FOOTNOTES:
[2] Victor Derode, Histoire de Lille et de la Flandre Wallonne, 1848, in 8vo, vol. iii. p. 26. For the account of these military disturbances at Lille, we have also made use of a MS. narrative by the Chevalier de Frotté, Archives Nationales D. XXIX., 36; and of a statement addressed to the King by the Marquis de Livarot, regarding his conduct, a printed copy of which is at the Bibliothèque Nationale, L.K. 4008.
[3] These words are underlined in the text.
[4] L. de la Sicotière, Louis de Frotté et les Insurrections Normandes, 1793-1832, Paris, 1889, two volumes in 8vo.
[5] His father married again, a Dumont de Lamberville, whose brother was one of the best friends of Louis de Frotté.
[6] The future journalist, founder of the Courrier de Versailles.
[7] This approximate date is furnished us by the death certificate of Lady Atkyns; but these certificates are known to have been for the most part very inaccurately made out, especially with regard to the date of birth, when they had reference to a foreigner dying at Paris.
[8] Will of Robert Walpole of March 14, 1803, by which he bequeathed all his worldly goods to his wife, Blancy Walpole, and to his three daughters, Mary, Frances, and Charlotte. Inventory after death of the effects of Lady Atkyns.—Unpublished Papers of Lady Atkyns.
[9] Genest: History of the Stage.
[10] Genest: History of the Stage. “This musical entertainment was written for the sake of exhibiting a representation of the camp at Coxheath.... Miss Walpole, as a young recruit, went through her exercises adroitly.”
[11] The Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical Chronicle, by Sylvanus Urban, Gent., London, vol. xlix., for the year 1779, p. 326.
[12] Diaries of a Lady of Quality, from 1797 to 1814, edited, with notes, by A. Hayward, Esq. London: Longman, Green & Co., 1864, pp. 216-219.
[13] “Milady Charlotte, English, pensioner of France, twelve livres; for one servant in 1789, two livres; twelve livres, two servants for 1790, four livres.”—Register of the Poll-tax of the Seven Parishes, 1790. Parish of St. André, Rue Princesse, No. 337, p. 46. Municipal Archives of Lille.
[14] “To-day, October 28, 1790, in the Assembly of the General Council of the town of Lille ... having heard the solicitor for the Commune, the Council proceeded to the continuation of the work of sur-taxation, and of taxation for the patriotic contribution.... After which, it proceeded to the taxation of those able to contribute, having an income of more than 400 livres, as follows:—Parish of St. André ... Rue Princesse, Milady Charlotte, because of her pension from the Royal Treasury ... 300 livres....”—Register No. 1 of the Deliberations of the Corporation of Lille. Archives of Lille.
[15] “On the 20th March, 1791, I the undersigned, Curate of this Parish, baptized Antoine-Quentin Atkyns, born yesterday at 8 o’clock a.m., the illegitimate son of Edward, native of England, and of Geneviève Leglen, native of Lille; attested by M. Warocquier, junior, registered accoucheur; verified by Derousseaux, clerk. God parents: Antoine-Quentin Derobois, and Therése Cordier, the undersigned,
Signed: “Derobois. Cordier,
“F. Dutheil, Curate.”
Civil Registers. Parish of St. Catherine. Baptisms. Archives of Lille.
[16] “After having loved and served the unhappy Marie-Antoinette with a love that was almost idolatry.”—Mémoires manuscrits de Frotté; La Sicotière, Louis de Frotté, etc., vol. i. p. 49. “O exquisite woman, let our Revolution end as it may, and even if you should have no part in it, you will still and for ever be to me the tender and devoted friend of Antoinette ... and she to whom I hope some day to owe all my happiness.”—Letter from de Frotté to Lady Atkyns, November, 1794. V. Delaporte, Centenaire de la mort de Marie-Antoinette. Études religieuses, October, 1893, p. 265.
[17] National Archives, D. XXIX. 36.
[18] Unpublished letter to Frotté, May 7, 1790. National Archives, D. XXIX. 36.
[19] In the course of a search made at Dunkirk, in Frotté’s dwelling-place (in circumstances of which we shall speak directly), the greater part of the articles seized were sent to the Committee of Research of the National Assembly, and it was in the Archives of this Committee that we discovered them. National Archives, D. XXIX. 36.
[20] The entire text will be found, published by M. A. Savine, in the Nouvelle Revue Retrospective, 1900, vol. xiii. pp. 217-233.
[21] “You will have got a letter from me, explaining my apparent neglect; I wrote it the day before I went to Vaux, as well as I remember. Your father, who may have told you in a moment of irritation that you were a burden to him (it was only a letter after all), charged me then to send you his love. My sister has often spoken of you with the most sincere and tender affection. You would be most unkind if you did not write to her; she would have every reason to be angry with you; you would pain her, and that would pain your father.... Dear fellow, don’t, don’t despair; you make me very uneasy by the way you write.”—Letter from Lamberville to Frotté. April 5, 1791. National Archives, D. XXIX. 36.
[22] To Fours, in the Eure district, whence the letter comes.
[23] Letter from Vallière to Frotté, November 13, 1790. National Archives, D. XXIX. 36.
[24] Letter dated “Lille, December 14” (1790). The address runs: “To M. le Vicomte de Frotté, officer in the Regiment Colonel-General of infantry at Dunkirk.” National Archives, D. XXIX. 36.
[25] Municipal Archives of Dunkirk, p. 60.
[26] Municipal Archives of Dunkirk, p. 60.
