In Corvsgate, in Allentown and in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania . . . in the more affluent suburbs of Philadelphia . . . in New Jersey, in Far Hills, Waterboro, Paterson and the better residential neighborhoods of Newark and New Brunswick . . . there appeared in the winter of 191213, a Mr. Gaymead, a Mr. Lichtman, a Mr. Bramier, solicitors as they called themselves for a Wall Street brokerage firm authorized to represent, in North America, the secret Society for the Reclamation & Restoration of E. Auguste Napoleon Bonaparte.

"E. Auguste Napoleon Bonaparte"?-the illegitimate son of the great Emperor, born 1821, the year of the Emperor's death. And the lost heir to a great fortune.

Which fortune has grown a thousandfold, as one might imagine, since 1821, until at the present time, in the autumn of 1912, it is estimated to be in excess of $300 million-according to a confidential report of the prestigious New York accounting firm Price, Waterhouse.

Messrs. Gaymead, Lichtman and Bramier were all three gentlemen of robust middle age, with muttonchop whiskers (Gaymead), flashing pince-nez (Lichtman) and a pencil-thin moustache (Bramier); each dressed like a Wall Street banker, in conservative three-piece suits, though Bramier sometimes sported a pink carnation in his b.u.t.tonhole and Lichtman sometimes wore a checked silk Ascot tie. One wore a signet ring on his smallest finger stamped with the coat of arms of the House of Bonaparte; another wore a gold watch chain; one cleared his throat officiously; another was in the lawyerly habit of gravely repeating his sentences, as if for a stenographer's ear. All three were completely devoted, above and beyond their salaries, to the (secret) Society for the Reclamation & Restoration of E. Auguste Napoleon Bonaparte.

Inclined, perhaps, to be rather overpunctilious regarding such matters as birth certificates, genealogies, legal records, deeds of ownership of property, life insurance policies, savings accounts, and the like, these three solicitors could not resist now and then revealing their natural sympathies . . . for though the Society's negotiations were a matter of the highest confidentiality, and would, in time, provide descendants of Auguste Bonaparte with considerable sums of money (hundreds of thousands of dollars for some, as much as $1 million for others), it was nevertheless the case that Mr. Lichtman could not always resist informing a client about irregular steps being taken by certain not-to-be-named relatives of his, in advancing their claim to the inheritance; and Mr. Gaymead, though stiff and disconcertingly "British" in his manner, might sometimes break into a delighted smile, when surprised by a client's especially perceptive remark.

Good-hearted Mr. Bramier, never one to raise false hopes, felt that he would rather err on the side of doubt than inspire in his clients an unreasonable hope that the lawsuit might be settled soon. Authorized to pa.s.s along the president's words, in effect, Mr. Bramier would tell a small roomful of his clients that the legal situation in which the Society found itself was unparalleled in the history of inheritance claims. "But we will not rest until Napoleon Bonaparte's rightful heir is restored to his legitimacy, and the hundreds of millions of francs-that is, dollars-honestly divided among his descendants; not for purposes of cra.s.s mercenary gain, but for reasons of honor. 'Honor is the subject of my story'-as the great Bard has said," Bramier would declare, stroking his moustache, and fixing his steel-gray eyes upon his listeners' faces. "Yet I must state sub rosa that the French are no less duplicitous at the present time than they were in 1821, when so many efforts were made to murder the infant Auguste, by agents of the 'legitimate' son and Louis Napoleon alike; and it is hardly a secret that their civilization has, in the past century, lapsed into extreme decadence . . . which only war, I am afraid, and this time a cataclysmic war, will purge. Their Gallic pride and honor are at stake in this matter, yet, even more, their infamous Gallic greed, for it would be disastrous to their national treasury if upwards of $200 million dollars were taken from them . . . especially if it were surrendered to citizens of North America, whom, you know, they scorn as barbarians. The difficulty is, our own government, led by an unholy coalition of Democrats and Republicans, in aiding the French government in its suppression of the case, doubtless because certain high-ranking politicians are accepting 'fees' for their trouble. Already, gentlemen, the Society has been hounded, and threatened, and denounced on the very floor of the Senate, as being not in the best interests of French-American relations!" (At which outburst the little audience would exclaim in surprise and perplexity. For things were so much more convoluted than anyone might have thought.) "Thus, our need to remain entirely underground," Bramier said severely, "pledged to secrecy; indefatigable in our efforts to legitimize the lost Auguste, and his many descendants; and faithful to the death in our willingness to underwrite the lawsuit. For though it is proving costly, only think, when it is settled, what rewards will follow: for Auguste's honor will be restored, after so many years; and all his living descendants will be wealthy men."

