When Napoleon Bonaparte died in exile on the remote island of St. Helena in 1821, the world mourned the passing of a military genius—but few could have predicted that his posthumous legacy would include one of history’s weirdest relic stories. According to accounts from those present at his autopsy, the French emperor’s body was not entirely intact when laid to rest. Specifically, his penis went missing, sparking a bizarre tale of macabre souvenirs and questionable collectibles.
The story begins with Napoleon’s personal physician, Francesco Antommarchi, who conducted the autopsy. While official records note that Napoleon’s heart and stomach were preserved for scientific study, rumors suggest that a less academic memento was pilfered: his genitalia. Witnesses claimed a priest, Ange-Paul Vignali, either took it himself or received it as a “gift” from Antommarchi. How exactly one gifts a body part remains unclear, but Vignali’s family later auctioned off a collection of Napoleon-related artifacts in 1916, including a dried, shriveled item labeled as “the tendon taken from Napoleon’s body during the autopsy.” Historians and skeptics alike raised eyebrows, but the relic’s journey was just beginning.
Decades later, the mysterious “tendon” resurfaced in the hands of an American book dealer, who proudly displayed it in a jar. By the 1970s, it had become a quirky conversation piece in a New Jersey collection, described as a “mummified eel” by baffled guests. The item’s true identity was later “confirmed” by a urologist, who purchased it in 1977, declaring it Napoleon’s missing member. To this day, the organ reportedly remains in private hands, though its authenticity is debated. Some experts argue it’s more likely a piece of dried leather or animal tendon, while others insist it’s the real deal—a testament to humanity’s enduring fascination with the absurd.
Napoleon’s original burial site on St. Helena was exhumed in 1840 to relocate his remains to Paris, but French officials never mentioned any anatomical discrepancies. One can only imagine their faces if they’d discovered the oversight. The emperor, who once dominated Europe, now rests under the dome of Les Invalides—minus a part of himself that took on a life of its own. It’s a strangely fitting epilogue for a man whose larger-than-life persona continues to captivate, even in pieces. Whether the relic is genuine or not, the tale serves as a reminder that history isn’t just written by the victors—it’s also shaped by those who pocket the weirdest trophies.