[27] It was from that place that they addressed, on July 3, 1791, a petition for the restoration of their effects left in the garrison, and also asked for the liberation of their regimental chaplain, whom the Corporation had had arrested, on the charge of having aided the plot.—Archives of Dunkirk, p. 60.
[28] Moniteur, June 30, 1791.
CHAPTER II
LONDON
While the Court and the Army of the émigrés were being organized at Coblentz and Worms, under the direction of Monsieur, Comte de Provence, of the Comte d’Artois, and of the Prince de Condé, and while rivalry and jealousies and a thousand other causes of dissension were already cropping up in that environment (so often and always so unfavourably depicted), other troops of similar fugitives were leaving the eastern coast and, embarking from the Channel port, or stopping first on the islands of Jersey and Guernsey, were gradually arriving on English soil, there to find an assured refuge. In the last months of 1791, and in the beginning of 1792, they came thither in thousands. Bretons, Normans, nobles, ecclesiastics, journalists, young officers, fleeing persecution, pillage, arbitrary arrests, came hastening to enjoy the hospitality of Great Britain.
London was soon full of refugees; but the majority of these unfortunate folk, despite their illustrious names, were in a state almost of destitution.
The more prosperous ones, those who had been able to rescue something from the shipwreck, succeeded in finding homes in the suburbs—modest boarding-houses, or little cottages—where they installed their families. But these were the exceptions; and in every street French gentlefolk were to be met with who had no property but what they carried on their backs. Many of them knew no English; and still overwhelmed by the dangers they had passed through, and thus suddenly plunged into strange surroundings, without resources, without even a handicraft, went wandering despairingly about the city, in search of bread.
They were not allowed to starve. Most admirably did English charity accept this influx of new inhabitants.
The last years of the reign of Louis XVI., together with the War of Independence in the United States, had markedly chilled the relations between France and her neighbours across the Channel. Revolutionary ideas from the frontiers had at first met with some sympathy amongst this favoured people, who had been in the enjoyment of true liberty for a century. But when English folk came to know of the excess which these ideas had resulted in, of the anarchy which had been let loose in all directions, of the violence which was the order of the day—their distrust, indignation, and horror effaced that earlier sympathy.
King George III., supported by his Minister, Pitt, felt from that time an aversion which grew to implacable hatred for anything even remotely connected with the French Revolution.[29]
On the other hand, he (and, indeed, almost the whole of the aristocracy) welcomed the refugees, and encouraged their sojourn in the kingdom—glad, no doubt, of the opportunity for displaying his opinion of the new ideas, by helping on the exodus of a part of the inhabitants of France, an exodus which would contribute to the weakening of that country.
Whatever the reason may have been, there is abundant evidence of the inexhaustible charity that the new-comers met with in English society. Benevolent committees were formed, presided over by dukes and duchesses, marquises and marchionesses.[30] When the first necessities of the poor creatures had been provided for by the establishment of cheap restaurants, hotels, and bazaars, their friends sought out occupations for them, so that they might be in a position to earn their own livelihood. The clergy were the first to profit by this solicitude. The decree of August 26, 1792, ordaining the deportation of non-juring priests, had driven them in a body from the continent. It was well for those who were thus driven out, for of their comrades who remained the most part were in the end persecuted and entrapped. The greater number chose England for their place of refuge. They came thither in crowds—so much so that, at the Terror, there were as many as 8000.[31] Many were Bretons. One of them, Carron, came to London preceded by a reputation for holiness. He had founded at Rennes a cotton-cloth factory which gave employment to more than 2000 poor people. The famous Decree of August 26 affected him, and thus forced him to abandon his enterprise. He went to Jersey, and recommenced his work there; but left the island at the end of some time, and came to settle in England. There he set up an alms-house for his destitute coreligionists, and acted the part of a sort of Providence to them. Nor was he the only one they had.
Jean-François de la Marche, Bishop of Saint-Pol-de-Léon, had, ever since the early months of 1791, incurred the wrath and fury of the Attorney-General of the department of Finisterre. This prelate, who was profoundly loved in his diocese, refused to give up his bishopric, which had recently been suppressed by the National Assembly. He was accused of fomenting agitation in the department, and of inciting the curés to resistance. He was violently denounced at the National Assembly, and treated as a disturber of the public peace. Summoned to Paris to exculpate himself, together with his colleagues, the Bishops of Tréguier and Morbihan, he took no notice of the order, and to escape arrest, which threatened him, and for which he was being pursued by the Cavalry Police, he had but one resource—to get right away from Brittany. He came to London in the first batch of émigrés. From the outset he had but one idea: to look after his companions in misfortune, to help them in their need, to find employment for them. To this end he served as intermediary between the Government and the priests, pleading the cause of these latter, and keeping registers of the names and qualifications of all with whom he became concerned.