THE HISTORICAL FACTS were: the great Napoleon Bonaparte, exiled on St. Helena after the defeat of Waterloo, sired, in the final year of his life, an illegitimate son with a woman (of n.o.ble birth, it was believed, though unrecorded national ident.i.ty) many years his junior; though the love affair and the subsequent birth were clandestine, the child was eventually baptized in the Catholic faith, as "Emanuel Auguste," sometime in the autumn of 1821; and, as the mother rightfully feared for his life, he was taken away immediately following his father's death-to reside, in secrecy, in one or another Mediterranean country. (Speculation had it that the Emperor's last inamorata was a surpa.s.singly beautiful girl of scarcely sixteen years of age, of richly mixed ancestry-Spanish, Greek, Moroccan.) In exile, so to speak, the boy grew to his maturity, being aware of his parentage yet resigned to a b.a.s.t.a.r.d's fate; until at the age of twenty-one, he dared venture to Paris, under an a.s.sumed name, where he learned that Napoleon had provided for him in his will, and very handsomely too; but that it would be his death to pursue the issue. (For all of France was united by this time under the stern rule of Napoleon III, the late Emperor's nephew.) Being a youth of some equanimity, ill-inclined to greed, Emanuel Auguste resolved to forget his patrimony, and to seek his fortune in Germany (18441852), and in England (18521879), where he died in a London suburb, known to his neighbors and a.s.sociates as "E. August Armstrong," a well-respected gentleman in the business of cotton imports. Following his death it became known that, since leaving France, he had taken on a number of pseudonyms, out of necessity-among them Schneider, Shaffer, Reichard, Paige, Osgood, Brown, and of course Armstrong. Thus, the record of his progeny, and his progeny's progeny, was complex indeed.

For many years following Auguste's death in 1879, he and his mysterious patrimony were forgotten and his inheritance remained untouched in the vaults of the Bank of Paris. The original sum was said to be $43 million in francs; with the pa.s.sage of decades, by way of investments, interest and the like, under the canny manipulations of the officers of the bank, this prodigious sum gradually increased tenfold. How long the fortune would have remained unclaimed no one would have known except for the dramatic intervention of a gentleman named Franois-Leon Claudel, an American citizen of French extraction who was himself a Manhattan broker and who, following his discovery of a blood relationship with E. Auguste Napoleon Bonaparte in 1909, decided to organize the Society. An elder, wealthy man, Claudel could afford to hire a small army of lawyers, historians and professional genealogists to ascertain the ident.i.ties of Auguste's descendants throughout the world; and to initiate a legal suit against the Bank of Paris under terms of international law. "It isn't for the sake of mere gold that we undertake this campaign," Claudel was quoted as saying, "but for the lost honor of our ancestor Auguste. We, his blood descendants, his heirs, are obliged to claim our rightful patrimony in his name-else we're dishonored indeed."

It was no surprise to the idealistic Americans that the Frenchmen who harbored the fortune proved immediately hostile to their efforts. Though Claudel was gratified to be told by way of French informants (friends, as they identified themselves, of the "late wronged heir") that there had long been a tale of a forsaken inheritance locked away in the Bank of Paris and guarded by bank officials, as closely bound up with the sacred memory of the Emperor. The task of tracing the many North American heirs was less difficult than Claudel had feared, for, recognizing the altruistic impulses behind his effort, people were eager to cooperate.

By the winter of 1912, approximately three hundred heirs had been located in the United States and Canada, and it was estimated that another one hundred remained. For E. Auguste had, it seemed, sired many a child himself by way of numerous wives and mistresses, under his several pseudonyms. "It's neither curse nor virtue," Claudel commented wryly, "that we Bonapartes are a little l.u.s.tier than our neighbors." At the start, Claudel wanted to restrict the Society to those individuals directly descended from Auguste, but, in time, as more eager parties took up the cause, membership requirements were relaxed somewhat, though all were sworn to absolute secrecy and all were required to forward dues, legal fees and various surcharges, payable in cash, by messenger (and not the U.S. Mail) to Claudel, as president of the Society, or to his authorized agents. It was carefully explained to the legitimate heirs as they were individually interviewed in their homes, that the Society, which eventually grew to more than three thousand members, was composed not only of blood relations like themselves but of parties sworn to pursue Justice; these were primarily well-to-do gentlemen of the law, religious leaders and historians who were inspired by Franois-Leon Claudel's mission. As the legal struggle that lay ahead would demand great sacrifices, these gentlemen were willing to donate their time, money and encouragement, though when the suit was settled, in 1915 perhaps, or 1916 at the latest, they would not receive a penny of the fortune.

Authorized as agents for the Society, for the Mid-Atlantic sector, were Messrs. Gaymead, Lichtman, Bramier and others, all men of the highest personal integrity with excellent legal and financial backgrounds. It was their task to contact the missing heirs and to lay out before them the various doc.u.ments (genealogical maps, birth and baptismal certificates, facsimiles of legal records, etc.) pertaining to E. Auguste and to themselves; and to present them the opportunity of joining the Society under its necessarily severe terms of absolute secrecy, $2,000 payable within thirty days, and regular dues, fees, surcharges, etc. of various sums (depending upon the progress of the lawsuit) from time to time.

