A friend of Marie-Antoinette (Lady Atkyns)

by Frédéric Barbey

FOOTNOTES:

[52] Bazouges-du-Desert, Ile-et-Vilaine, arrondissement of Fougères, district of Louvigné-du-Désert.

[53] Here is the baptismal certificate of Yves Cormier:—

“Yves-Jean-François-Marie, son of M. Yves-Gilles and Dame Marie-Anne-Françoise Egasse (alias Egace), born yesterday, baptized this day, December 8, 1740, by me the Rector undersigned; and held to the Holy Baptismal Font by M. Jean-François Cormier, Prior-Rector of Bassouge-du-Desert, and by Dame Marie-Anne Lardoul; the father being present, and others undersigned:—

Marie-Anne Lardoul.
Perrine Cormier.
De Saint Cristan.
Mangourit.
Cormier, Prior-Rector of la Baionges.
Françoise Lecomte—Imbault.
Cormier.
P. F. d’Oultremer, Rector.”

Municipal Archives of Rennes, series G.G., Parish of Saint-Sauveur, Register of Baptisms, Marriages, and Burials for 1740. We owe the greater part of our information relative to the sojourn of Cormier at Rennes to the kindness of our lamented confrère, M. Parfouru, departmental archivist.

[54] Barthélemy Pocquet, Le pouvoir absolu et l’esprit provincial: Le Duc d’Aiguillon et La Chalotais, Paris, 1900-1901, 3 vols. 8vo.

[55] It was entitled, Tableau des assemblées secrètes et fréquentes des Jesuites et leurs affilés a Rennes.

[56] Archives of Maitre Motel, notary, of Paris.

[57] “Memo. of the effects belonging to M. Cormier.—Winter, spring, and autumn garments: A coat, vest, and breeches of velvet with figured stripes. A coat, vest, and breeches of reddish-brown satin, with diamond buttons. A coat, vest, and breeches of velvet patterned with large flowers; and also of velvet patterned with small bouquets. Two pairs of black satin breeches. A coat in purple embroidered cloth, with coloured braid, the vest of gold striped cloth, embroidered same. A grey cloth dress-coat, lined crimson satin, vest of gold ribbed cloth. A green cloth dress-coat and vest, braided with gold. A grey quilted coat, vest, and breeches. Two quilted vests, one green, the other fawn. A redingote in best napped cloth. A knitted coat, lined plush; the vest of quilted grey satin. Coat, vest, and breeches in pale yellow velvet. Coat, vest, and breeches in black velvet. A hazel-coloured cloth, coat striped blue, lined blue, vest silver ground, ribbed. A coat of gourgouran, embroidered lined marten fur, vest of satin embroidered en gay, breeches of gourgouran, with garter embroidered. Silk waistcoat, striped blue and white. Two reddish-brown pelisses, one with gold bugles, lined white fur. Riding-coat and vest of Silesian cloth, embroidered in gold, steel buttons. Summer garments: Black-and-olive silk coat and embroidered vest. Coat of musulmane, vest and breeches embroidered gold. Blue lustrine coat, vest, and breeches, silver buttons. Grey musulmane dress-coat and breeches, lined pink-and-green muslin, embroidered gold. Dress-coat grey-and-blue ribbed cloth, embroidered silver and lilac, and two pairs of breeches. Dress-coat grey musulmane, ditto breeches, vest of gourgouran, embroidered lilac, and muslin vest, embroidered gold, lined lilac. Reddish-brown dress-coat, lined green; ditto breeches.... Grey camlet dress-coat, embroidered bronze spangles, white vest, embroidered black. Coat in lilac éternelle, white dimity vest, embroidered and piped cold. White-and-lilac silk vest. Coat, vest, and breeches crimson gourgouran, embroidered white, with tassels. Dress-coat, purple gourgouran. Grey-and-white striped camlet riding-coat. Two vests and two pairs breeches. Striped circaça (old). Two vests and two pairs breeches white circaça, striped white. White quilted vest. Vest and breeches, yellow-and-white circaça. Pair of trousers, grey cotton ribbed. Grey silk trousers. White cotton-cloth trousers. Damask dressing-gown and vest. Taffetas dressing-gown and vest. Three hats.”—Archives of Maître Motel, notary, of Paris.

[58] Jean Baptiste Butler had married firstly, at Rochelle, in 1741, his wife being Suzanne Bonfils, by whom he had one son, Jacques-Pierre-Charles Patrice (born at Rochelle, 1743, died 1793, married in 1769, Germaine-Marie-Félicité de Butler); and one daughter, Marie-Anne-Suzanne-Rosalie Butler, who became Mme. Cormier. He married, secondly, at Saint-Domingo, Julie de Trousset d’Héricourt, by whom he had a son, Jean-Pantaléon, born at Saint-Domingo, 1753; captain of dragoons in the Militia of the Colony from 1768 to 1772; musketeer, 2nd company, May 24, 1772; sub-lieutenant, January 14, 1777; captain, February 28, 1778, promoted December 5, 1784; captain commanding, May 1, 1788; chief of squadron, June 12, 1790.—Archives of War Office.

[59] Ernst Mellié, Les sections de Paris pendant la Revolution française, 1898, p. 7.

[60] A. Challamel, Les clubs contre-révolutionnaires. A collection of documents relating to the history of Paris. Paris, 1895, 8vo, pp. 67 et seq.

[61] Mémoires de Mme. la Duchesse de Tourzel, published by the Duc Des Cars, Paris, 3rd edition, 1893, vol. ii. p. 16.

[62] “Section armed with pikes.