In spite of so many reasons for melancholy, one thing that struck the English people was the extraordinary gaiety of nature displayed by most of the émigrés so soon as they found themselves in security. These good folk, many of whom landed half-starved, exhausted and ragged, were somehow not entirely disheartened, and, indeed, on commencing life afresh, displayed an extraordinary spirit and cheerfulness. Very quickly, even in the alien country, they formed into circles of friends who saw each other every day,[32] eager to exchange impressions, reminiscences, and hopes, to get news from the Homeland and from those members of their families who had not been able to leave it; they felt keenly the need of a common existence, in which they could cheer and encourage one another. And what a kindly grace they showed, what a brave spirit, amid all the little disagreeables of a way of life so different from that of the good old days! At the dinners which they gave one another, each would bring his own dish. “’Twas made,” says the Count d’Haussonville, “into a little attention to the visitors of the house for a man to take a taper from his pocket, and put it, lighted, on the chimney-piece!” In the daytime the men-folk gave lessons or worked as secretaries (or bookbinders, like the Count de Caumont, for instance). The women did needlework, which the English ladies, their patronesses, busied themselves in selling at bazaars.[33]
But side by side with the gentlemen who took their exile so patiently and philosophically, there was a whole group of émigrés who longed to play a less passive part. These were the men and women who had fled from France and brought their illusions with them—those inconceivable illusions which mistook so entirely the true character, importance, and extent of the Revolution, and could still, therefore, cherish the hope of some kind of revenge. Totally misunderstanding the feelings of the English Government, unable to comprehend the line taken by Pitt and his Cabinet, and blinded by their stubborn hatred, these men and women actually imagined that, to their importunate appeals, Great Britain could respond by furnishing them with arms, soldiers, and money to equip a fleet, form an army, and go back to France as the avengers of the “hideous Revolution.” They assailed the Minister with offers, counsels, and schemes—for the most part quite impracticable; were refused, but still cherished their delusion. Some of them were honest, but many were of that class of adventurer with which the Emigration was swarming, and which was the thorn in the side of all the anti-revolutionary agencies. The well-warned Government could give them but one reception. Pitt had not the least idea of listening to the proposals of these gentry and personally intervening in favour of the Royalists of France.[34]
England at that time was deeply concerned with Indian affairs; and, in spite of the lively sympathy inspired by the grievous situation of the Royal Family at the Tuileries, she could not dream of departing, at any rate just then, from an attitude of benevolent neutrality.
In her manor-house of Ketteringham, where she spent the winter of 1791-92, Lady Atkyns was not forgetful of her French friends. The Gazette brought her week by week news of the events in Paris, of the troubles in the provinces, of the deliberations of the National Assembly. But what she looked for first of all was intelligence about the inhabitants of the Tuileries, whose agitated and anguished lives she anxiously followed. Separation redoubled her sympathetic adoration of the lady whom she had seen and worshipped at Versailles. Thus we can imagine what her grief must have been on hearing the details of that 20th of June—the invaded palace, the interminable line of the people defiling before the King, the attitude of Marie-Antoinette, protecting her son against the ferocious curiosity of the petitioners, and surrounded only by a few faithful allies who made a rampart for her with their bodies. Lady Atkyns’ heart had failed her as she read of all this. The day of the Tenth of August, the massacre of the Swiss Guards, the flight of the King and Queen, their transfer to the Temple Prison, and incarceration there—these things redoubled her anguish. She went frequently to London for information, and returned, sad and anxious, to her dear Norfolk home, made miserable by her impotence to do anything that might save the Queen.
With her great love for the Royalist cause, she naturally associated herself warmly with the benevolent efforts of English society to help the émigrés. She knew many of the names, and when she heard talk of D’Harcourts, Beauvaus, Veracs, Fitz-Jameses, Mortemarts, all the life at Versailles must have come back to her—the Queen’s “set,” the receptions, the festivities.
It was during one of her visits to London that she made the acquaintance of a man whom she had long wished to know, and whose articles she always eagerly read—I allude to Jean-Gabriel Peltier, the editor of the Acts of the Apostles, that extravagantly Royalist sheet which had such an immense vogue in a certain circle since the days of ’89. Peltier was born near Angers;[35] his real name was Dudoyer—of a business family. After an adventurous youth, and a sojourn at Saint-Domingo (where, it seems, he did not lead a blameless life), he came to Paris at the beginning of the Revolution. According to a police report of doubtful authenticity, he flung himself heart and soul into the revolutionary cause, speechifying side by side with Camille Desmoulins at the Palais-Royal, flaunting one of the first rebel flags, and marching to the Taking of the Bastille. Then, all of a sudden, he turns his coat, becomes a blazing Royalist, and founds a newspaper with the curious title of The Acts of the Apostles. For the space of two years he then attacks violently, recklessly, everything and everybody so mistaken as not to agree with his own ideas. The style of the paper is sarcastic, and frequently licentious. The author has been found fault with for his insults and his invectives; his sheet has been styled “infamous;” but when we remember the prevailing tone of the Press at that time, and the condition of the public mind, is it not only fair to grant some indulgence to the quartette—Peltier, Rivarol, Champcnetz, and Sulau—who took in hand so ardently and enthusiastically the interests of the King?
On August 10, when he had dismissed the other editors of the Acts of the Apostles, and stopped the publication of the paper, Peltier, feeling no longer safe in Paris, took the step of emigrating. He came to London with the idea of founding a new periodical, which was to be called The Political Correspondence of the True Friends of the King.
PELTIER.
Jean-Gabriel Peltier, 1765-1825.
(After an engraving in the British Museum.)
[To face page 44.
Tall and thin, with powdered hair, and a lofty bald forehead, always inveighing fervently against something or other (so Chateaubriand depicts him), Peltier answered in some degree to the traditional type of journalist in those days, when “journalist” meant at once gazetteer, lampoonist, and pamphleteer. Judging by his writings alone, one can understand the small confidence that his English acquaintances placed in him; but under his somewhat eccentric mode of expression Peltier concealed a very real and deep devotion to the King’s cause.
His acquaintance with Lady Atkyns dates from November, 1792. This lady spent a great part of her long leisurely days in the country in reading. She was told of the recent publications by Peltier; she had known only of some of these, and instantly off she writes to the journalist, asking him for the first numbers of the book which he is bringing out. Needless to say, her desire is at once gratified.[36] She devours the writings of the author of The Acts of the Apostles; she joins in his anger, shares his admirations, and a regular correspondence begins between these two persons, drawn together as they were by a common sympathy for the Royal Family of France.