Of the numerous heirs who were interviewed by Society agents, all but a few skeptical individuals were enthusiastic; more than enthusiastic, elated; for the salient facts were very convincingly presented. The altruism of Franois-Leon Claudel and his professional a.s.sociates was seen to be extraordinary; and the somewhat faint or smudged daguerreotypes of Emanuel Auguste (as a babe in arms, as a toddler, as a haughty young gentleman of perhaps twenty-one) never failed to excite special interest. (Indeed, it was remarkable how citizens in such diverse regions of the Mid-Atlantic sector as metropolitan Philadelphia, southeastern New Jersey, and the remote reaches of the upper Delaware Valley were struck by family resemblances between the lost heir, as Auguste was frequently called, and themselves or relatives. Again and again young Auguste, though pictured nearly in profile, and with his hooded eyes turned arrogantly away from the camera, was realized as the "living image" of a cousin, an uncle, a grandfather, a father, a child: and poor patient Mr. Gaymead, no less than his colleagues Lichtman, Bramier, Hynd, and Glcklicht, had to endure many a lengthy session, seated on a sofa, being shown a copious family alb.u.m, with much animated commentary to the effect that the "royal blood" of the Bonapartes had always been evident, though unrecognized as such, in the client's family. It might be a look about the eyes-or the shape of the nose, the ears, the chin-the set of the jaw-the cheekbones, the bones of the forehead, etc.-but the visual evidence was unmistakable.) "Yes, it is so," Mr. Gaymead or one of his colleagues would say, studying a photograph, or the facial bones of a living child presented blushing before him, "-yes, I believe it is so. I wonder that your family did not come to the conclusion, some time ago, that you were not quite of common clay like your neighbors; but clearly possessed of an exceptional history-and a no less exceptional future."

A curious predicament: that Abraham Licht's pa.s.sion for any of his business ventures was in precise disproportion, as Elisha had long ago learned, to its success.

For where plans proceeded smoothly, and clients were persuaded to surrender gratifying sums of money to his pockets, pa.s.sion quickly waned; and it seemed to the restless entrepreneur that, for all his genius, for all his willingness to risk safety, he must not be playing for high enough stakes. He frequently confided to Elisha, alone of his children, that difficulties-challenges-obstacles-outright dangers-were what most stirred his spirit, and provided a fit contest for his powers, whose depths (he believed) had not yet been plumbed.

So it happened that "Little Moses" was forced into retirement earlier than seemed absolutely necessary (for Elisha quite delighted in the masquerade, knowing himself, though disguised in the skin of a "darky," not a Negro at all). Similarly, "The Panama Ca.n.a.l, Ltd.," closed its doors to further investors, after so wondrous a six-month showing Abraham Licht halfway feared J. P. Morgan would want to buy him out; likewise "X. X. Anson & Sons Copper, Ltd.," and "North American Liberty Bonds, Inc.," and "Zicht's Etheric Ma.s.sage" (whereby the afflicted patient, suffering from such ailments as rheumatism, arthritis, migraine, stomach upsets, and mysterious illnesses of all kinds, lay upon a table, in absolute darkness, to be ma.s.saged by the "magnetic etheric waves" produced by an "osteophonic" machine of Dr. Zicht's invention); and, not least, the enterprise of the astrological sportsman "A. Washburn Frelicht, Ph.D.," who had triumphed at Chautauqua, and was talked of, still, in racing circles. (It was a measure of Abraham Licht's indifference to past success, or his actual generosity regarding fellow entrepreneurs, that he cared not a whit that tout sheets, or tipster sheets, were now sold openly at American racecourses; and that their indebtedness to the pioneering Frelicht's Tips went unacknowledged.) Of course, not all of Abraham Licht's enterprises were successful; and the comparative, or outright, failures, no less than his half dozen embarra.s.sments with the law, rankled still.

For instance, at the tender age of fifteen he had been ill used by a kinsman named Nathaniel Liges, of the Onandaga Valley, who had hired him as a lottery ticket salesman-and failed to inform him when the news broke, rather suddenly, that the tickets were counterfeit; he had scarcely fared better, when, a few years later, now self-employed, he made the rounds of the Nautauga region as a Bible and patent medicine peddler-in the very wake, ironically, of a notorious Dutch peddler from downstate who offered the same general brand of goods, and resembled young Abraham as a father might resemble a son!

He confided in Elisha one day that, as a brash young man of thirty-two, he had agreed to run for state congress on the Republican ticket, in one of the spa.r.s.ely populated mountain districts north of Muirkirk; but found the campaigning so loathsome an activity, and the prospect of a tame, respectable, legal employment so enervating, he soon lost all spirit for the contest, and quite outraged his backers. Moreover, his Democratic opponent was so clearly a self-promoting fool, it seemed an insult to Abraham Licht's dignity to trouble to compete with him. Like Shakespeare's Coriola.n.u.s, with whom he closely identified, he felt despoiled by the mere activity of seeking public acclaim in this ignominious way. Here, The Game was of a much lower mettle than he was accustomed to; the prospect of winning over an ignorant electorate excited him as would the prospect of seducing a woman who was both ugly and brain-damaged! So Abraham soon began to mock his opponent, and the oratorical style of campaigners in general (whether Republican, Democrat, Populist, or other); and finally betrayed his backers by dropping out of the race and disappearing from the region altogether a few weeks before the election.

Even so, he told Elisha that he would not rule out the possibility of a political career someday for him. "You are worth much more than a mere backcountry congressional seat, of course; your superficial racial component-or attribute-or 'talent,' whatever-cannot help but he an a.s.set in the proper circ.u.mstances."

Elisha was deeply struck by this remark; yet could not resist a.s.suming a playful tone. "Shall I run for Governor of the state," he asked, "or, perhaps, for President of the country? Might I be a fit candidate one day for the 'White' House? It would allow my fellow Americans a display of democratic sentiment, to elect a 'darky' to such an office!"