“National Guard, fourth legion, seventh section, second company.

“Citizen and dear comrade—

“You will be good enough to report yourself at headquarters on Friday, March 29, at eleven a.m., to mount guard for 24 hours in the guard-room there. I am, dear comrade, your fellow-citizen,

Signed: “Thomas.

“Paris, March 27, 1792.

“You are informed that, according to law, this service must be performed personally, and punctually. To the Citizen Cormier, 15, Rue Basse.”—National Archives, F⁷ 5152.

[63] “To the Administrative Citizens of the Municipality of the 1st arrondissement:—

“9th Messidor, year VI.

“Marie-Achille Cornier, junior, informs you, in compliance with his parents’ wishes, and in pursuance of his own desire of acquiring knowledge which will enable him to be independent of his family (whose property was situated at Saint-Domingo), he left France in the month of March, 1791, and has now gone to Holstein, in order to learn the German language there and to continue his other studies, which he hopes will afford him the opportunity of becoming useful to his family, whose estates in the Colonies had been burnt down almost immediately before his departure.”—National Archives, F⁷ 5621.

[64] Literal copy of a certificate given to the Cornouaille, on the 3rd Prairial, 4th year of the Republic, on paper stamped in red with the stamp of said 4th year, by the citizen Scepeaux to the citizen Yves-J.-F.-M. Cormier:—

“We, the inhabitants of the lands formerly insurgent, but now tranquil, and subject to the Laws of the Republic of France, certify to all whom it may concern, that the Citizen Yves-J.-F.-M. Cormier, native of the Commune of Rennes, Department Ile-et-Vilaine, born December 7, 1740, height 5 feet 2 inches, grey hair, medium mouth, round chin, full face, has constantly been entrusted with correspondence of the Vendean Army, from its formation to its defeat at the town of Mans; and that, since then, he has held consecutively the same office in those Communes formerly insurgent, classed under the head of ‘Chouans;’ and we further declare that the Citizen Yves ... Cormier has never hindered submission to the Laws of the Republic, in virtue of which we give him the present certificate to be to him of whatever use and value it may with the constituted authorities, the misfortunes of the country making it impossible to procure any other testimonials.... (Executed at the Cornouaille, the 3rd Prairial, 4th year of the Republic) [May 22, 1796]. Given in duplicate, at Paris, 10th Messidor, VIII.

Signed: “D’Autichamp. Scepeaux.”

(National Archives, F⁷ 5152.)

[65] L. de la Sicotière, Louis de Frotté, vol. i. pp. 34, et seq.

CHAPTER IV
THE MYSTERY OF THE TEMPLE

Amidst the medley of feelings produced upon her mind by all the events happening in Paris—all the insurrectionary outbreaks, all the plottings and arrests—neither Lady Atkyns nor her friends withdrew their gaze from the prison of the Temple. As though this edifice with its four towers exercised some mysterious attraction, extending far and wide, their thoughts returned persistently to this one spot, hidden away in the enclosures of the old palace and closed in by a network of other structures. What news was there of the happenings within those sinister high walls? Baron d’Auerweck, who was the best-informed, having just come from the Continent, retailed all that he had gathered from public rumours and from personal inquiries which his relations with people inside the prison enabled him to make.

Madame Elizabeth and her niece still lived in the suite occupied by the Queen. The little Dauphin had been snatched away from his mother on the night of July 3, 1793, and handed over to the care of the bootmaker, Antoine Simon. Simon and his wife—as a recent work has made quite clear—were very far from being guilty of the cruelties to the child attributed to them by tradition. Chosen for his task by Chaumette, whose authority at the Temple was supreme, and looking up to him as his master, Simon was a rough specimen, uncouth somewhat in his ways, and too fond of the bottle, violently republican in his sentiments, but at bottom a decent fellow, and not wantonly cruel nor ill-natured. His wife is shown to have had a good heart; she had been seen at the bootmakers’ hospital, where her conduct won the praise of all, working very actively and thoroughly at her task. She was known to be a great chatterbox. Such as she was, Madame Simon undoubtedly felt much sympathy with the child confided to her care.

What did Simon and his wife do with the young Dauphin? Did he fade away in their hands, into the living spectre, the martyr succumbing to blows and bruises that the Eckards and de Beauchesnes and Chantelauzes would have us believe? Assuredly not. Doubtless the complete change in his existence, the sense of being closed in and confined, must have told upon the small prisoner. After the splendours of Versailles, it must have been hard upon him to be subjected at once to so severe a régime and to have for company a household of vulgar, common people, without education. And tears must have coursed down his cheeks. But there is a gulf between this and the stories of systematic cruelties, and we may well refuse to believe in anything of this kind until ample proof is forthcoming.

Suddenly, on January 19, 1794, it became known in the Temple quartier that the Simons were giving up their functions and settling down somewhere else.[66] What was the reason of this? Explanations differ. It is certain that Simon had no heart for his duties, and that he must have emitted a sigh of satisfaction when he left the Temple. He showed the child before he quitted to the four men who were told off to replace him, and received from them a voucher to the effect that he was in good health.

Henceforth, for the next six months, the Dauphin is to be immured in his prison, and no one is to penetrate within; the door of his cell is to be bolted and barred, and food is to be ministered to him through a grille. The four Commissioners of the Commune entrusted with his care will take it turn about to spy at him through the peep-hole in the door, but none of them will set foot inside.