When they have exchanged reminiscences of past days, they come to consider the present. Lady Atkyns has been fretting for weeks over her inaction. A thousand thoughts disturb her, all converging towards the same idea: can she do anything to save the King and the Queen? Does she not possess a considerable fortune, and who is to prevent her from arranging to devote a part of it to the realization of her dream? And in truth this woman, who was a foreigner, who was bound by no real tie of any kind to the inmates of the Tuileries, was actually to attempt, through the strength alone of her love and her heroic devotion, what no one had yet succeeded in. A superhuman energy sustained her; one thought only was henceforth to rule her life, and not once did she falter, nor doubt, nor lose the ardour of her feeling.
To whom better could she address herself than to him who seemed to understand her so well? Peltier was told of her intentions. Their letters grew more frequent, their project begins to take shape.
“In truth, madame” (Peltier writes), “the more I read you, the more your zeal astonishes and moves me. You are more intrepid and more ardent than any Frenchman, even among those who are most attached to their King. But have you reflected upon the dozen doors, the dozen wickets and tickets that must be arranged for, before you can get into Court? I know that to tell you of difficulties is but to inflame your desire to overcome them; moreover, I do not doubt that your new scheme has taken all these difficulties into account.”
When this plan had been modified and approved by Peltier, it stood thus: First of all, to find two safe correspondents in Paris, to whom letters and a statement of the scheme could be sent. And these two men were there, ready to hand—both whole-heartedly Royalists, both tried men. They were MM. Goguelat and Gougenot. The first, who was M. de Bouillé’s aide-de-camp, had taken an active part in the Varennes affair, but he had not shown the greatest discretion, for all he had succeeded in doing was to get wounded. The second, who was the King’s steward, had been in the secret of the flight. The plotters also meant to get into relations with the two physicians of Louis XVI., MM. Lemonnier and Vicq d’Azyr, who would give most valuable aid in the passing of notes into the Temple Prison, for and to the prisoners. But the great difficulty would be the King. How was he to be brought to their way of thinking? Would he consent to listen to the proposals they were to transmit to him? “That” (declares Peltier) “is what no one can be sure of, considering the state of prostration that he must be in after such terrible and incessant misfortunes.”
Nor was this all. They had to find an intelligent and nimble agent, who could cross from England to France once, twice, many times if necessary; who could have interviews with the persons indicated, and, above all, who could manage to procure detailed plans of the Temple Prison. An ordinary courier would not do. Well, it just happened that Peltier had relations with a foreign nobleman, Hungarian by birth, whom he had come to know by chance, and who even helped him with his publications. He had, in fact, made this gentleman his collaborator. His name was d’Auerweck, and as he happened to be in France at that very moment, he could easily betake himself to Paris, and, in Peltier’s opinion, would fill most admirably the delicate post with which he was to be entrusted.
Finally, throughout the plot, they were to make use in correspondence of a “sympathetic” ink, “which could only be read when held near the fire.”
Here is the cost of the first preparations:—
| £ | s. | d. | |
|---|---|---|---|
| Journey to Paris by diligence | 5 | 5 | 0 |
| Return | 5 | 5 | 0 |
| Travelling expenses, etc. (at least) | 6 | 6 | 0 |
| Expenses at Paris for, say fifteen days | 3 | 3 | 0 |
| Tips to servants | 6 | 6 | 0 |
| 26 | 5 | 0 |
That is a sum of about 650 francs. Needless to say, the journalist émigré, like most of his compatriots, was entirely unable to give the smallest contribution to the expenses of the enterprise; but Lady Atkyns was there, ready for any sacrifice; they were to apply to her for everything necessary.
In conclusion, Peltier pointed out again the difficulties of a general escape.
“Above all, madame, do not forget that I foresee a great difficulty in bringing out the three principal members of the family. They may possibly think themselves safer in the Temple than on the high-road. The personal risk which you are running makes me shudder. Your courage is worthy of the admiration of all Europe, and if any harm comes to you, as the result of so heroic an enterprise, I shall be among those who will deplore it most.”
Three days later another letter came to Ketteringham, telling of the good progress of the attempt. Peltier was going to despatch his servant to Amiens, whither the Baron d’Auerweck had gone, and the latter would in this way receive his instructions.
But there was no time to lose. The storm was muttering in Paris. Pressed by the “Forward” groups, frightened by the redoubled insurrections, the Convention had been compelled to proceed to the trial of the King. “Circumstances are becoming so urgent,” wrote Peltier, “that we have not a moment to lose; they talk of trying the King so as to calm down the insurrections that are breaking out everywhere.”
And, indeed, it was necessary to make haste. After the discovery of the papers in the famous “Iron Press” in the Tuileries, the Convention had agreed that the King should appear before them. On December 10 Robert Lindet made his report, and the next day Barbaroux presented “the deed enunciating the crimes of Louis Capet.” On the same day the King appeared before the bar of the Convention, there to answer the thirty-one questions which were put to him.
Like lightning, this terrifying news crossed the Channel, and reached London in a few hours. Peltier’s rooms filled with horrified people, “who met there all day long to weep and despair.”
