FOOTNOTES:
[66] G. Lenôtre, Vielles Maisons, Vieux Papiers, 2nd series.
[67] A curious plan of this house is to be found at the Bibliothèque Nationale, Print Department, Paris topography, the Madeleine quarter.
[68] The decree of divorce of Marie-Anne-Suzanne-Rosalie Butler, forty-nine years old, born at La Rochelle, resident in Paris, Rue Basse, section des Piques, daughter of Jean-Baptiste Butler and of Suzanne Bonfils; and Yves-Jean-François-Marie Cormier, aged fifty-six, born at Rennes, department d’Ile-et-Vilaine, son of the late Yves-Gilles Cormier and of Marie-Anne-Françoise Egasse.
[69] V. Delaporte, article already quoted, Études, October, 1893, p. 265.
[70] Unpublished Papers of Lady Atkyns.
[71] Note in Lady Atkyns’ own handwriting at the end of a letter of Cormier’s, dated March 24, 1794.
[72] M. M. de Corbin (note on the letter in Lady Atkyns’ handwriting).
[73] Henri Provins, Le dernier roi légitime de France, Paris, 1889, 2 vols.
[74] Note in Lady Atkyns’ handwriting at the foot of a letter from Cormier, dated June 3, 1795.
CHAPTER V
THE MYSTERY OF THE TEMPLE (continued)
Meanwhile the feelings of jealousy and suspicion which had sprung up between Cormier, still Lady Atkyns’s principal lieutenant and confidant, and the Chevalier de Frotté were becoming more and more marked. At the beginning of October, 1794, Cormier learns of a correspondence in progress between Lady Atkyns and a person whom he imagines to be his rival (but who turns out to be merely the “little baron”), and his ill-humour breaks out in the form of reproaches.
“Chance has willed that I should become acquainted with the fact that some one has been getting up a correspondence with you,” he writes to Lady Atkyns, “in such a way as to prevent me from hearing of it.... You will admit that I am justified in assuming there are reasons why this correspondence is being kept secret from me.”
But he proceeds to assure Lady Atkyns that she still retains all his admiration and respect, and to protest that he only acquaints her with the discovery that he has made because of his attachment to her. Filled with mistrust of Frotté, Cormier withholds from him particulars as to the progress of affairs at the Temple, and only vouchsafes his information now and again in vague terms. “I refused to give Frotté the names of the agents,” he wrote to Lady Atkyns some months later. “Please remember that. I shall always be proud of that.”
It is not astonishing that Frotté should show some surprise at the way in which he was being treated, though he was prevented by other causes of annoyance—his failure to get any satisfaction out of the British Government and the repeated postponements of his departure—from taking his position in this respect too much to heart.
Lady Atkyns herself was keeping him at a distance at this time and avoiding him when she came to London. When he asks for an interview, she refuses on the pretext of her widowed state and public opinion.
“I wished to avoid seeing or writing M. de Frotté,” she herself records at a later period, “as I was not in a position to talk to him about the means being taken for the rescue of the King.”
However, on the eve of setting out from England into the unknown, the Chevalier makes one more effort to see her.
“You do not write to me,” he begins his letter (December 27, 1794), “and I should be angry with you if I could be angry with any one, now that I have all my wishes fulfilled. In three days everything has changed, and I have nothing more to ask for in England. The longed-for moment has come. P[uisaye] wants me. I go with him, and all my requests are granted. We start on Thursday at latest. It is important that I should see you. I beg of you to set out at once and spend twenty-four hours here, but without any one knowing of your journey, lest its object should be suspected. Try to be here by Monday evening, and let me know where I could see you.”
This time the appeal was too strong to be resisted. It was in the depths of winter, and the letter arrived at Ketteringham in the evening; but Lady Atkyns hired a post-chaise at once, and set out a few hours later, and travelled all night in stormy weather to London, arriving there in the morning. She seems, however, to have resisted the temptation to let Frotté into the secret of the Temple doings. Perhaps she had a presentiment that the Chevalier, for all his protestations of fidelity now, would fall away later and pass into the camp of some other pretendant to the throne.
We have spoken already of the endless intrigues which were being hatched round the British Government by the hordes of émigrés and broken-down exiles from the Continent. For these gentry, mostly penniless and forced to beg their livelihood, no resource was too base by which they could get into favour with the Ministers. Besides scheming in a thousand different fashions against the common enemy, the Revolution, they stuck at nothing in their efforts to throw suspicion upon each other. The little court which had gathered round the Comte D’Artois on the Continent was also a hotbed of plots and schemes, the influence of which made itself felt in London. Every one spied on every one else.