What are we to think of this confinement? What was the meaning of it? We feel that it is out of the question at this time of day to formulate any clear-cut explanation of it. So great an air of mystery hangs over all that happened in the Temple during this year of 1794 and down to June 8, 1795, that it would be vain to attempt to elucidate this imbroglio of deeds plotted in the dark, and performed by actors each of whom played his part independently of the others. The various personages mixed up in them were so situated that they could not see the goal towards which they were called upon to work. What we desire to do, with the help of the correspondence at our disposal, is to show that Lady Atkyns was the leading spirit of a Royalist Committee, formed for the purpose of securing the Dauphin’s escape, and that not only his escape was practicable, thanks to the intervention of people high in authority—probably of Barras—but that it was, in fact, carried out.

A sort of bureau had been instituted at Paris for turning to account the sources of information contrived within the Temple, and for keeping au courant with the prison regulations and the methods adopted for watching over the Royal captive. There was a house in Rue Basse-du-Rempart in which M. Cormier lived formerly, and which, on setting out for La Vendée, he left to the care of his wife.[67] In this house they had a pied à terre ready to their hands, and in Mme. Cormier, née de Butler, a person on whom they could absolutely rely, active-minded, enterprising, the very person of all others to help the projects of the Royalists in London. It is she who, during these first weeks of the year 1794, will be keeping her husband and his friends au courant with all she can find out about the Dauphin and his gaolers, and the way in which he and his now numerous partisans in Paris are kept under watch. It is impossible for her, we may be sure, to correspond direct with London, and we are in the dark as to her methods of communication; but in these days there are any number of couriers carrying news and despatches from the Continent to England. Soon, to avoid suspicion and work in greater safety, Mme. Cormier, henceforth referred to always by her maiden name, will secure a decree of divorce from her husband on the ground that he is émigré, thus apparently breaking up all connection with the former president of the Club Massiac.[68] Had she not had her name removed already, a year earlier, from the ill-fated list of émigrés?

It is time for us now to make fuller acquaintance with the members of this circle of intimate friends surrounding Lady Atkyns, and concentrating all their efforts upon the furthering of her plans.

Two figures stand out conspicuously: M. de Cormier and the Chevalier de Frotté. These alone have been let into the secret of the first operations; these alone can claim to have full knowledge of the desires and hopes of the Queens friend. Cormier, “our big friend,” as he is designated in their correspondence, is a strong support. His experience, his good sense, his relations with the English Government, inspire confidence at first sight in all who are brought into contact with the corpulent Breton, and all are quickly won over by the charm of his fluent and persuasive speech. Despite authentic certificates of residence, according to which his son has not quitted Holstein, where he is by way of pursuing his studies during this and the following year, the ex-magistrate has not been willing to forego his son’s companionship, and there are constant allusions to him in his letters. A prey to frequent attacks of gout, Cormier requires to have some one at hand to look after him affectionately.

Frotté, a man of some intellect, with a fine presence and a martial air about him, and with the advantage of being acquainted with the recent happenings in Normandy and La Vendée, is well fitted for helping Lady Atkyns in her plans. He also has been able to get into intimate relations with the Government, to secure a hearing for his views, and thus to acquire real influence. In these two men Lady Atkyns possesses powerful lieutenants, who henceforth will be indispensable to her, and to whom she will have to unfold her ideas impartially and equally. For while each of them is eager to devote himself entirely to her enterprise, little by little, imperceptibly almost, and according as difficulties crop up in their path, feelings of jealousy and envy will make themselves evident between the two.

By length of service, and by reason of so many tender remembrances therewith connected, Frotté considers himself entitled to the premier place in the confidence and regard of his fair friend. His letters are full of burning affection and admiration for her, to whom he is ready to sacrifice everything.

“It is only in your society,” he writes, “that I am my real self. You are in possession of all my secrets, and you share all those feelings which cause me to have any joy in life and for which none the less I should be ready to die. Adieu! Do you understand me? What am I to think of the heroine to whom I devote my entire future and who may make all my life’s happiness? Do you understand me? Adieu! If I speak to ears and to a heart that refuse to listen to me ... then I am not at the end of my troubles. Oh, most charming of women, whatever may be the outcome of this Revolution of ours—even though you should have no share in it—you will ever be in my eyes the tender and devoted friend of Antoinette, the woman who would have sacrificed everything for the Queen’s son, the woman to whom I would fain owe all my happiness.”[69]

Side by side with these two men we find a third individual, whose name recurs very often in the conversation, and who will also play his part. The Baron d’Auerweck, the “little baron,” comes to offer his services to Lady Atkyns, and to profit by her generosity, which he knows to be inexhaustible. He is not to be admitted into all the secrets of the committee—he is to be spoken to in general terms. D’Auerweck, with his philosophical whims and unceasing chatter, bombards his benefactress with his letters, in which he retails to her all the rumours current in London regarding the child in the Temple. On intimate terms with the journalist Peltier, d’Auerweck acts as his collaborator, so to speak, keeping him au courant with the progress of the enterprise as far as he is in a position to do so.

Finally, there is the Bishop of Saint-Pol-de-Léon. The bishop has not broken off his relations with the indefatigable lady, for whom he professes an immense admiration. His assistance is by no means to be despised, for among the ever-increasing crowds of émigrés now pressing to London there are quite a number of persons who are under obligations to him. When Lady Atkyns leaves Ketteringham and comes to stay for a time among her friends, we find the venerable prelate visiting her on several occasions.[70]

She entertains him with an account of the steps she is taking. Little by little her money will be exhausted; but what matter provided she succeeds? Not content with seeing her gold dispensed at Paris by her paid supporters, the generous Englishwoman has made up her mind to acquire a ship which she has had secured for herself by an émigré, the Baron de Suzannet, and which had been entirely rigged out at her expense.[71] This vessel plies continually between the English coast and the continent, after January, 1794; her captain is instructed to communicate by means of signs agreed upon with people stationed along the French coast, generally at Dieppe. In this way news can always be conveyed from Paris, while the ship will be ready at the right moment to pick up the young Dauphin and carry him off into security.