“I cannot conceal from you, madame,” wrote Peltier that evening to his friend, “that the danger to the Royal Family is very great at this moment. Truly I cannot hope that they will still be alive at the end of the fortnight. It is heartrending. You will have seen the English papers. You will have read Robespierre’s abominable speech, and how it was applauded by the Tribunes; and, above all, you will have seen about these new documents, which have been twisted into a crime of the unhappy King’s because people will not see that all the steps he took to regain his authority were taken for the good of his people, and that his sole object was to save them by force if necessary from the evils which are destroying them, now that they no longer have a King.”
But even yet all was not lost. If they arrived too late to save the King, there was still the Dauphin, “to whom every one should look.” In a few days the Baron d’Auerweck would be in Paris, and they would know exactly how much they might still hope for.
“A Transylvanian nobleman,” was the description Peltier had given when writing about this new collaborator.[37] The epithet, although most attractive—suggestive as it was of that land of great forests all wildness and mystery—was not perfectly exact. The family of Auerweck, though perhaps of Hungarian origin, had established itself at Vienna, where the father of our Baron died as a captain in the Austrian service. His wife—whose maiden-name had been Scheltheim—had borne him four children, two boys and two girls. The two latter were married and settled in Austria. The elder son, who was born at Vienna about 1766, was named Louis (Aloys) Gonzago; he added to his family name that of an estate, Steilenfels, and the title of Baron—so that the whole thing, when given out with the proper magniloquence, was quite effective.
“By the particular favour of Marie-Thérèse,” Louis d’Auerweck entered very young the Military Academy of Neustadt, near Vienna. On leaving it, he spent four years in a Hungarian regiment, the “Renfosary;” but garrison-life bored him, and, independent and ambitious, he longed to shake off the yoke of militarism which hampered him in his schemes.
Unfortunately, we have only his own record of his younger days,[38] and it is matter for regret that no more trustworthy information is to be had. For very curious and interesting is the life of this adventurer, who was undeniably intelligent and clever, but who was also an intriguer and a braggart; who knew French well, and therefore posed as a finished diplomatist, with pretentions to philosophy and literature; who, in a word, was filled with a sense of his own importance, and fatally addicted to “playing to the gallery.” Some quotations from his writings will give a better idea of him than any description.
Hardly has he left Austria—his reason for doing so we shall learn from himself—than he sets off on a sort of educational tour, beginning at Constantinople and going on to the Mediterranean. He visits, one after the other, Greece, Malta, Sicily, Spain, the South of France; he even goes so far as Chambéry and Lyons. An opportunity turns up, and off he sets for Paris.
“The innovations made by Joseph II., such as the introduction of the Register and military conscription, caused him to be employed as an engineer, and as a member of the administrative body formed to carry out these different schemes. His independent character instantly displayed itself in a sphere where it was no longer repressed by that duty of blind obedience which is the very being of the Army. He could now venture to have an opinion and to express it, he could criticise the root-idea on the form of an enterprise by displaying its difficulties or foretelling its non-success (forecasts, moreover, which time has proved to be sound); he could speak of the violation of national justice, of a legitimate resistance to arbitrary power. His experiences under fire, his activity, and his oratorical talent gave him a position among the malcontents which he had not sought in any way. In consequence, he ventured on something more than mere speaking and writing. His travels, his qualities, his independent and decided character have won for him friendships and acquaintanceships which have given him the advantage of never finding himself out of place in any important centre of affairs. To this he owes that knowledge of the hereditary prejudices and the sudden caprices of Cabinets, which when joined to an equal knowledge of the character of their chiefs, ministers, constitutes diplomacy. To assiduous study he attributes that understanding of the true interests of Governments, and of their respective powers, which constitutes international politics.”
Such was the personage to whom Lady Atkyns and Peltier entrusted their enterprise. If they looked after him carefully, granted him only a limited discretion, and took the fullest advantage of his intelligence and his talents, they would probably make something of the Hungarian nobleman. This was not the Baron’s first visit to Paris; he knew the capital well. He had come there at the beginning of the Revolution, in 1789, and, if we are to believe his own account, “he saw the results of all these horrors, but was merely laughed at. If all mankind could have been armed against the Revolution, he would have armed them!” Moreover, he had kept up many connections in Paris. By his own account, the Austrian Minister, Thugut, whom he had formerly met at Naples, had taken him into his confidence. In short, his friends in London could not have made a better choice, as he wrote from Amiens to Peltier on the receipt of his proposal.
“I start for Paris at full speed at five o’clock to-morrow morning. I need not tell you that from this moment I shall devote myself to the business of which you have spoken to me, nor need I add that this devotion is entirely disinterested. If I had not already proved those two things to you, I should not be the man you require. But, just because I feel that I have the head and the heart necessary for your enterprise, I tell you frankly that it can only be carried out at great expense. The business of getting information—which is only a preparatory measure—is made difficult, if not impossible, unless a considerable sum of money can be spent.... I believe myself authorized to speak to you in this way, because I have the advantage—rare enough amongst men—of being above suspicion with regard to my own interests.”[39]
On Wednesday, December 19, d’Auerweck entered Paris, and put up at a hotel in the Rue Coq-Héron, where he gave his name as Scheltheim. He instantly set to work to get the letters he had brought with him delivered at their addresses, and to make certain of the co-operation which was essential to him. But there was a disappointment in store; Goguelat, upon whom so much depended, was away from Paris, and, as it happened, in London. It was necessary to act without him, and this was no easy matter. The excitement caused by the trial of the King enforced upon the plotters a redoubled caution. D’Auerweck got uneasy when he found no letters coming from Peltier in answer to his own. He went more frequently to Versailles, and to Saint-Germain, and kept on begging for funds. On December 25, the day before M. de Sèze was to present the King’s defence to the Convention, d’Auerweck wrote to Peltier—
“The persons (you know whom I mean) do not care to arrive here before Thursday, which is very natural, for there is all sorts of talk as to what may happen to-morrow.... You promised me to write by each post; but there can be no doubt that you forgot me on Tuesday, the 18th, for otherwise I must have had your letters by this time. One thing I cannot tell you too often: it is that I consider it essential to take to you in person any documents that I may be able to procure.”[40]
The documents in question were those which Peltier had alluded to, some days before, in a letter to Lady Atkyns: “I heard to-day that there was some one in Paris who had all the plans that you want in the greatest detail;”[41] and at the end of the month he returned to the subject—
“I am expecting, too, a most exact plan of the Temple Prison, taken in November; and not only of the Temple, but also of the caves that lie under the tower—caves that are not generally known of, and which were used from time immemorial for the burial of the ancient Templars. I know a place where the wall is only eighteen inches thick, and debouches on the next street.”
