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.