This was the condition of things at the beginning of 1794, when, on Monday, March 24, Cormier received a piece of news which at first unbalanced him. His wife had been arrested in Paris, and there was nothing to indicate how this mishap had come about.

“What terrible news, Madame!” he wrote to Lady Atkyns; “my wife has been arrested! I am inconsolable. I know no details as yet.”

On reflection, however, he realizes that the nature of his former duties, taken in conjunction with his present position as an émigré, suffice to account for what had taken place.

“There is every reason to believe,” he proceeds, “that nothing has been discovered regarding our plot, and that it is merely as the wife of the President of the Massiac Club that she has been put under arrest. At least, I flatter myself that this is so. If I get no news here, I shall set out for the place where news will be forthcoming soonest. Nothing will ever make me abandon our project and the object of our desires. You shall have my news at the earliest possible moment, either from here or from Choram.”

Now, on this very day Hébert was mounting the scaffold, a victim to the accusations of Robespierre, whose despotism was triumphant. He who had been to a great extent responsible for looking after Louis XVII. had now fallen in his turn, to be followed a few weeks later (April 13) by his friend Chaumette. Here is what Cormier had to say on the subject—the news had reached him with wonderful speed—

“Robespierre has triumphed over the others, and he has had Hébert, Vincent, etc., arrested and guillotined. Robespierre had declared himself anxious to stop the flow of blood ...; he had spoken up for the prisoners in the Temple. Fresh letters are arriving here. It is certain, I think, that my wife has not yet been charged with anything, or even suspected of anything in regard to the prisoners.”

The event was inopportune. Cormier had just decided to leave London for the coast, where he was to receive certain information and to take counsel with his agents. Now his plans were all upset. He would have to postpone the journey and redouble his precautions.

At the end of five days there was ground for taking a hopeful view of things. There was every reason to believe that Mme. Cormier’s arrest would not have any grave results.

“What annoys me most,” writes Cormier to Lady Atkyns on March 28, “is the fact that the news had got back to Paris, with commentaries which may do harm both to my wife and to our affairs.”

As a matter of fact, Peltier and d’Auerweck hastened, on hearing of what had happened, to convey their sympathy to their friend, and, like true journalists, spread the tidings in every direction, thus intensifying Cormier’s uneasiness.

“But I must only try and put aside this anxiety,” he continues, “as I have so many others. I have not yet started; I shall not start before Monday or Tuesday, because I must wait for replies from Dieppe, which cannot arrive before Sunday or Monday. Have no fears; my courage will not fail me—indeed, at present it is taking the shape of a feeling of rage, which I am trying to keep down. You will have learnt from the public prints that the statement has gone out that the King has been carried off to the army of the Prince of Saxe-Coburg. This false report has troubled me a good deal. I don’t want attention to be directed that way just now, especially as something has happened which would increase our confidence—something which I cannot at present confide to paper. Do not exert yourself too much, madame; do not measure your efforts by your courage. Your friends beg this of you.”

In all these letters of the Breton magistrate there is a real ring of sincerity. The admiration he feels for this interesting woman resolves itself into a whole-hearted devotion to her cause, and if, later, her large fortune and her generosity seem to have too large a part in Cormier’s thoughts and too great an influence upon his actions, at least he must be credited with absolute frankness throughout.

The death of Sir Edward Atkyns on March 27, 1794, gave Cormier an opportunity for expressing his sympathy with the widow, and of enlarging still further upon his feelings. The scant mention made of Sir Edward, indeed, in the correspondence of this little circle suggests that the relations between husband and wife must have become perceptibly colder of late. It is probable that the baronet looked with disfavour upon his wife’s schemes and the heavy outlay they entailed.

“A score of times,” writes Cormier, “I have taken pen in hand this morning to express to you the intense interest with which I have learnt of the sad event which occurred, and as often my courage has failed me. Truly you have been the victim of many misfortunes. Will the Fates never have done pursuing you? You must only make use of the great qualities Providence has given you to bear up against what has befallen. Your courage is exceptional. Make the most of a quality which is rare with men, but rarer still in women. As for me, I vow I shall not give in under my misfortune, and shall not be put off by any perils.... I have not started yet, and shall not start to-morrow, not having yet received the letters I was expecting. If they come to-morrow, I shall start on Thursday. So that this delay may not cause you anxiety, I may mention that in the last letters which have come to me, he who left last ... asks me not to start until I heard again from him. He has not been beyond D(ieppe), and the others have returned from P(aris) to take counsel with him—I don’t know on what.”

These last words show that something was already happening on the Breton coast, and that it was desired to send news of interest to Cormier. But the departure postponed so often was still impracticable, and Cormier began to lose patience.

“I am still kept here,” he writes. “It is becoming incensing. I feel as though I were being chained up, but prudence and common sense keep me quiet. I get news regularly from D(ieppe). I have just received a third letter enjoining me to make no movement until they give me the word, and insisting that the success of our project and the safety of him who is so precious to us depend upon this. I don’t understand, however, their not telling us why and how.... I have lost patience, and have sent one of these gentlemen.[72] (That is not the same as myself.) I am afraid that Hamelin may really have been killed; I can’t make it out at all.”