It becomes evident that Peltier and Lady Atkyns, almost abandoning any hope of saving the King, whose situation appeared to them to be desperate, now brought all their efforts to bear upon the other prisoners of the Temple.
“If His Majesty persists in his reluctance to be rescued from prison, at least we may still save his poor son from the assassins’ knives. A well-informed man told me, the day before yesterday, when we were talking of this deplorable business, that people were to be found in Paris ready, for a little money, to carry off the Dauphin. They would bring him out of the Temple in a basket, or else disguised in some way.... I believe that to save the son is to save the father also. For, after all, this poor child cannot be made the pretext for any sort of trial, and as the Crown belongs to him by law on his father’s death, I believe that they would keep the latter alive, if it were only to checkmate those who would rally round the Dauphin. But, in the interval, things may have time to alter, and circumstances may at last bring about a happy change in this disastrous state of things.”
The month of December went by in this painful state of suspense. What anxiety must have fretted the heart of the poor lady, as she daily followed in the Gazette the course of the Royal Trial! On New Year’s Day she had some further words of encouragement from her friend in London. All was not lost; Louis XVI. could still reckon, even in the heart of Paris, upon many brave fellows who would not desert him; and besides, what about the fatal consequences that would follow on the crime of regicide? The Members of Convention would never dare—never....
Fifteen days later comes another missive; and this time but little hope is left. The “Little Baron”—this was what they called d’Auerweck—was not being idle. Peltier had made an opportunity for him of seeing De Sèze, the King’s counsel.
“This latter ought to know for certain whether the King does or does not intend to await his sentence or to expose himself to the hazards of another flight; but there seems to be very little chance of his consenting to it. Whatever happens” (added Peltier), “your desires and your efforts, madam, will not be wasted, either for yourself or for history. I possess, in your correspondence, a monument of courage and devotion which will endure longer than London Bridge.... A trusty messenger who starts to-morrow for Paris affords me a means of opening my mind to De Sèze for the third time.”
But it was too late. On January 15 the nominal appeal upon the thirty-three questions presented to the Members of Convention had been commenced; two days later the capital sentence was voted by a majority of fifty-three.
On January 21, at the hour when the guillotine had just done its work, the following laconic note reached Ketteringham to say that all was over:—
“My honoured friend, all we can do now is to weep. The crime is consummated. Judgment of death was pronounced on Thursday evening. D’Orleans voted for it, and he is to be made Protector. We have nothing now to look forward to but revenge; and our revenge shall be terrible.”
Think of the look that must have fallen upon that date, “January 21!” The postmark of the letter still shows it quite clearly, on the yellowed sheet.
Could they possibly have succeeded if the King had listened favourably to their proposal? It is difficult to say. But it is certainly a fact, that during the last six months of 1792 there had been on the water, near Dieppe, a cruising vessel which kept up a constant communication with the English coast. The truth was that, finding the Rouen route too frequented, Peltier had judged the Dieppe one to be infinitely preferable. It was that way that the fish merchants came to Paris. If they had succeeded in getting the King outside the Temple gates it is probable that his escape would have been consummated. But the prison was heavily guarded at that time, and during the trial these precautions were redoubled.
At any rate, there is no doubt that Louis knew of the attempts to save him from death. Some time after the event of January 21, Clery, speaking of the King to the Municipal, Goret, remarked—
“Alas! my dear good master could have been saved if he had chosen. The windows in that place are only fifteen or sixteen feet above the ground. Everything had been arranged for a rescue, while he was still there, but he refused, because they could not save his family with him.”
There can be no doubt that these words refer to the attempt of Lady Atkyns and Peltier.[42] The assent of the King had alone been wanting to its execution.
It is well known what a terrible and overwhelming effect was produced in the European Courts by the news of the King’s execution. In London it was received with consternation. Not merely the émigrés (who had added to their numbers there since the beginning of the Revolution) were thunderstruck by the blow, but the Court of King George was stupefied at the audacity of the National Assembly. The Court went instantly into mourning, and the King ordered the French Ambassador, Chauvelin, to leave London on the spot. Some days later war was officially declared against France.[43]
The King’s death caused the beginning of that struggle which was to last so many years and be so implacably, ferociously waged on both sides.
Any one but Lady Atkyns would have lost heart, but that heroic woman did not allow herself to be cast down for an instant. Amid the general mourning, she still cherished her hopes; moreover, those who had been helping her had not abandoned her. The “Little Baron” was still in Paris, awaiting orders, but the gravity of the situation had obliged him to leave the Hotel Coq-Héron, where his life was no longer in safety. Well, they had failed with the King; now they must tempt fortune, and save the Queen and her children. The lady at Ketteringham was quite sure of that.
