drove a four-in-hand horse carriage from Rome to the top of Mount Cenis (where Hannibal and his elephants crossed the Alps). He also bought an old English racehorse called ‘Bedlamite’ and superintended his training for the Italian races. (There is no doubt he was fond of horse racing and in later life boasted he had not missed a Goodwood season for twenty-five years). There is even mention of him as a wine grower in Italy. This lifestyle required money and indicated that de Leuville had a reasonable income and no need to find a profession.

Maria Sophie, Queen of Naples, (1841–1924)

Intriguingly, de Leuville confessed to a close friend many years later that he’d been the lover of Maria Sophie, wife of Francis, King of Naples and Sicily. He also claimed to have fought a duel to defend her honour. He and the young queen were the same age and were both in Rome at the same time, so again these stories might be true. In October 1860 as Garibaldi advanced on the Naples, King Francis and his court fled to the stronghold of Gaeta, some 80km to the north of the city. During the siege that followed, Maria repeatedly rallied the troops, and cared for the wounded. One colourful story says that she assembled the defenders on the ramparts and had them drop their trousers and ‘moon’ the attackers.

A surrender was negotiated after four months and the royal family were given safe passage to Rome. King Francis set up a government in exile and the court remained in the city until 1870. De Leuville lived in Rome from about 1865 to 1867 so he could easily have met Maria. He subsequently wrote a poem about lovers at a ball in Naples and, when describing the inspiration for the verses, he implied a liaison with an unnamed queen.

Maria Sophie, Queen of Naples.

De Leuville’s sense of adventure and fun went hand in hand with an impulsive nature, a volatile combination. So it’s not surprising to find the story made gripping reading, when for the first time he achieved minor notoriety in the English press. On 17 June 1865 two letters were printed in The Times. The first was from John Sedgwick. Under the title ‘Young Artist Taken by Brigands’ he cautioned travellers to take care when visiting Italy: in the hope that they may avoid the mutilation and calamity which have befallen my step-son … a young artist who, for the last two or three years, has been pursuing the study of his art in Italian scenery.

De Leuville had been kidnapped and Sedgwick enclosed a letter he had received from his stepson in Italy, postmarked 7 June. In it, the young man asked ‘Mr S’ to send money to pay his captors. Italy was still in the grip of political turmoil and The Times regularly carried reports of brigands and their exploits. In his long and detailed letter, de Leuville revealed that on 30 May he had embarked on a solitary sketching trip ‘at the back of the hills where no one goes’, south-east of Rome. At one point he left his guide and mule behind, to cut across country.

I was spied out by some of the blackguard brigands who infest these places. Seeing a stranger without baggage, their idea was to take me and get a ransom, which is what they nearly always do now. I did not see them until two fellows came behind me. I got out my pistol and fired it into the shoulder of the first; in fact I had nearly done for him, but another fellow came up at the moment after and stabbed me, and then I don’t quite recollect how it all was, for we all three struggled with each other and it was all knives and scuffles, and we rolled over the rocks together.

De Leuville finally surrendered when three guns were held to his head. Taken to ‘a sort of hole in the rocks’, an old woman bound up his wounds but could do nothing to ease the pain of a dislocated shoulder. His captors demanded a ransom of 250 scudi within 24 hours, or said he would be shot. ‘There was not a soul in Rome I knew, as all have gone away now’, but his guide somehow managed to raise 200 scudi (then roughly equivalent to £40). This was not enough for the brigands and he was only released when ‘a man’ was paid to act as hostage. De Leuville had to find the remaining cash:

I must