Who was Hamelin? It is difficult to guess. It is difficult to identify a great many of the individuals of whom there is question in these letters, and who are designated by borrowed names. The most elementary prudence called for absolute secrecy concerning the names of the agents who were working for our committee, and although the messages were carried by the most trustworthy emissaries, it was always possible that one of them might be arrested en route. This doubles our difficulty in clearing up the imbroglio, and enhances a mystery already sufficiently troublesome.

Failing Mme. Cormier, who was still under arrest, and whose absence had been making itself felt more and more, another arrangement had been made for securing news from Paris. At what expense? Heaven knows! But once again money had set tongues going and procured the needed help. Cormier, coming back to the question of his departure, writes again (April 14, 1794) to his friend to tell her of the messages he has sent from England:—

“I shall not start until this evening,” he tells her. “You can guess why. I have just despatched two messengers. Things are moving, but very slowly. However, let us not lose heart. If we go slowly we go all the more surely, and every day achieve something which helps to advance our schemes and to keep us in security. Therefore do not be impatient.”

The weeks passed by, and that fateful day “9th Thermidor,” which was to bring with it such a bouleversement in Paris, was drawing nigh. At the Temple there had been no change—the Dauphin was still sequestrated from the outside world.

On May 11, 1794, Robespierre visited the prison, and had a brief interview with Marie-Therèse, but we have no information as to what happened.

The 9th Thermidor arrives and throws the dictator down from his pedestal, thereby proclaiming the end of his reign of terror. General Barras, invested with the command of the armed forces within the city, begins to take an important part in the management of affairs. One of his first acts, it will be remembered, after he had triumphed over Robespierre’s party, was to go to the prison of the Temple, on July the 28th, accompanied by his brilliant staff, bedecked with gold. The miserable aspect of the child after being shut up for months caused the general to take immediate steps, and by his order of July 29, 1794, a special guardian, chosen by himself, named Laurent, a native of Martinique, was brought to the prison, there to be entrusted with the sole care for nearly five months of the young Capet.

A careful study of the documents bearing upon this period of the captivity of the Dauphin makes it quite clear that in the hands of his new guardian he was looked after in a fashion which contrasted strongly with the previous neglect, and that he soon became attached to Laurent, who proved himself good-natured, kind, and even affectionate in his attitude towards his charge. If strange things came about in the Temple at that time, we may be certain that Laurent knew about them, and we may assume that Barras was the prime mover in all that happened.

It is impossible, as we have said before, to recapitulate all the arguments which tend to bring home to the general some complicity in the fate of Louis XVII., and which implicate a large number of persons, most of them people of influence in the world of the Convention. Other writers, notably M. Henri Provins,[73] have done this so conscientiously and thoroughly that there is no need for us to attempt it. We may content ourselves with making public a series of documents and newly ascertained matters, the gist of which bears out exactly all that we knew already of Laurent’s conduct at the Temple. Lady Atkyns and her friends could not have done without him. It is true that his name never appears in their communications, for reasons already given, but the striking connection between the events within the prison walls and their effects in London upon the Royalist Committee proves beyond doubt the relations subsisting between them. Between the lines of these documents we get to understand what Cormier meant by “new combinations.” Lady Atkyns has been at pains to say it herself in one of her notes which she used to make upon her correspondence, and which often serve to explain her actions.

In his anxiety about the future, did Cormier entertain fears lest all remembrance of his heroine’s devotion would vanish with her if by some mischance her enterprise should fail, or if she herself should lose her life? Who knows? However that may be, it is the case that on August 1, 1794, he had two statements drawn up (the text of which, unluckily, is not forthcoming), in which Lady Atkyns recorded all that she had achieved down to that date for the safety of those who were so dear to her.

“These records are to my knowledge the absolute truth,” attested Cormier at the foot of the deposition, “and I declare that ever since I first knew Lady Atkyns, she has always shown the same purity of principles, and that all she has here stated is true in every particular.”

These documents were to have been handed over for preservation, with a number of others, to a solicitor or some trustworthy person in London.

Meanwhile, renewed efforts were being made to bring about a good service of news to the Continent and Paris. As time passed, Lady Atkyns’ friends realized more and more that it would have been madness to proceed with a regular attempt at a sudden rescue in the actual conditions of things. In truth, the calm which had followed the 9th Thermidor, and which gave Paris time to take breath, was making itself felt within the Temple. Laurent’s nomination was evidence of this. Any attempt to act at once would have been sheer folly. What was to be done was to “get at” those who had any kind of influence within the Temple or without, whilst taking care not to let too many people into the secret of the enterprise. Here, again, unluckily, the wise secretiveness of all their papers prevents us from ascertaining any names. Those who were tempted by Lady Atkyns’ gold to compromise themselves in any way, took too many precautions against being found out.

Lady Atkyns, however, was not idle. Two sailing vessels were continually plying between different points on the French coast. A third, which she had recently purchased, had orders to keep close to land between Nantes and La Rochelle, ready at any moment to receive the Dauphin.[74]

The cost of keeping these three ships was considerable, and Lady Atkyns had great difficulty in providing the money. She was in the hands of agents whose services, indispensable to her, could be depended upon only so long as the sums they demanded were forthcoming. We can imagine the feelings of anxiety and despondency with which she must have read the following letter from Cormier. What answer was she to make to him? (The person to whom she had applied for financial help appears on several occasions in their correspondence under the designation of “le diable noir.”)