“Nothing is yet decided about the Queen’s fate” (Peltier had written to her at the end of January), “but it has been proposed at the Commune of Paris to transfer her either to the prison of La Force or of La Conciergerie.”
Then Lady Atkyns had an idea. Why should she not go in person to Paris and try her chance? Probably the surveillance which had been so rigorously kept over the King would be far less severe for the Queen. And one might profit by the relative tranquillity, and manage to get into the Temple, and then—who could tell what one might not devise in the way of carrying the Queen off, or of substituting some one else for her? She never thought of all the dangers around her, and of the enormously increased difficulties in the path for a foreign lady who knew only a little French. Peltier, to whom she confided her plan, tried to dissuade her.
“You will hardly have arrived before innumerable embarrassments will crop up; if you leave your hotel three times in the day, or if you see the same person thrice, you will become a suspect.”
But his friend’s persistence ended by half convincing him, and he admitted that the moment was relatively favourable, and that it was well to take advantage of it, if she wished to attempt anything.
Unluckily, things were moving terribly fast in Paris. There came the days of May 31 and June 2, the efforts of the sections against the Commune, civil war let loose. In the midst of this storm, Lady Atkyns feared that the whole affair might come to nought; her arrangements, moreover, were not completed. Money, which can do so much, decide so much, and which had already proved so powerful—money, perhaps, was not sufficiently forthcoming. Suddenly there is a rumour that a conspiracy to favour the Queen’s escape has been discovered. Two members of the Commune, Lepitre and Toulan, who had been won over to the cause by a Royalist, the Chevalier de Jarjays, had almost succeeded in carrying out their scheme, when the irresolution of one of them had ruined everything; nevertheless, they were denounced.[44] Public attention, which had been averted for a moment, now was fixed again upon the Temple Prison.
And the days go by, and Lady Atkyns sees no chance of starting on her enterprise.
We come here to an episode in her life which seems to be enveloped in mystery. One fact is proved, namely, that Lady Atkyns succeeded in reaching Marie Antoinette, disguised, and at the price of a large sum of money. But when did this take place? Was the Queen still at the Temple, or was it after she had been taken to the Conciergerie? The most reliable witnesses we have—and they are two of Lady Atkyns’ confidants—seem to contradict one another.[45] A careful weighing of testimony and an attentive study of the letters which Lady Atkyns received at this time lead us to conclude, with much probability, that the attempt was made after the Queen had been transferred to the Conciergerie; that is to say, after August 2, 1793.[46]
Some days before this Peltier had again brought her to give up her resolve, assuring her that she was vainly exposing herself to risk—
“If you wish to be useful to that family, you can only be so by directing operations from here (instead of going there to get guillotined), and by making those sacrifices which you have already resolved to make.”
It was of no use. The brave lady listened only to her heart’s promptings, and set out for Paris. If we are to believe her friend, the Countess MacNamara[47]—and her testimony is valuable—she succeeded in winning over a municipal official, who consented to open the doors of the Conciergerie for her, on the condition that no word should be exchanged between her and the Royal prisoner. Moreover, the foreign lady must wear the uniform of a National Guard. It was Drury Lane over again! She promised everything, and was to content herself with offering a bouquet to the Queen; but under the stress of the intense emotion she experienced on meeting once more the eyes of the lady whom she had not seen since the days at Versailles, she let fall a note which she held, and which was to have been put into the Queen’s hand with the bouquet. The Municipal officer was about to take possession of it, but, more prompt than he, Lady Atkyns rushed forward, picked it up, and swallowed it. She was turned out brutally. Such was the result of the interview. But the English lady did not stop there. By more and more promises and proceedings, by literally strewing her path with gold, she bought over fresh allies, and this time she obtained the privilege of spending an hour alone with the Queen—at what a price may be imagined! It is said that she had to pay a thousand louis for that single hour. Her plan was this: to change clothes with the Queen, who would then leave the Conciergerie instead of her. But she met with an obstinate refusal. Marie-Antoinette would not, under any pretext, sacrifice the life of another, and to abandon her imprisoned children was equally impossible to her. But what emotion she must have felt at the sight of such a love, so simple, so whole-hearted, and so pure! She could but thank her friend with tearful eyes and commend her son, the Dauphin, to that friends tender solicitude. She also gave her some letters for her friends in England.[48]
On leaving the Conciergerie, one thought filled the mind of Lady Atkyns: she would do for the son what she had not been able to do for the mother—she would drag the little Dauphin out of the Temple Prison.
Did she return to England immediately afterwards? Probably. For one thing, she had not lost all hope, and, like the rest of her friends, she did not as yet fear instant danger for the Queen’s life. This is proved by a note from Peltier, written in the course of the month of September, which reveals the existence of a fresh plan.
“They must set out on Thursday morning at latest; if they delayed any longer, the approach of the Austrian troops, and the movements which have taken place at Paris, might, we fear, determine the members of the Convention to fly and take with them the two hostages whom we want to save. One day’s, two days’ delay may make all the difference. If they are to start on Thursday morning, and go to Brighton and charter a neutral vessel, they have only Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday to spend, day and night, in getting everything ready. First of all, we must get some louis d’or, and sew them in their belts. Then we must get some paper-money, if it’s only for the journey along the coast to Paris, so that they may not be suspected.... We must have time to prepare passports that will do for the three persons who are to go. These passports must be made to look like the letters that Mr. Dundas is sending for the Jacobins who are being deported from France. They are thus less likely to be suspected.... The Temple affair is all arranged; but, as to the Conciergerie one, nothing is known as yet; the last letters from the Paris agents are dated July 26th. We are sure that the persons interested have taken measures, but we do not know what they are. It would not be a bad plan to have some money in reserve for this purpose. It would be dreadful to think we had missed our chance for the sake of two or three hundred louis, which would make 1500 guineas. Therefore each man ought to carry on his person about 450 louis, or 200 double-louis, because about 50 louis would be spent in paper-money.