In the midst of this world of intruders a sort of industrial association came into being in the course of the year 1794, for the purpose of inundating France with false paper-money. It was hoped that in this way a severe blow would be dealt at the hated Jacobins and their friends. These nefarious proceedings soon became known, and called forth the indignation of some of the better class of émigrés, among them the honest Cormier.
His position among his compatriots was not at this time of the best. They had no love for this man of firm character, faithful to his principles and incapable of lending his countenance to such doings. He himself soon came to realize this.
“One doesn’t know whom to trust,” he wrote to Lady Atkyns. “I am sure some one has furnished the Government with a long report upon my projects. I am on the track of the man who I think is guilty. There is no reason for you to be anxious on the subject. I shall soon know what has been done, and both the traitor and the Government shall be outwitted.”
About this time a flood of memorials of all sorts poured in by mysterious channels upon the British Government, maintaining that “the general desire of the French was for a change in the ruling family.” Cormier discovered that they all were traceable to the same source, and we find him declaring energetically that “the blasphemous scoundrels” who were responsible for them all belonged to one clique.
His indignation, in which he found few sympathizers, made him a number of enemies, and the disfavour with which he was already regarded in French circles soon changed into downright hatred. The fact that he denounced the false paper-money to the British Government—and not in vain—was a cause of special bitterness against him. By way of revenge, they could think of nothing better than to accuse him of being himself guilty of the very offences against which he had set his face.
“They are trying to make out that I am the owner of ships which I use for the purpose of conveying this false paper-money to Brittany,” he writes to Lady Atkyns. “They have stated this to the Government. Fortunately, my whole conduct and reputation, and all that I have done to destroy this shameful traffic, serve to show the improbability of such accusations.”
But, in spite of all his energy and determination, Cormier’s enemies were too strong for him. It was in vain that he demonstrated his good faith. Calumny had done its work.
The British Government had decided, in concert with the Comte d’Artois, to send an important mission to the Netherlands, with a view, doubtless, to establishing relations with the Stadtholder, whose position was becoming critical owing to the sequel to the Revolution. The man to be entrusted with this mission would have to be some one who had given proof of his qualifications. Cormier seemed cut out for the post, and he stood in readiness for it, enjoying the prospect of thus getting into touch again with France, and of perhaps being able to serve the interests that were so dear to him. But he had reckoned without his foes. Their efforts were redoubled, and in the course of November Cormier learnt that another had been entrusted with the mission. His anger and disappointment can be imagined. He decided that, in spite of all, he would leave England and betake himself to Holland on private business. Doubtless he imagined also that it would be an advantage to be near the French frontier, and that he would be the better able to follow the course of events at the Temple. It was a risky step to take, for there was nothing to guarantee his complete security in the Netherlands.
However that might be, his decision was taken, and on November 25, 1794, Baron d’Auerweck wrote to Lady Atkyns to acquaint her with the news of Cormier’s departure, conveying to her at the same time many apologies for his having himself neglected to write to her to take farewell. During the months that follow the “little baron” replaces the Breton magistrate as principal correspondent of Lady Atkyns.
It is a strange personality that stands revealed in these letters of Baron d’Auerweck. Keen and resourceful, the baron lays himself out to exploit to the utmost the valuable friendship of the English lady, thus bequeathed to him, as it were, by Cormier. Trained by Peltier, d’Auerweck seems to have modelled himself upon his master, and to have become in his turn the accomplished publicist, plausible, fluent, supple, with a gift of raillery and sarcasm, together with a turn for philosophy. Lady Atkyns, though not unappreciative of his copious epistles, shows clearly that she estimates him at his real value, and is careful not to take him too much into her confidence. It must be enough for him to know that there is still reason to hope that the Dauphin may be saved. D’Auerweck himself is not in a position to give her much information in return. His letters consist rather of a bright and lively commentary upon the political situation and the course of events generally in France.
Upon Cormier’s decision to leave England the Baron expresses himself in downright language, and makes it a text for a disquisition upon his elder’s character.