“Your diable noir’s reply is very little consolation to me,” writes Cormier; “he has promised and postponed so often. For Heaven’s sake, see to it that he does not promise us this time also to no purpose!... I gather that you were to have two definite replies to-day—I shall be in Purgatory until five o’clock. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! I wonder what you will send me, or rather what you will be able to send me? Our own courage alone does not suffice—we have to keep up the courage of others, and they are losing heart. Worst of all, there is that avaricious Jew of a captain! We are absolutely dependent upon him. If we lost him where should we get another to take his place? I beg of you, in the name of the one you know, to do all you possibly can, to exert all your resources, to prevent his having to leave me empty-handed.”

And to excuse the ultimatum-like tone of his letter, Cormier adds—

“Forgive the urgent persistent style in which I write! But when one is writing about business matters and matters of this importance, one has to forget one is writing to a woman—especially when it is a question of a Lady Atkyns, who is different from the rest of her sex.”

The occasions for entering into communication with their agents on the Continent are more propitious now than ever, but many efforts are frustrated owing to the sharp watch which is kept along the coast.

“They have tried eleven times to land since Saturday last,” writes Cormier, “and failed every time. There were always either people in sight or else there were transports sailing from Havre to Dieppe or from Dieppe to Saint-Valery, etc., etc. There has been a lot going on evidently, for signals have been given on fifteen or twenty different occasions. That shows how important it is to effect a landing. They returned simply to make this fact known to me, and went back again without coming on shore—except the captain, who came for an hour and who is positive they have something to hand over to him. I believe this myself, for I learn also this morning that the Government boat which plies along the coast of Brittany has made thirty vain attempts during the last three weeks.”

We can imagine the mental condition of poor Lady Atkyns on receiving letter after letter in this strain. She no longer goes away from London at this period, feeling too remote in the country from the centre of news. She stays either at the Royal Hotel or else with friends at 17, Park Lane. Here it is that she receives Cormier, Frotté, Peltier. When there is a long interval between their visits her fears grow apace. What would she not give to take an active part herself in the enterprise! “No messenger arrived—no news, therefore, from France,” that is the message that comes to her only too often. And Cormier writes, full of excuses for his persistent appeals—

“Forgive my tone,” he writes. “I apologize a thousand times for being such a worry to you, but I can’t help it in regard to so important a matter, calling for so much energy and hurry. You have voluntarily abandoned the position ensured you by your sex and great advantages in order to play the rôle of a great and high-minded statesman. There are discomforts and disadvantages attached to this new estate, and it is my misfortune to have to bring this home to you. I can but console myself with the thought of your goodness and of the great cause which we have embraced and which is the subject of all our anxieties. May God prosper it, and may it bring you glory and me happiness!”

In the mouth of any one but Cormier these protestations would arouse one’s distrust; but what we already know of him, and what we are to learn presently of his later conduct, serve to reassure us in regard to him.

In spite of all his good will, however, Cormier is constantly being interrupted in his work. Now it is the health of his son, Achille, which disquiets him, now he is a prey to terrible attacks of gout which will give him no rest.

“I have been bent double for two nights and a day,” he writes to his friend on September 1, 1794, “without being able to change my position. It takes four persons to move this great body of mine. I am a little more free from pain at present, and I take up my pen at the earliest possible moment to send you this explanation of my silence.”

It is at this moment that Louis de Frotté, who has been a little in the background, comes again to the front of the stage. Since his arrival in London, the young officer, without neglecting the society of the Royalist Committee, has been spending most of his time in the offices of the English Government, endeavouring to impress upon Windham “the desirability of carrying out his ideas, and the ease with which they may be brought to fruit, as he has made up his mind to devote himself to them.” One project he has specially at heart, that of receiving some kind of official mission from the Government which will enable him to land in Normandy with adequate powers and to give new life there to the Royalist insurrection. Should he succeed, the help he “would thus obtain would lead to the execution of our cherished plans,” he writes to Lady Atkyns, and she will reap at last “all the honour that will be due to the generous sacrifices that she has made.”

But in his interview with the Minister he does not think it necessary to speak of their relations with the Temple. This secret is too important for him to confide it to any one. “Too many people know it already.” These words, hinting a delicate reproach, are meant, perhaps, to put his fair friend upon her guard. Perhaps they mean more than that. Read in the light of subsequent letters from the young émigré, they serve as a key to his private feelings—to his dislike at having to share her confidence with so many others, and to his jealousy later of the man who has so large a place in her heart. These feelings, still slight, soon become more marked, and presently we find that they are reciprocated.

For the time being, however, both Frotté and Cormier worked with the same ardour at their allotted tasks. Frotté, proceeding with his negotiation with Windham, counted now upon support from Puisaye, his famous compatriot recently come to England. Cormier writes to her to report that, despite apparent dilatoriness, their agents have not been inactive.

“I have received letters through the captain,” he tells her on October 1, 1794, “which satisfy me, brief as they are. Here is what they have to tell me: ‘Be at ease in your mind; they imagine they are working for themselves, and really they are working for us, and we shall have the profit. Be patient and don’t lose trust.’ The captain had orders to return at once to-day, but he will not start until to-night or to-morrow morning, and we have news by the packet-boats meanwhile that order reigns in Paris.”

Day after day passed by, bringing new reports, none of them positive, of the death of the little Dauphin. Lady Atkyns knew not what to make of the situation. Presently—eight days after the last—there came another letter from Cormier, to reassure her.

“I have great faith in your judgment,” he declares, “and your presentiments are almost always right, but I really do not think that you have ground for disquiet now. Three agents of ours at the Temple are either at work silently or else they are in hiding. All we know for certain is that they have not been guillotined, as they have not been mentioned in any of the lists.”