"Don't make light of my proposal," Abraham Licht said severely. "The time is not now; but the time may come. 'Covet where you wish; but never in vain.'"

AS WITH THE women Abraham Licht had won, seemingly, and then lost-his "wives" as he eventually came to call them-so with the business ventures he had never entirely brought to fruition. They haunted; they rankled; they picked and stabbed at his very soul.

Among these was the "E. Auguste Napoleon Bonaparte" enterprise, first dreamt into being when Abraham Licht was a young man in his twenties, but, owing to limited resources, and exigencies of the moment, never satisfactorily launched. What appealed to Abraham in his maturity was the prospect, regarding the Society, of its infinite possibility: once a person came to believe that royal blood flowed in his veins, and he was a potential heir to a great fortune, how far could his credulity be tested? No sooner had the Society's roster of heirs fulfilled their obligations for one step of the lawsuit (allegedly being fought in the Court of Paris, behind closed doors, by a barrister of international reputation) than the Society would be forced to a.s.sess them still more, for there was a mare's nest of hidden fees, taxes, attorneys' retainers and so forth, with no end in sight. It seemed quite likely that a lawsuit of such complexity would drag on for years, as a consequence of French corruption. And in the early spring of '13 a new development arose, forced upon the Society's president Franois-Leon Claudel by several of his a.s.sociates who were gravely concerned that Claudel had by this time invested so much of his own money, nearly $700,000, while standing to realize as only one heir of Emanuel Auguste no more money than any other heir; so it was voted by the Society's board of governors that members should invest directly in the inheritance itself rather than merely underwriting the lawsuit. Which is to say, according to the prestigious firm of Dun & Company, auditors for the Society: if an individual invests $1 in the inheritance, he will realize at least $200 when the estate is settled; if an individual invests $1,000, he will realize $200,000. And so forth.

Now, the race was on.

Abraham Licht was forced to hire a half dozen agents to deal with the increase in business. Families mortgaged their homes and property or sold them with imprudent haste; insurance policies were cashed in; a minister in Penns Neck, New Jersey, borrowed $6,500 from his church without informing them; one member of the Society, by the name of Rheinhardt, secretly took out an insurance policy on his wife for $100,000 with the intention, as he naively told Mr. Gaymead, of investing the entire sum in Emanuel Auguste "as soon as the old woman dies." (Gaymead had the presence of mind to inform him on the spot that the board of governors, just the previous day, had pa.s.sed a ruling to the effect that no member could invest more than $4,000-which after all would reap a magnificent $800,000.) By February of 1913 post office inspectors for several cities suspected that something was afoot, yet as no one had complained to police, and members of the Society were scrupulous about sending their payments (preferably in cash, though checks were also accepted) by way of a messenger service, and never through the U.S. Mail, where was the harm? Members were cautioned repeatedly on this score, for the postmaster general of the United States was himself in the pay of the French, and prepared to open and destroy any of the Society's correspondence. (So strict was this ruling, members were told that any letter sent by way of the U.S. Mail would not be opened, and the sender's membership would be revoked.) For purposes of security too the Society's address was frequently changed, being now on Broome Street in lower Manhattan; and now on East Forty-ninth Street; and now on the Upper West Side; then again, abruptly, in Teaneck, New Jersey; or Riverside, New York. In a single week in June 1913 such quant.i.ties of cash were received in denominations ranging from $5 to $100 that Abraham Licht and Elisha laughingly wearied of counting it, giving up after having reached $95,000; and sweeping it into a burlap sack with their gloved hands to be deposited, under an agent's name (Brisbane, O'Toole, Rodweller, St. Goar) in one or another Wall Street investment house (Knickerbocker Trust, American Savings & Trust, Lynch & Burr, Throckmorton & Co.) Abraham had chosen. He suspected that, by this time, a number of persons in the financial district were watching his activities closely, but in the bliss of triumph he cared not a whit.

He was Abraham Licht, after all-though not known by that name here.

"If as Jonathan Swift believed mankind is to be divided into fools and knaves," Abraham Licht told Elisha and Millicent, "-is there any greater delight than to be a.s.sured of a steady income by the former, as the latter look on in envy?"