“Cormier’s departure has disturbed me a good deal,” he writes to Lady Atkyns, “the more so that, with a little prudence, he could have spared himself this unpleasantness, and might have succeeded in getting what he wanted. A man who has passed his whole life in the magistracy ought, at the age of fifty-six, to know something about men, but Cormier has never got further than the A B C of such knowledge. I have had some rather hot disputes with him over his rash confidence, his purposeless explosions, his sudden friendships that ended in ruptures, thus increasing the number of his enemies.... But we both of us felt the parting. I must do him the justice of admitting that there is a lot of kindness and sympathy in his character. I think he has the same feeling of friendship for me that I have for him. It is my wish to serve him whenever the opportunity may arrive.”
By an unfortunate coincidence, the political situation in Holland was undergoing a disquieting change at the moment of Cormier’s arrival. Until then England had exercised a decisive influence there, both by reason of the presence of her army and through counsels of the Stadtholder. But in the autumn of 1794 a popular feeling in favour of the Revolution began to make itself felt, fanned by the hostility aroused against the undisciplined English troops, with their looting and pillaging, and intensified by an unlooked-for piece of news: the French, led by Pichegru, had crossed the frontier and were advancing by long marches, and seizing all the places they passed through on their way. In a few weeks the power of the Stadtholder would have gone! Though clothed in rags, the soldiers of the National Convention were welcomed with transports of delight. Never did troops show such discipline, it should be added.
But Pichegru was not alone. Beside him marched representatives of the Convention, eager to institute in the United Provinces the principles of the Revolution and to establish the guarantees of order and security inseparable therefrom.
Therein lay the danger for those who, like Cormier, were to be found in flagrante delicto of emigration. On November 8, 1794, an order came from the Committee of Public Safety to the representatives with the army, commanding them to seize the Stadtholder, together with his wife and children, as well as to arrest immediately all émigrés who might fall into their hands.
Knowledge of this important decree had not come to London on December 15, for on this date we find d’Auerweck writing to Lady Atkyns that he has had news of Cormier, “who is now at La Haye in good health and spirits.”
The extreme cold which prevailed this year contributed in a remarkable degree, as is well known, to the success of Pichegru’s operations in Holland. Shut in by the ice, the powerless fleet was obliged to surrender to the French cavalry—a memorable incident in the military annals of the Republic. The famous dams, which were to be opened and to flood the country and submerge the French, became useless by reason of the frost. In short, Pichegru triumphed throughout. He made his entry into Amsterdam on January 10, 1795, and eight days later the Stadtholder embarked for England. The Dutch Republic had come into being.
Cormier’s fate throughout this period must have been a matter for anxiety to Lady Atkyns, but the absence of anything in the shape of definite news from Paris as to the state of things at the Temple continued to be to her a source of far greater disquietude. The vague assurance as to the Dauphin’s well-being, which d’Auerweck transmitted to her from time to time, counted for nothing, as she knew herself to be better informed as to what had been under way.
What had been happening? A third letter, addressed by Laurent to his correspondent, under date of March 3, 1795, enlightens us a little:—
“Our little mute has now been smuggled away into the palace of the Temple and well concealed. There he will remain, and if need be can be passed off as the Dauphin. The triumph is altogether yours, general. You can now be quite at ease in your mind—send me your orders and I shall carry them out. Lasne will take my place now as soon as he likes. The best and safest steps have been taken to ensure the Dauphin’s safety. Consequently I shall be able to get to you in a few days, and shall be able to tell you all further details orally.”
These lines herald a momentous alteration in the régime of the prison. First of all, there is the question of Laurent’s leaving it. Presumably his presence is no longer needed there. This suggests that success is assured. And Lasne—how is it that his name makes its appearance here for the first time? We shall find him declaring in 1834 that his service in the Temple began in Fructidor year II., that is to say, between August 18 and September 16, 1794.[75] In that case Laurent would have had him as his colleague for several months already! The Temple documents preserved in the National Archives, and examined fifteen years later, establish the fact that Lasne did not, indeed, enter upon his duties until March 31, 1795, thus bearing out the accuracy of Laurent’s statement.
We see, then, that the little mute has been transferred to the palace of the Temple—that is to say, into one of the many empty suites in the great maze of buildings that surrounded the Tower. Here he has been, or perhaps will soon be, joined by the Dauphin himself, for means of retreat from this labyrinth of buildings are infinitely greater than from the fourth storey of the Tower.
To replace the mute, another substitute has been found, a scrofulous boy who may be expected soon to die. All barriers to the Dauphin’s escape will thus be removed. So much we gather from Laurent, and all his statements are borne out by documents which have been left by Royalist agents.