His wife was still unfortunately detained, but there was prospect of her being shortly at liberty, and then she would write to him. If the agents had taken it upon themselves to modify their project—the one thing that was to be feared—they could not possibly have succeeded in sending particulars yet of this. But an explanation of the mystery was soon to be forthcoming.

“The Dauphin is not to be got out by main force or in a balloon,” Cormier had once written. Any attempt at carrying him off under the very nose of his warders and of the delegates of the Commune would have been madness. All idea of such a rescue had long been put aside. How, then, was the matter to be dealt with? By such means as circumstances might dictate—by finding a substitute for the young prisoner, a mute who should play the rôle until an occasion should offer for smuggling away the real Dauphin, concealed meanwhile somewhere in the upper chambers of the Tower. Mme. Atkyns did not herself approve of this plan.

“I was strongly opposed to it,” she notes at the foot of a letter from Cormier dated June 3, 1795, “as I pointed out to my friends that it might have an undesirable result, and that those who were being entrusted with the carrying off of the Dauphin, after getting the money, might declare afterwards that he had not been got out of the Temple.”

She saw reason to fear that at the last moment she would be done out of the recompense of all her efforts, and that the Royal child would not be entrusted to her care.

However, it was clear that once the plan was agreed upon it was necessary in order to carry it out to secure the help of the gaoler Laurent, who had had the Dauphin under his charge during the last four months. Laurent’s complicity may be traced through the documents bearing upon the whole episode.

Let us examine first of all Laurent’s own famous letters, the first of which, dated November 7, 1794, synchronizes with the events we have been following.

It is well known that only copies of these letters are in existence—the originals have never been discovered. They were published first in a book which appeared in 1835, Le Véritable Duc de Normandie, the work of an adherent of the pretender, Nauendorff, Bourbon-Leblanc, whose real name was Gabriel de Bourbon-Russet, dit Leblanc. From the fact of the originals being missing, the authenticity of these letters has long been a matter for debate. A close examination of them, side by side with all the other documents upon which we have come in the course of our researches, results, we think, in justifying our belief in their genuineness.

Cormier, then, was not mistaken in supposing that his agents had modified their plan. The letter in which he confided his suspicion to Lady Atkyns was dated October 8, 1794. On the last day of the same month he wrote to her again:—

“I have to thank you cordially for your kind letter of yesterday. I have had no time to answer it properly, not because of the gout, for that has left me. In fact, my mind is so fully occupied that I have no time to trouble about any kind of malady, and am, in fact, at my wits’ end with excitement. However, I must just send you this brief note in haste (for it is just post time) to bid you not merely be at rest but to rejoice! I am able to assure you positively that the Master and his belongings are saved! There is no doubt about it. But say nothing of this, keep it absolutely secret, do not let it be suspected even by your bearing. Moreover, nothing will happen to-day, or to-morrow, or the day after, nor for more than a month, but I am quite sure of what I say, and I was never more at my ease in my own mind. I can give you no details now, and can only tell you all when we meet; but you can share my feeling of security. I am glad to say I have good news of my wife, but I must continue to keep a sharp look out all round me.”

This letter evidently alludes to what had happened at the Temple. The young Dauphin, we may conclude, was halfway on his road to liberty. Lodged in the garrets of the Temple tower, and with the little mute as his substitute down below, he was not yet out of peril. But an important step had been taken towards the ultimate goal.

It seemed clear that Laurent, l’homme de Barras, was having a share in this, and had at least rendered possible the execution of the project. The letter which he wrote eight days later to a general, whose identity has never been established, bore out exactly what Cormier had said; here it is:—

“General,

“Your letter of the 6th came too late, for your first plan had been carried out already—there was no time to lose. To-morrow a new warder is to enter upon his duties—a Republican named Gommier, a good fellow from what B—— tells me, but I have no confidence in such people. I shall find it very difficult to convey food to our P——. But I shall take care of him; you need not be anxious. The assassins have been duped, and the new municipal people have no idea that the little mute has been substituted for the Dauphin. The thing to be done now is to get him out of this cursed tower—but how? B—— tells me he cannot do anything on account of the way he is watched. If there were to be a long delay I should be uneasy about his health, for there is not much air in his oubliette—the bon Dieu would not find him there if he were not almighty! He has promised me to die rather than betray himself, and I have reason to believe that he would. His sister knows nothing; I thought it prudent to pass the little mute off on her as her real brother. Meanwhile, this poor little fellow seems quite happy, and plays his part so well, all unconsciously, that the new guard is convinced that he is merely refusing to speak. So there is no danger. Please send back our faithful messenger to me, as I have need of your help. Follow the advice he will convey to you orally, for that is the only way to our success.

“The Temple Tower, November 7, 1794.”

The contents of this letter, taken together with its date, accord in a remarkable way with Cormier’s communication to Lady Atkyns.

There is another striking argument in favour of the authenticity of Laurent’s letters. When they were produced by the pretender Nauendorff, they were for the most part in complete contradiction to all that was known of the Dauphin’s captivity and the testimonies of those connected with it. Certain facts to which they made allusion were known to nobody. Thus Laurent states clearly on November 7 that a new warder—whom he calls Gommier instead of Gomin—is to come to the Temple next day and to be associated with him. Now, in 1835, when this letter was published, what was known of Gomin? Next to nothing, and the little that was known did not tally with Laurent’s statements. Simeon Despreaux, author of a book entitled “Louis XVIII.,” published in 1817, did not even know of Gomin’s existence. Gomin himself made a formal declaration before the magistrates that he entered the Temple about July 27, 1794, before Laurent was there at all. Many years later it was found, on examining all the documents referring to the Temple that were kept in the National Archives, that Laurent’s statements were quite correct.