Through the long summer of 1913 membership in the Society for the Reclamation & Restoration of E. Auguste Napoleon Bonaparte continued to grow, until by mid-August, shortly before the entire enterprise had to be abandoned, there were approximately seven thousand members in good standing-and an estimated fortune of $3 million. Both Elisha and Millie were dazed by their father's success, yet apprehensive as well, for were things not going too smoothly? . . . was there not an air, very nearly palpable at certain times, that they were being scrutinized on every side, yet never approached? Owing to the rapid increase in business, Abraham Licht had had to hire twenty-odd employees-"solicitors," "agents," "messenger boys," "accountants," "stenographers." These persons, though not in full possession of the facts regarding Emanuel Auguste, were yet experienced enough, and canny enough by instinct, to know that they must not disobey their employer's directives. ("One false step," Abraham Licht cautioned each in turn, "-and the entire house of cards falls. And some of you may deeply regret that it does.") At this time the Lichts' princ.i.p.al residency was a luxurious eight-room suite at the Park Stuyvesant Hotel on Central Park East, though Abraham and Elisha were frequently away on business and Millie was enrolled as a student in Miss Thayer's Academy for Young Christian Ladies on East Eighty-fifth Street. (Of course, Millie didn't always attend cla.s.ses faithfully at Miss Thayer's, caught up in the bustle of Manhattan and in the flattering attentions of young gentlemen admirers whom she treated with playful coquettish ease-since her heart, in secret, belonged to Elisha.) When things went smoothly and the Society's demands weren't distracting, Abraham Licht enjoyed nothing better than to treat his handsome children to a Sunday excursion on the town: an elegant brunch at the Plaza, a leisurely surrey ride through Central Park, afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on upper Fifth Avenue, high tea at the sumptuous Henry IV on Park Avenue. For the elder children Millie and Elisha, amid a small party of social acquaintances, there might be an evening of grand opera at the palatial Met-for, besides Shakespeare, Abraham Licht revered opera as the very music of the G.o.ds. (In a single heady season the Lichts attended performances of The Magic Flute, Rigoletto, Madam b.u.t.terfly and the American premiere of Strauss's Der Rosenkavalier during the course of which Abraham fell in love with Anna Case in the role of Sophie.) These lengthy evenings were often followed by suppers at the Park Avenue or Fifth Avenue homes of Abraham's new friends, or supper at Delmonico's, where Abraham, as a lavish spender, was known and admired.

"How happy we are! And how simple it is to be happy!"-so Millie whispered as if in wonder, giving Elisha a hasty kiss when they were alone together; and Elisha, the more agitated of the two of them, tried to see how this could be so, within a year of their brother Thurston's disappearance. Regarding Millie's bright, feverish face and shining eyes, Elisha couldn't have said if he was "happy"-if indeed Millie was "happy"-or if Abraham Licht, despite the current success of his business ventures, was "happy"-or what, in fact, "happiness" meant. When Millie was gay, irrepressibly gay as an ingenue in a Broadway operetta, Elisha believed he should try to be gay in return; yet, when Millie was gay, perhaps she was testing him to gauge whether such gaiety was, after all, appropriate?

All Millie knew of Thurston's disappearance was that, when Abraham and Elisha went to rescue him from a Trenton funeral parlor where his "remains" had been delivered from the prison, her brother was gone. He'd left, he'd walked away, he'd vanished-without a trace. And no message left behind. "But how could Thurston have done such a thing?" Millie asked, incredulous and hurt, and Abraham Licht told her tersely, "We will not speak of the ingrate-a 'Christian convert' it seems. He has gone over to the camp of the enemy and good riddance." Millie protested, "But, Father-" and Abraham said, "I have told you, Millie: we will not speak of the ingrate ever again."

And so it was. For Abraham Licht was not to be disobeyed.

The tale told generally within the family was that Thurston and Harwood had each ventured forth to seek their fortunes. Thurston was in Brazil exploring possibilities in the "rubber trade" and Harwood was in the West exploring possibilities in "the mining of precious metals." The younger children had no interest in Harwood but begged their father to make a journey to South America so that they could visit with Thurston soon. "At Christmastime, Father! Thurston will be lonely without us."

Abraham laughed briefly, surprised; but said, in that tone of voice that indicated a subject was finished, and would not be revived, "Your brother is accustomed by now to 'loneliness,' I am sure."

("And was there really no note, no message to explain, or to apologize, even to say good-bye?" Millie asked Elisha, in secret; and Elisha lifted his hands in a gesture of bafflement, a.s.suring her, as gravely as their father had done, "No, Millie. As Father said, there was not.")

Strange, the careening happiness of that swift season in Manhattan. Affecting Abraham Licht in contradictory ways.

For instance, how frequently he expressed a vague yearning for Muirkirk-"For peace." Yet of course he dared not leave New York until things were more stabilized. He didn't trust his hired employees-what employer, in such times of turmoil, did? He complained half seriously to Elisha and Millie that he would have no trouble building a financial empire to rival the Carnegies and the Harrimans if he could only staff his office with blood relatives. (His kin, the Barracloughs, the Sternlichts, the Ligeses, had, it seemed, proved untrustworthy. So Elisha had reason to believe. And why did Abraham never mention Harwood? Were they in communication at all?) Then again, perhaps the Society was growing too quickly? Perhaps it would be prudent to limit membership? Even to introduce a new development . . . things being so snarled in Paris, the French courts so mired in corruption, a mistrial had been called and an entirely new case would have to be prepared . . . for presentation in, say, January 1914. This was entirely convincing; and met with strong approval (and relief) on Elisha's part; for Abraham Licht was by this point in his career several times a millionaire, as O'Toole, Brisbane, Rodweller and St. Goar, and could afford to relax. His fortune was in safe hands in the most reputable Wall Street investment houses and would eventually double, or triple, if the economy continued to thrive.

And Abraham Licht, for all his vigor and optimism, wasn't so young as he'd been even a short year before.

