Shortly afterwards, on the day after June 8, the report of the Dauphin’s death reached Normandy. The proclamation of the Comte de Provence—for how many weeks must he not have been waiting impatiently for it to be made—as successor to the throne of France in his nephew’s place was read to the insurgents. Frotté, who for some time already had been responding to the advances made to him by the pretendant, now formally placed his sword at the service of the new King.
What would have prevented him from taking this step? Would a personal interview with Lady Atkyns have had this effect? Perhaps; but devoted now to his new mission, passing from fight to fight, Frotté was no longer his own master.
Nevertheless, at the end of 1795, some feeling of remorse, or else the desire to renew his old place in the goodwill of Lady Atkyns, who had twice asked him to write and tell her about himself, moved Frotté to take pen in hand once again. He had been engaged in fighting for several months, concerting surprises and ambuscades, always on the qui vive. He had twice narrowly escaped capture by the enemy. In spite of this he managed to keep up an interesting correspondence with his companions operating more to the south and to the west, in La Vendée and in Le Bocage, and with the chiefs of his party in London, who supplied the sinews of war, as well as with Louis XVIII. himself, in whose cause he had sworn to shed the last drop of his blood. There is no reason to be astonished at finding our “Général des Chouans” expressing himself thus, or at the changed attitude adopted by him, dictated by circumstances and the new situation in which he has now found himself. Here is how he seeks to disabuse Lady Atkyns of the hope to which she is still clinging:—
“No, dear lady, I shall not forget my devotion to you before I forget my allegiance to the blood of my kings. I have broken faith in no way, but, unfortunately, I have none but untoward news to give you. I have been grieved to find that we have been deceived most completely. For nearly a month after landing I was in the dark, but at last I got to the bottom of the affair. I was not able to get to see the unfortunate child who was born to rule over us. He was not saved. The regicides—regicides twice over—having first, like the monsters they are, allowed him to languish in his prison, brought about his end there. He never left it. Just reflect how we have all been duped. I don’t know how it is that without having ever received my letters you are still labouring under this delusion. Nothing remains for you but to weep for our treasure and to punish the miscreants who are responsible for his death. Madame alone remains, and it is almost certain that she will be sent to the Emperor, if this has not been done already.”
These lines but confirmed what Frotté had written in the preceding March, after his talk with the representative of the Convention. The news of the Dauphin’s death having been proclaimed shortly after that, there had been no longer any difficulty in persuading the Chevalier to take up arms in the service of the Comte de Provence. He discloses himself the change that has come over his sentiments.
“How is it,” he writes to Lady Atkyns, “that you are still under the delusion, when all France has resounded with the story of the misfortunes of our young, unhappy King? The whole of Europe has now recognized His Royal Highness, his uncle, as King of France.... The rights of blood have given me another master, and I owe him equally my zeal and the service of my arm, happy in having got a number of gallant Royalists together. I have the honour of being in command of those fighting in Normandy. That is my position, madame. You will readily understand how I have suffered over the terrible destiny of my young King, and nothing intensifies my sorrow so much as the thought of the sadness you yourself will feel when you learn the truth. But moderate your grief, my friend. You owe yourself to the sister not less than to the brother.”
And to enforce this advice, Frotté recalls to her the memory of the Queen, which should serve, he thinks, to remove all scruples.
“Remember the commands of your august friend, and you will be able to bear up under your misfortunes. You will keep up your spirits for the sake of Madame. You will live for her and for your friends, to whom, moreover, you should do more justice. Adieu, my unhappy friend. Accept the homage of a true Royalist, who will never cease to be devoted to you, who will never cease either to deplore this deception of which we have been victims. Adieu.”
Was this farewell, taken in so nonchalant a fashion, to denote a final sundering of two hearts united by so many memories in common? It would appear so. Lady Atkyns was so strong in her convictions that the only effect of such words would be to make her feel that all was over between her and the Chevalier. Later, when he made an effort to renew relations with her and asked her to return the letters he had written to her, she would seem to have refused point blank, from what she wrote to a confidant.
He must, however, have got hold of some portion of their correspondence, for on his return to his château of Couterne, this indefatigable penman, in the scant leisure left him by his military duties, filled several note-books with reminiscences and political reflections tending to justify his conduct. In one of these note-books, which have been carefully preserved, he transcribed fragments of his letters to his friend—fragments carefully selected in such a way as not to implicate him in the affair of the Temple, once the death of the Dauphin had been announced. Had he lived, he would doubtless have learned what had really happened, as set forth in the documents we have been studying; but his days were numbered.