Charles Léon vs Louis Napoléon
In September 1834, Léon had returned to France and resumed his duties at Saint-Denis with the National Guard. But his reentry was characteristically turbulent. Within days, he had issued a scathing denunciation of the Colonel who had taken over during his suspension. His accusations were bold—and poorly received.
By October 11th , Léon found himself suspended again. Barely two weeks later, a royal decree permanently relieved him of his duties. Rather than face a public trial—which he reportedly hoped for—the government dealt with him quietly. According to Léon, the July Monarchy feared the optics of prosecuting “a man bound by family ties to the Napoléon.” It was a dramatic episode that laid bare his combative stance against the regime of Louis Philippe—a stance complicated by persistent rumors that Léon himself may have later collaborated with that very regime’s police.
Léon’s descent accelerated after his release from the debtor’s prison at Clichy in October 1839. By 1840, he was living at the Hôtel de Bruxelles in Paris, sustained financially by a fortune-teller who had once supported him during his incarceration. Police reports from the time describe a sordid household, rife with scandal. Léon lived off the earnings of his mistress, who also had another lover—an official from the War Office. Between selling monogrammed napkins and furniture to cover his expenses, Léon was reportedly embroiled in a lawsuit that he believed would restore his fortunes and lead him to Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte in London.
Delpech, a creditor who once had Léon jailed, painted a damning portrait: Léon, he claimed, was a lifelong swindler who once tried to trick bailiffs by swapping out his furniture with a neighbor’s to avoid seizure. He accused Léon of theft, deceit, and even attempting to coerce his own mother into poisoning her husband the Count Charles-Emile-Auguste-Louis de Luxbourg. His behavior in prison, according to Delpech, was equally egregious: theft, manipulation, and a steady stream of scandal.
Despite this, Léon retained a relentless belief in his birthright. He set his sights on London and the Bonaparte family. Hoping to claim an inheritance of half a million francs and promote a mystical invention—a lamp with a revolving stand—Léon made his journey in February 1840, accompanied by a friend and 300 francs loaned by a Parisian supporter.
His reception in London, however, was as cold as his reputation was warm with controversy. Joseph Bonaparte, who had been forewarned by Baron Meneval of Léon’s arrival, refused to receive him—having learned of damaging remarks Léon had made to Dr. O’Meara, an old confidant and also that he planned to ask him and Jerome for a trifle, of 500,000 francs. Joseph’s curt letter made clear that while he bore no ill will, Léon’s conduct had irreparably damaged any hope of familial reconciliation.
From the outside, Léon’s trip to London had the hallmarks of high society—staying in luxurious hotels, hosting extravagant dinners—but the timing and circumstances were suspicious. French newspapers and British officials alike soon whispered of espionage. Some said Léon, freshly out of prison and suddenly flush with funds, a spy sent by the July Monarchy to monitor or even assassinate Prince Louis Napoléon. That was paid off by the government to challenge the Prince to a duel, or simply to embarrass him.
Regardless of the truth, the rumors stuck. Prince Louis, who was now preparing for his ill-fated “invasion of Boulogne,” began referring to Léon openly as a government spy. French papers like Le Capitole labeled him a hired duelist, a bravo, and an informant. Though Léon later sued for defamation, the damage was done.
Comte Léon, self-styled son of Napoléon I, attempted multiple times to call on his cousin Louis Napoléon at 7 Carlton Gardens, but was rebuffed each time by the hall porter. Offended, Léon finally wrote Louis a scathing letter, accusing him of snubbing him based on rumors and family prejudice:
“My Little Cousin,—It must be owned that if I have shown much patience in seeking to see you, you have, on the other hand, shown a very mean discourtesy in not receiving me… I swear by the ashes of the Emperor Napoléon, my father, that your ill manners to me shall one day receive their chastisement… I am resigned to every issue. With this, my little cousin, I have the honour to salute you. ~COMTE LÉON.”
Léon wrote In the Postscript : “I keep a copy of this letter and propose to print it with a number of others at the proper time.”
Louis considered this for a day, then sent his ally, Colonel Parquin, to deliver a curt oral reply:
“Louis refused to respond to the letter and declined all contact”
Léon then responded immediately:
“MONSIEUR MON COUSIN, —A tall, stout gentleman of the name of Parquin has just left my hotel… You treat my letter with singular discourtesy… the natural inference from this ridiculous visit is that you have not a drop of French blood in your veins… I shall beg M. Guizot, our French Ambassador, to accompany me to see a Magistrate.-I salute you,~COMTE LÉON. LONDON, March 1840.”
To escalate matters, Léon enlisted Lieutenant-Colonel Ratcliffe of the British Army to deliver this second letter, who also added a verbal challenge:
“My friend the Comte Léon says that, if you persist in your statements that he is an agent sent by the police to spy on you, he challenges you to a duel with pistols… it is a blot he sees on your brow, and one only a pistol ball can remove.”
Louis, reluctant at first, agreed—perhaps due to the challenge being brought by a British officer. The duel was set for Wimbledon Common, at 7 a.m., near the windmill.
Prince Louis arrived with Colonel Parquin and Count d’Orsay. While Léon arrived with Ratcliffe and M. Kien.Both pistols and swords were brought. Louis chose swords (as per French custom for the challenged), but Léon insisted on pistols, refusing to acknowledge Louis as the aggrieved party.