“There will also be a line of communication between France and England, by means of M——, who resides near Dieppe, on the coast, and who up to now has received and passed on constant communications. We shall have to know of all the movements either of the armies, or of the fleets, so as to direct our operations accordingly.... Circumstances have made it very dangerous to employ foreigners, since the Decree of August 5 has banished them from France. But what difference is there between doing a thing one’s self and causing it to be done? The glory which one shares with others is glory none the less so long as the great purpose is attained.... How can I be sure if this plan does succeed, it will not be displeasing to the lady who would have liked to carry off her friends with her own hands, and then to lead them in triumph, etc., etc.?... But as we are concerned, not with an opera, but an operation, the best proof of affection will be to sacrifice that glory and that joy. And, besides, that lady will not then be running the risks which formerly made existence hateful to me. If my friends perish in this affair, I shall at least not have to listen to a son’s and a mother’s reproaches for the loss of their Charlotte....”[49]
It is clear from these lines that the communications established with the Temple and outside it were still kept in working order against a favourable opportunity. The agents in question were probably those who have been already mentioned, two of whom were the bodyguards of the Queen. But Lady Atkyns’ money had also had its effect, even among those “Incorruptibles” which the Revolution created in such numbers; and the events which we shall now read of can only be explained by the co-operation, not only of one or two isolated persons, but of a quantity of willing helpers, cleverly won over, and belonging to a circle in which it could scarcely have been hoped that they were to be found.
In the midst of all this, the Baron d’Auerweck (whom we last saw in Paris), judging, doubtless, that his presence there was unavailing, went back to London. The situation in France was more than critical. The formation of a fresh Committee of Public Safety, the activity of the Revolutionary Tribunals, in a word, the Terror in full blast, rendered any stay in Paris impossible for already suspected foreigners, and our Baron made haste to bring to his friends all the latest information.
Peltier, who was impatiently awaiting him, on communicating his arrival to Lady Atkyns, wrote thus:—
“My heart is too full of it for me to speak to you of anything but the arrival of my friend, the Baron d’Auerweck. He left France two days ago, and is now here, after having run every imaginable risk, and lost everything that could be lost.... We have the Paris news from him up to the 23rd; the Queen was still safe then. The Baron does not think she will be sacrificed. Danton and the Cordeliers are for her, Robespierre and the Jacobins against. Her fate will depend upon which of the two parties triumphs. The Queen is being closely guarded—the King, hardly at all. The Queen maintains a supernatural strength and dignity.”[50]
It was in London itself, at the Royal Hotel, that Lady Atkyns received these lines. She had hastened there so as to be better able to make inquiries.
But the Decree issued by the Convention, on October 3, ordering the indictment of the “Widow Capet,” give a curious contradiction to the assurances given by d’Auerweck. After all, though, who could dare to forecast the future, and the intentions of those who were now in power? The ultra-jacobin politicians knew less than any one else whither Destiny was to lead them. Had there not been some talk, a few weeks earlier, of getting the Queen to enter into the plan of a negotiation with Austria? So it was not surprising that illusions with regard to her reigned in Paris as well as among the émigrés in London.
Eleven days later Marie-Antoinette underwent a preliminary examination at the bar of the Revolutionary Tribunal. The suit was heard quickly, and there were no delays. Of the seven witnesses called, the last, Hébert, dared to bring the most infamous accusations against her, to which the accused replied only by a disdainful silence. Then came the official speeches of Chaveau-Lagarde and of Tronson-Ducoudray—a mere matter of form, for the “Austrian woman” was irrevocably doomed.
On the third day, October 16, at 4.30 a.m., in the smoky hall of the Tribunal, by the vague light of dawn, the jury gave their verdict, “Guilty”; and sentence of death was immediately pronounced. Just on eleven o’clock the cart entered the courtyard of the Conciergerie Prison, the Queen ascended, and, after the oft-described journey, reached the Place de la Revolution. At a quarter past twelve the knife fell upon her neck.
All was over this time—all the wondrous hopes, the last, long-cherished illusions of Lady Atkyns. The poor lady heard of the terrible ending from Peltier. Her friend’s letter was one cry of rage and despair, more piercing even than that of January 21.
“It has killed me. I can see your anguish from here, and it doubles my own. My anger consumes me. I have not even the relief of tears; I cannot shed one. I abjure for ever the name of Frenchman. I wish I could forget their language. I am in despair; I know not what I do, or say, or write. O God! What barbarity, what horror, what evils are with us, and what miseries are still to come! I dare not go to you. Adieu, brave, unhappy lady!”[51]
Many tears must have fallen on that treasured sheet. And still, to this day, traced by Lady Atkyns’ hand, one can read on it these words: “Written after the murder of the Queen of France.”
Were all her efforts, then, irremediably wasted? She refused to believe it. And at that moment two fresh actors appeared on the scene, whose help she could utilize. From the friendship of one, the Chevalier de Frotté (who came to London just then), she could confidently hope for devoted aid. The other, a stranger to her until then, and only recently landed from the Continent, was destined to become one of the principal actors in the game that was now to be played.