Then, abruptly, after a breakfast of skimming rapidly through the usual New York papers and reading, for example, of the lavish wedding of Miss Vivien Gould, granddaughter of the infamous Gould, to Lord Decies of His Majesty's Seventh Hussars at Saint Bartholomew's Church on Fifth Avenue, how could he be satisfied with the meager millions he'd earned?-"It's preposterous for me to think that I'm a wealthy man, set beside these people." For the Goulds were so rich, their empire so enormous, it was noted without comment in the papers that two hundred twenty-five seamstresses had labored on the bride's trousseau for more than a year; the wedding cake alone had cost $1,000, decorated with electric lights and tiny sugar cupids bearing the Decies coat of arms; the bride's father presented her with a diamond coronet estimated at $1.5 million; and other gifts from such members of the gilded set as the Pierpont Morgans, Lord and Lady Ashburton, Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish, the Duke of Connaught, the Astors, the Vanderbilts, and numerous others, were of similar value. "No, Abraham Licht is a pauper by comparison," he mused, "-he hardly exists, in fact. And what shall he do about it, at the age of fifty-two?"

So that day and for days following he might be caught up in a fever of planning: he'd hire more employees, wooing them away from their "legitimate" firms; he'd begin a fresh campaign in Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina and remote, mysterious Georgia where blood descendants of Emanuel Auguste surely dwelt, awaiting discovery. ("The farther South, the greater the fools"-so Abraham had been a.s.sured.) Restless, he'd summon Manhattan's most prestigious architect to his home to discuss the Italianate villa he hoped to build on the corner of Park and East Sixty-sixth, but a stone's throw from the Vanderbilt mansion.

And one day soon, if all proceeded smoothly, and Abraham Licht and his family ascended to the highest echelons of New York society, he would march as proudly up the aisle of Saint Bartholomew's as had Mr. George Gould, with a far lovelier daughter on his arm to be given away in holy matrimony to a lord, or a count, or a duke-"If not a prince."

By the end of the summer of 1913, however, Abraham was forced to conclude that the Society for the Reclamation & Restoration of E. Auguste Napoleon Bonaparte had become too successful; and would have to be curtailed soon or abandoned entirely. (For Abraham could not trust his employees, in precise proportion as they were sharp, canny young men not unlike himself at their age. Also, he'd begun to discover disturbing news items in the papers having to do with rumors of an "international scandal" involving an illegitimate son of a Hapsburg duke, an illegitimate daughter of the late King Edward VII, several great-grandchildren of Napoleon Bonaparte and, most tantalizing to inhabitants of New York State, a direct descendant of the Dauphin, King Louis XVII, who had, according to legend, escaped France and hidden himself away in the wilds of the Chautauqua Mountains north of Mount Chattaroy.) "How Americans, priding themselves on their democracy, yearn for 'royal blood'! It's to be pitied, more than condemned."

Yet such rumors were alarming, obviously.

It seemed necessary, therefore, to call a special meeting of the Society's shareholders, in the Sixth Regiment Armory in Philadelphia, soon after Labor Day. Several thousand heirs of Emanuel Auguste crowded into the building after having identified themselves at the closely guarded doors and paying an admission fee of $5, to help underwrite the expense of renting the armory. (In truth, the armory had been made available to the Society for a token $100, by way of a Philadelphia broker who'd invested $4,600 in the inheritance. So the evening's "gate" was in excess of $15,000-an uplifting figure.) The atmosphere was expectant and as highly charged as a Wagnerian opera, since members had been alerted that they would at last be introduced to their president, Franois-Leon Claudel; and informed of the latest, somewhat disturbing news regarding the Parisian lawsuit; and, as a bonus, would be presented with a full-blooded descendant of Emanuel Auguste, who'd arrived in the States only the previous week.

The Sixth Regiment Armory was a plain, utilitarian s.p.a.ce made attractive by strategically placed posters of Emanuel Auguste as a babe in arms, as a toddler, and as a handsome young man-familiar likenesses, of course; though the enlargement process had coa.r.s.ened and darkened the images. On stage beside the lectern were an American flag and a peac.o.c.k-blue flag bearing the royal coat of arms of the Bonaparte family; placed about the stage were floral displays of white lilies, carnations and irises, donated by a Philadelphia funeral director who was also a shareholder of the Society. The crowd, beyond three thousand individuals, consisted primarily of men, with a scattering of women, and exuded an air of excited antic.i.p.ation mingled with suspicion. For all beneath this high vaulting roof were blood relations, however separated by accidents of birth; yet, each having invested in the Bonaparte fortune, wasn't he in a sense a rival to all the others? Could he, indeed, trust the others?