A ridiculous wrangle broke out between the seconds, even suggesting they draw lots for weapons. Just as things threatened to tip into farce, the police arrived. Chief-Inspector Nicholas Pierce, alerted by a Police Officer Baker, intervened with a warrant, confiscated the weapons, and arrested everyone involved. All were brought before Magistrate Jardine at Bow Street. Recognizances were demanded: both Louis and Léon had to pay £750 each. The duel was formally quashed. That evening, Joseph and Jérôme Bonaparte sat proudly in their opera box with Prince Louis, showing solidarity.
The press mocked Léon: The Atlas:
“That blackguard, that professional butcher.”
Ratcliffe fared worse. London society turned on him. Soon after, he went mad—attributed by papers to the shame of being linked to Léon and political intrigue.
Léon denied all responsibility:
“The true cause of his madness… is that Colonel Ratcliffe… gave a great dinner at Fenton’s hotel… consumed much port and sherry… quarreled with the orchestra at the theatre… he was removed to his hotel in such a state of exasperation that it drove him mad.”
Socially ruined, Léon was forced to leave Fenton’s Hotel, and had to live in obscurity with a middle-class family. Shunned by his Bonaparte relatives. Even Meneval (Léons prior Guardian) wrote:
“I fear he might make some disastrous scandal… He must leave Europe.”
But Léon had no intention of exiling himself. Borrowing from a Frenchman established in business in London, a M. Vouillon, thirty louis for travelling expenses. M. Vouillon, he fled back to Paris, leaving behind the “lamps with revolving stand”—left in safe keeping with Messrs. Joy, Bloomsbury Square.
Almost a decade later 1848 he rushed to congratulate his cousin Louis-Napoléon on becoming President. Louis ain’t forgot the duel of 1840, and it still loomed over him.
When Léon sought an audience, he received this polite rebuff from Moquard, the Chief Secretary:
“The President… appreciates the step you have taken… but the number and importance of his engagements have prevented him.”
He was shut out from both the Élysée in 1850 and the Tuileries after the Empire’s restoration. Napoléon III had not forgotten the “London affair.” As Moquard would later admitt,
“His Majesty will never receive him; tell your son so.”
Léon then pleaded writing to his half-brother, Count Walewski:
“I live in hopes… to atone by putting my whole life at his service… The inaction to which I am condemned is a veritable torture.”
The Emperor, though unmoved, allowed the State to honor Napoléon I’s will. Instead of 300,000 francs, Léon received 255,319 francs in 3% stock, and an annuity of 10,000 francs, with 45,000 withheld for creditors. If childless, the capital would revert to Walewski.
Léon was still hard up. In 1852, he requested 20,000 francs to travel to Rome — supposedly for “important plans.” He was Rejected. In 1855, he founded the “Société Pacifique”, and registered a deed for a society called “Children of God”, hoping to acquire its headquarters in the Rue de la Victoire, in the house that then consul Napoléon and Josephine lived and the place the planning of the 18 Brumaire coup took place. Léon wrote grandly of the scheme.
He then opened a ink manufactory, The management of this he combined with that of a scheme for the re-afforestation and general clearing of such Departments as containing uncultivated areas..” All ventures failed And went Back to borrowing.
His brother Walewski got tired of being milked like all the rest and he became determined to put a stop at that, when Léon appealed to meet with him,
"I regret that my engagements do not allow me to see you for the present. As for the three trifling sums I have been so fortunate as to have it in my power to advance you, do not trouble yourself, I beg; it will be time enough to repay them later on.”
After Walewski declined to meet, Léon he turned again to the Emperor. In August 1857, he requested 3,000 francs — he was denied. He appealed next to Prince Napoléon, (plon plon) “denied” then back again to Walewski “denied”, and finally to Morny — all rejections.
Meanwhile, Léon revived a railway project from 1831, claiming he’d had funded plans later usurped by Rothschild. In 1857, he sued for 500,000 francs. Now Desperate, he sold family heirlooms. A Correggio miniature once gifted by his uncle, Cardinal Fesch, which Léon had treasured:Léon would write:
“It never leaves me… else I should be too much afraid he might have it off me.”
In 1838, Léon offered it to Queen Amélie for 40,000 francs — no sale. He then plan to sell it to Prince Napoléon. He then wrote to him:
“I have a pressing need… to satisfy some creditors… and to meet the expenses of my marriage… I fix the price at 25,000 francs.”
Even at this “generous” price, the Prince Napoléon would decline.——————-
By 1881, the Empire was now gone, and with it the Emperor — and Léon’s income. Now old, frail, and nearly forgotten, he was slipping steadily into poverty. Most of his creditors had given up on him; only occasionally would an old debt resurface in court, usually one too outdated to be enforced.
The last time his name appeared in the civil courts was on May 13, 1874, when a dressmaker, Mme Tourillon, tried to collect on a lingering bill of 6,373 francs. By then, Léon was living a reclusive life in Pontoise, tucked away in a modest room decorated only with four portraits of Napoléon — “my glorious father!” — and one painting of his mother, Eléonore.
On the morning of April 14, 1881, he died of a bowel illness. When his death was registered at the town hall by his son Gaston and his landlord, Fleury, the clerk listed him simply as a “gentleman” and noted him as “Le Comte (Léon).
There was no ceremony, no tribute. He was buried in a pauper’s grave among the town’s poor. The only marker was a small wooden cross, which soon decayed and collapsed. In time, even that vanished, and eventually, his remains were quietly exhumed to make room for someone else — someone more for fortunate.
source : An unknown son of Napoleon by Fleischmann, Hector
kaledo-art
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
jacobvanloon
ellievsbear