Some days after this letter to Lady Atkyns, Cormier informed Frotté of the great news, in the course of a visit paid him by the latter.

“I know all about it,” he said, according to Frotté’s account of the interview afterwards in a letter to Lady Atkyns, “because they could do nothing without me; but everything is now ready, and I give you my word that the King and France are saved. All the necessary steps have been taken. I can tell you no more.... Do not question me, don’t try to go further into the matter. Already I have told you more than I had any right to, and from Mr. Pitt down to myself there is now no one who knows more about it than you do. So I beg of you to keep it absolutely to yourself.”

From November 8, then, Laurent is no longer sole guardian of the young Prince. His duties are henceforth shared with Gomin. What kind of relations subsisted between the two? It is hard to say, for it is even more difficult to find out the truth about the Temple during the subsequent months than during those which went before.

We find one innovation introduced during these months which is worth noting. It is no longer the delegates of the Commune who have to pay the daily visit to the prison, but the representatives of the Comités Civils of the forty-eight divisions of Paris. Now, among all those who visited the Dauphin none left any record, with one exception, to which we shall come presently. All that we can learn from Gomin’s own statements, so often contradictory, is that throughout the period the child placed under his care uttered no word. The warder takes no further notice of this strange conduct, Laurent having satisfied him that if the Dauphin will not open his mouth it is because of the infamous deposition against his mother that he was made to sign. It is unnecessary to point out how improbable was this explanation, the Dauphin’s examination having taken place on October 6, 1793, and Laurent not having come to the Temple until July 29, 1794. Gomin, however, asked no further questions, and Laurent experiencing no further anxiety in regard to him, sought what means he could of bringing about the desired end.

Six weeks pass, however, without further progress, and then on November 5 Laurent hears, to his great satisfaction, that his master has become a member of the Committee of Public Safety. This new office would surely enable the general to carry out his plan and relieve the anxious guardian from the heavy responsibility lying on his shoulders.

It was, therefore, not without surprise that on December 19 Laurent and Gomin saw three Commissioners of the Committee of Public Safety make their way into the prison and up the stairway of the Tower to the Dauphin’s cell. These three visitors—Harmand la Meuse, Matthieu, and Reverchon—asked to see the Dauphin, so that they might question him and satisfy themselves as to the way in which he was kept under supervision. At a time when there were so many rumours current about the Temple, and when rescues were openly talked about, when every day brought forth some new sensational report, it was only natural that the Convention, in order to silence these rumours and calm public opinion, should institute an official inspection of the prison in this way.

In a work which he published twenty years later, Harmand de la Meuse tells us all that we know of this visit, and of the impression made upon the delegates by the little mute ushered into their presence. Suffice it here to record that this narrative (written with an eye to the good graces of Louis XVIII.) makes it quite clear that it was a mute whom they saw, and that all efforts to extract replies were quite in vain.

Harmand repeats the explanation of this persistent silence which had been furnished by Laurent. He ignores the fact that the Dauphin had talked with the Simons, had been interviewed by Barras, and had been heard to speak on several other occasions.

Assuredly, Harmand and his colleagues—his narrative allows it to be seen on every page—very soon realized that they were not in the presence of the Dauphin. This is proved by the fact that, despite the very distinct terms of the resolution of the Committee entrusting them with this mission, and the object of which was to dispel the rumours current in Paris, “they decided they would make no public report, but would confine themselves to a secret record of their experience to the Committee itself.”

However natural and intelligible all this may have been to those who knew what was in the mind of the Convention and the exigencies of the situation at this period, to Laurent it was a matter of stupefaction. Barras had sent him no warning, and his position was getting more and more difficult, for his colleague, who had, of course, to be taken into his confidence, was beginning to be nervous about participating any further in the intrigue, and might betray him any day. At last he loses patience, and expresses himself as follows to his friend the unknown general:—

“I have just received your letter. Alas, your request is impossible. It was easy enough to get the ‘victim’ upstairs, but to get him down again is for the moment impossible, for so sharp a watch is being kept and I am afraid of being betrayed. The Committee of Public Safety sent those monsters Matthieu and Reverchon, as you know, to establish the fact that our mute is really the son of Louis XVI. General, what does it all mean? I don’t know what to make of B——’s conduct. He talks now of getting rid of our mute and replacing him by another boy who is ill. Were you aware of this? Is it not a trap of some kind. I am getting very much alarmed, for great care is being taken not to let any one into the prison of our mute, lest the substitution should become known, for if any one examined him they would discover that he was deaf from birth, and in consequence naturally mute. But to substitute some one else for him! The new substitute will talk, and will do both for our half-rescued P—— and for myself with him. Please send back our messenger at once with your written reply.

“The Temple Tower, February 5, 1795.”

Let us note the date of this letter—February 5. Therefore the visit referred to must have taken place before February 5. Now, Eckard, one of the earliest biographers of the Dauphin, having in the first edition of his book made the date December 2, 1794, altered it afterwards to February 13, 1795. De Beauchesne makes it February 27. Chantelauze, February 26.

On referring to the original documents at our disposal, however, we find that Laurent’s letter is borne out. In his book, Le dernier roi legitime de France, M. Provins shows that the visit must have taken place between November 5, 1794, and January 4, 1795, as it was only during this period that the three delegates were all members of the Committee. A recent discovery of documents in the National Archives establishes the fact that it took place on December 19, 1794.