Reasoning that the murmurous, excitable audience would be grateful for a familiar face, Abraham Licht opened the meeting in the guise of the brisk, affable Marcel Bramier with his signature moustache and pink carnation in the lapel of a conservatively cut sharkskin suit. In a ringing voice Mr. Bramier commanded that the doors to the armory be locked by security guards, since it was 8:06 P.M. and no more latecomers would be tolerated. This stern measure was greeted with waves of applause from the nervous heirs, many of whom had been waiting since early afternoon for the armory to be opened. In his welcoming address, Mr. Bramier spoke of the Society's history: its ideals, its fidelity to Emanuel Auguste and the loyalty, generosity and high moral courage of its members; he concluded by vowing that no one in the hall would leave that evening without a "heartwarming vision engraved upon his soul." Thunderous applause followed this poetic declaration. Mr. Bramier then introduced a Mr. Crowe, a founding member of the Society, tall, deep-chested, with the full-toothed grin of President Teddy Roosevelt in his prime, who spoke with equal vigor of the Society's aims and ideals. ("Crowe" was played by an out-of-work Broadway actor-friend of Abraham's. An interim of some minutes was needed for Abraham to leave the stage, change his costume, makeup, etc., before reappearing in his next, more crucial guise.) Next, greeted with ecstatic applause, walking with a cane and frowning loftily was the esteemed president of the Society, Franois-Leon Claudel, upon whom several thousand pairs of eyes avidly fixed. An aristocratic figure, frail with age; filmy-haired; impeccably dressed in a dark suit and gray silk vest; with a stiff, priestly air; hollowed cheeks; tinted spectacles; and, strangely, a skin so dark-complected one might almost have imagined him of an exotic race. Yet all doubts were a.s.suaged when once the applause died away and Claudel began to speak, for it was immediately clear, and rea.s.suring, that by his accent he could be no other than Caucasian.

Claudel differed significantly from the speakers who preceded him by wasting no time in winning over his audience. As he said, there was urgent business at hand-"Time and tide, my friends, wait for no man." He stirred the membership by affirming their unity in a common cause for justice; all were blood relations, if only to an infinitesimal degree; they were obliged to trust one another as they trusted their closest and dearest family members-though, he had to warn, there were rumors of informants in their midst in the pay of the government of France. "Of course," Claudel said, an ironic ring to his voice, "-these are but rumors, and not to be fully credited." Next, the aristocratic gentleman spent several minutes pa.s.sionately a.s.sailing those members of the Society-"Some of whom have the gall to be seated among us, at this very moment"-who were behind on their dues. Poking the air with a forefinger, Claudel chided such slothful and unworthy descendants of the great house of Bonaparte and went on to criticize as well those individuals who'd tried to bribe certain officials of the Society, including that paragon of virtue, whose morals were wholly above reproach, Marcel Bramier, into allowing them to invest, under a.s.sumed names, more than $4,000 in the inheritance. By this time Claudel's aloof manner had given way to the vehemence of an American campground preacher as he paced about the stage crying, "What do you think would happen, my friends, if certain of your greedy comrades invested five thousand-fifty thousand-one million dollars in the inheritance?" He paused dramatically, staring into the sea of rapt, frightened faces. "I will tell you, gentlemen: there would not be enough money for the honest investors, when the lawsuit is settled."

A panicked hush fell over the gathering.

However, Franois-Leon Claudel a.s.sured them, no member of the Society would stoop to bribe-taking so there was no danger in that quarter. "We are not, after all, members of the United States Congress or inhabitants of the White House," Claudel could not resist adding, to yelps of laughter and vigorous applause.

Next, Claudel read a cable from the Society's Parisian barrister to the effect that the meticulously constructed case for the claimants had been undercut by "subversive" elements, probably from within; that the highest judge of the highest court in the country had confided in him, privately, that it would be in the best interests of the Society for the present suit to be dropped and a new suit initiated after 1 January 1914 to insure a court "free and clear of jurist prejudice." These words were read in a ringing voice, one might have said a Shakespearean voice that revealed how deeply the president of the Society was moved by this development. (There was, midway, a fearful pause during which the old man seemed about to burst into tears, fumbling to extract a handkerchief from his pocket.) Quickly, however, he recovered, to tell the gathering in a voice heavy with irony that such news would delight the saboteurs in their midst yet would not, he swore, be a source of despair to him; though at his age it wasn't reasonable any longer to expect that he might live to see Emanuel Auguste restored to his lost honor.

"Yet having waited so long we can't object, I suppose, to waiting a few months longer-yes? Do you agree? For Rome, as they say, 'was not built in a day. And required millennia for its fall.'"

At this point a scattering of individuals s.p.a.ced through the armory began to applaud zealously, as if inspired; within a few seconds, they were joined by the remainder of the enormous crowd, uncertainly at first, then with more vehemence, so that wave upon wave of applause filled the hall, and cheers, whistles and shouts of "Bravo, our president!" brought tears to a proud old man's eyes.

It was all Claudel could do to quiet the crowd and continue.

Thanking them humbly for their "sacred vote of confidence" and reiterating his statement that a six-month delay in the lawsuit would not be a source of despair to him, even at his age, and should not therefore be a source of despair to any of them; calculating that the suit would "certainly" by settled by the end of 1916 at the latest; and that, with interest compounded daily, the fortune would by that time be somewhere beyond $900 million according to the most recent estimate of the conservative Wall Street accounting firm Price, Waterhouse.

At which point more applause ensued, tumultuous as before.

YOU MUST LEAD them like sheep-gently. For sheep will stampede.

You must allow them to think that you are one of them, and your fate linked to theirs.

You must honor their profound wish to believe. Even as, with a smiling countenance, you slash their uplifted throats.

THE SURPRISE OF the evening followed immediately: the appearance of the only "pure-blooded living descendant of Emanuel Auguste Napoleon Bonaparte"-a native-born Moroccan by the name of Jean Joliet Mazare Napoleon Bonaparte, twenty-five years old, only just arrived on these sh.o.r.es. Would the membership please welcome their privileged visitor, with the spirit that only Americans can summon forth?

