However, early in the month of March, 1808—and d’Auerweck had now been nearly seven months in the Temple—Baron de Dalberg was informed that Fouché’s intervention was not enough by itself, and that a pardon for the prisoner had been submitted to the Emperor, who was about to leave Paris for a campaign in Spain, but he had refused to sign it. The situation became serious. Dalberg fully recognized the difficulty which he would experience in delivering the unfortunate Baron from prison; for he was looked upon as “an English Agent,” and, as such, infinitely more an object of suspicion than if he had been an emissary of any other Power. The hatred of England was then at its height, and Napoleon’s sentiment was that an English spy deserved to be taken care of, and, indeed, well taken care of. D’Auerweck could not deny that he had at one time been in the service of the hated nation; for all that, he laid claim to being a subject of Baden.
The weeks rolled by, and d’Auerweck began to despair. He had, perhaps, a momentary glimmer of hope that his deliverance was at hand, when he became aware of an unexpected confusion and tumult in the Temple. What had happened? Was Paris once more agitated by a change of Government? Had the Emperor met with defeat? Alas! It was nothing of the kind. But Napoleon had ordered the Temple tower to be demolished, and the seventeen prisoners who were kept there had to be carted off to another lodging. They were taken to Vincennes, and d’Auerweck’s faint hope was blighted. He was more miserable than ever, and, as soon as he had settled down in his new quarters, despatched a vehement protest to Desmarets.
“What is the reason, in the name of God, that I find myself dragged from one place to another six months after the arrival of written statements which ought to have proved my innocence? If my character had again been blackened by spite, at least give me the opportunity of fixing the lie. I cannot think that any one in this world has ever been placed in a more unhappy case than I. My eyesight is impaired, my health ruined, and my wits are worn out. I can only think of my unfortunate children, ruined and deprived of every necessity, and this in the case of a man who is absolutely innocent of all wrong-doing.”
It never once occurred to him that his rigorous imprisonment might be due to some indiscretion connected with his past and with his conduct in 1795, or with the part which he had taken in the “Temple affair.” Why should these old times, which were wrapped in a mist of obscurity, be remembered? And, besides, there was no reason for suspecting anything of the kind.
Neither the Grand Duke nor his Ambassador in Paris relaxed in any degree their efforts to help the Baron, and a voluminous correspondence was carried on between Paris and the Court at Baden about him during the following years; but, to all Dalberg’s demands, Fouché replied that no one denied Baron d’Auerweck’s “perfect loyalty;” the matter depended on the Emperor’s will, and he refused to pass any final order. In order to soften Madame d’Auerweck’s affliction—for she never left them alone—supplies were regularly sent to the prisoner at Vincennes, and he was assured that his family were not being neglected or in want.
“My detention is the outcome of a lengthy series of slanderous informations,” the Baron declared over and over again, “which has been woven and pieced together, more or less cleverly, but the falseness of which has already been demonstrated to those who have been bribed to utter it.”
He was then informed that yet another accusation had been added to the former charges against him: an accusation of having published in the Moniteur, in 1799, certain letters dated from Naples, which were insulting to the First Consul: Now, the Journal Politique de l’Europe had at once, in the name of d’Auerweck, given the lie direct to these statements. But what had he to say for himself?
“You know perfectly well, monsieur, that for the last two years, less ten or twelve days, I have only heard the voice of the Government through the medium of the bolts which have been shot in my face.”
In this way three years slipped by, in the course of which Madame d’Auerweck (who, by the way, does not appear to have led a very virtuous life in her husband’s absence) never stopped pestering the Ambassador of Baden in Paris with her entreaties; de Ferrette, who, on his arrival in France, had succeeded Baron de Dalberg, took up the unfortunate Baron’s case, and determined to bring it to a conclusion. So as to increase the authority of his demands, he managed to interest the Minister of the King of Bavaria on d’Auerweck’s behalf, and the two combined to present a very urgent memorandum, in the summer of 1810, to the Minister of Police. This was not Fouché, for he had been degraded for the second time, and his post was occupied by Savary, the Duc de Rovigo. The two Ministers made their application to the latter.
“Yesterday, at this unpleasant ball,” Ferrette wrote on July 2, “I importuned the Duke of Rovigo to let Lord Auerweck out from Vincennes; this was just before the Emperor arrived. He said to me: ‘His case is not unpardonable, but you may rest assured that we are not keeping him locked up like this without very good reasons. You must wait.’”