This second substitution effected, Laurent was able to quit his post with an easy mind, and we find that he did actually leave the Temple on March 29, 1795. His successor, Lasne, arrives two days later. Gomin, who perhaps knows part of the truth through Laurent (and, moreover, his rôle is more especially to attend to Marie Thérèse), is careful not to confide in him, knowing well the risk he would run by so doing. Lasne finds in the prison a boy who is evidently very ill, in great suffering, whose death is soon to be expected. What would be the use of asking questions? It is enough for him to attend to the child as best he may during the few weeks of life that still remain to him.
Spring had passed and June had arrived before Lady Atkyns was again to see the familiar handwriting, rounded and minute, of her friend the Breton magistrate. The letter bore the postmark of Hamburg. What was Cormier doing on the banks of the Elbe? He would seem to have had some perilous adventures. Probably he had been arrested as an émigré and had escaped the guillotine by some happy chance. However that may be, the news he had to tell of events in France came as a great relief to his correspondent.
“We have been better served, my dear friend, than we ourselves arranged. Our agents have not kept to our plan, but they have done wisely.... But we must have patience. Things are in such a condition at present that they can be neither hastened nor delayed. A false move might have very bad results.”
Within a week of the arrival of this letter, an announcement, that came to many as a surprise, found its way round London. It was officially reported that the Dauphin had died in prison on June 8, 1795. Had not Cormier’s assurances come in time to buoy her up, so categorical a statement might well have given Lady Atkyns a severe shock. She knew now, however, that it could not be of her boy that there was question.
Some weeks pass in silence, and Lady Atkyns, impatient for news, urges the “little baron” to set out for Hamburg. He starts in the first week of July, but is delayed at Ocfordnese, whence he writes to her on the 16th. At last he reaches his destination, but means of communication are so uncertain that several more weeks elapse before she hears anything further. September finds d’Auerweck returning to London with a letter from Cormier to Lady Atkyns. In October, again unable to curb her anxiety, she had just decided to send d’Auerweck to Paris, when, to her deep grief and dismay, she learnt suddenly from Cormier that everything had gone wrong—that “they had all been deceived, shamefully deceived.” The child that had died on June 8 was, indeed, the second substitute, and the Dauphin had undoubtedly escaped, but others had got possession of him, and the boy handed over to Lady Atkyns’ agents was the young mute.
“Yes,” he writes, “we have been taken in totally and completely. That is quite certain. But how have they managed to do it? And did we take every step that could be taken to make this impossible? These are matters you will want me to go into in detail, and I shall not fail to do so; but I must wait until I have time to trace the sequence of events from a diary day by day for a year past. The entries for the first two months are missing for the present—the least interesting period certainly, since down to that time, and for several months afterwards, only the project of carrying off the Dauphin was being kept in view, the project which had to be abandoned afterwards in favour of another which seemed simpler and more feasible, as well as less perilous.”
Cormier’s long letter left Lady Atkyns completely in the dark as to what exactly had happened. They had been tricked somehow—that was all she knew.
To us, as to her, the names of most of the many participants in this mysterious intrigue remain unknown. Laurent went off to San Domingo in the following year, where he died on August 22, 1807. Gomin, to some extent his accomplice in the matter of the substitution, followed Marie Antoinette’s daughter to Austria, and was careful to keep what he knew to himself. As for our three friends, Cormier, Frotté, and d’Auerweck, we shall learn presently the reasons for their silence.
The one person who has tried to clear up the obscurity of these happenings inside the Temple is the wife of the bootmaker, Antoine Simon, the Dauphin’s first warder. Considerations of space prevent us from entering here upon any detailed examination of her evidence, but we must not pass it by without a word. Mme. Simon, after her husband’s death during the Reign of Terror—he was guillotined in Thermidor—withdrew to the asylum for incurables in the Rue de Sèvres, where she was to spend the remainder of her existence. Here she was heard on many occasions to assert that she was convinced the Dauphin was alive, having seen him carried off when she and her husband were leaving the Temple, on the evening of January 19, 1794. If this were true, it would result that that child looked after by Laurent was not the Dauphin at all! This does not fit in with the version that we have put together from Laurent’s own letters and the various other documents which we have been able to examine. But even if it were true, the poignant question would still call for an answer—what became of the young Dauphin after his escape? Into whose hands did he fall?