So, applause began; individuals at the rear and extreme sides of the vast armory rose to get a clearer view; until at last all were on their feet, more than three thousand eager kinsmen; but, what a surprise, what consternation, when, in a crimson velvet suit with knee breeches and white stockings, and a rakish plumed hat, a gilded dress sword at his side, a young Negro appeared!-as a.s.sured, insouciant and f.e.c.kless as if he were not only of royal blood but superior to the Caucasian race itself.

At this point an absolute silence fell over the hall. All who had leapt to their feet to cheer stood paralyzed, staring.

Negro? . . .

Taking no notice of his audience's alarm, a smiling Franois-Leon Claudel graciously drew the young man forward and introduced him, with the zealous aplomb of P. T. Barnum introducing one of his prized exhibits: "Monsieur Jean Joliet Mazare Napoleon Bonaparte, the purest-blooded of all Emanuel Auguste's descendants!" He embraced the handsome young man with great warmth; as if such behavior, between men, were commonplace to these sh.o.r.es, he kissed the young man smackingly on both cheeks. The Negro's eyes and teeth flashed dazzling white; his skin gleamed and winked as if oiled; in a sweeping gesture of mock humility he whipped his elegant hat from his head and bowed low before his still-silent audience.

How woolly his hair, that fitted his head tight as a cap!

Negro?

Still taking no notice of the paralyzed quiet in the hall, Claudel stood with his arm draped affectionately about young Jean's shoulders and spoke at length of the fact that, according to the most meticulous genealogical charts prepared by the Oxford Authority of Genealogical Research in England, here stood the embodiment of Emanuel Auguste himself; the lost heir's "pedigreed blood" beat fiercely and proudly in Jean's veins as, to varying degrees, it beat in theirs; and how deserved it was, that young Jean would inherit the t.i.tle of prince in France when the estate was settled.

Negro?

As the flamboyant young man evidently spoke no English, his address to the gathering was unintelligible though rapid, charming, and a.s.sured. "Messyers ay madamez ici I am! Mon freres ay mon sewers voulezvou thankyou pour invitee me ici!" He interrupted his cascade of words with childlike giggles; his wide white teeth glared in the stage lights; his hand gestures were flamboyant. Clearly this Moroccan-born black possessed none of the wary, craven air of an American black, for he was of princely blood and not descended from slaves, and so possibly, just possibly, he might be excused for thinking so highly of himself. Yet his audience remained mute, mortified. Here and there one might have seen a face crinkled with repugnance or even revulsion; some were perplexed; others looked from young Jean to the prominently placed posters of their n.o.ble ancestor, and back again, taking note too of the dark-complected Franois-Leon Claudel, whose olive-dark complexion contrasted with his filmy pale hair and his unmistakably "white" manner. What did such things mean?

With monkeyish high spirits young Jean began to jabber yet more excitedly in his native tongue, taking up an exotic musical instrument seemingly a cross between a tambourine and a drum and singing, as a beaming Claudel looked on, a ditty even those in the audience who might have known some French could not have grasped: "Merdeyvous! Je hais you!

Tu hais me! Merdeyvee!

Ooolala! Ooolalee!

Merdeyblanc! Merdeynoir!

Thankyee vous! Thankyee me!

BlezzeyG.o.d you! BlezzeyG.o.d me!"

Following the young prince's performance, Lemuel Bunting, one of the Society's officers, rose to summarize the "salient points" of the session: the temporary suspension of the lawsuit in the Court of Paris; the temporary suspension of all investments until further notice-"That is to say, no more investing, and, of course, no withdrawals"; above all the need to maintain faith in the Society's aims-and to keep the sacred vow of secrecy.

By this time, however, virtually no one was listening. Many persons were streaming toward the doors, eager to escape; abashed, confused, somber, stricken; not wishing to look too closely at their neighbors, or to be seen by them. In this way, at about 9:20 P.M., what would be the final ma.s.s meeting of the Society for the Reclamation & Restoration of E. Auguste Napoleon Bonaparte came to an end.

"DELIGHTFUL, 'LISHA! YOU outdid yourself tonight. And, if I dare to say so, so did I."

In triumph, in the privacy of their suite in Philadelphia's most prestigious hotel, Abraham Licht proposed a champagne toast to his son; for Elisha had never performed before any audience so irresistibly, including, to Abraham's surprise and delight, the delicious opera bouffe aria of his own improvisation. He'd deserved more applause than the fools had given him, Abraham said with a chuckle. "For, like any consummate player of The Game, you knew your audience; you plumbed the depths of their shallow racist souls."

Elisha swallowed down his champagne thirstily, yet seemed to take little pleasure in it. He was missing Millie, perhaps: for her praise in his ears meant as much, if not more, than Abraham's. Yet there was something melancholy in his victory, and he found it hard to fall in with his father's celebratory mood. "Yes, Father," he said, sighing, "I knew, I mean I know, the racist hearts of my countrymen well."

CAUSING ABRAHAM TO worry, in his bed that night, whether his most prodigiously gifted son wasn't becoming sensitive about exploiting his skin; as if, in his heart, 'Lisha had somehow believed himself white after all. "G.o.d help me if I meet resistance from 'Lisha, too," Abraham tormented himself, "-for I am rapidly running out of sons."