MRS. ATKYNS
An energetic and adventurous woman, the story of her life has been given to the world in a French book published a short time ago. She was, before her marriage, Miss Charlotte Walpole, an actress of Drury Lane Theatre, and I like to believe that she was in some way connected with the Walpole family to which I belong; her father, Robert Walpole, was certainly a Norfolk man, but the exact degree of his relationship to us I have never been able to discover. Certain is it, however, that she used the Walpole crest with the addition of a lion, a circumstance which might possibly point to a descent from Colonel John Walpole, a Royalist who, for his services at Cropredy Bridge, was granted such an addition to his arms. Miss Walpole, who appears to have been exceedingly fascinating, before very long captured the heart of a Norfolk squire, and after their marriage the young people took up their abode at Ketteringham Hall, old Mrs. Walpole, the bride’s mother, being installed in the Park close by in a house which has been long pulled down. Curiously enough, flowers still come up in the spring-time at this spot, which yet retains the name of Madame Walpole’s garden. After a short time passed in Norfolk, Mr. and Mrs. Atkyns went to Versailles, where, introduced into the intimate entourage of Marie Antoinette by the Duchesse de Polignac, the lady conceived a respectful veneration for the unfortunate Queen, which, in after-years, caused her to penetrate, disguised as a member of the National Guard, into the prison of the Conciergerie. By means of a daring stratagem she actually contrived to obtain admission to the cell in which Marie Antoinette lay, her intention being to inform the Queen of a plan of escape. At the moment, however, of handing the royal captive a bouquet of flowers, the missive which was concealed amongst its leaves fell to the ground, when Mrs. Atkyns, seeing that a gaoler was about to read it, snatched the note from his hands and without a moment’s hesitation swallowed it. Later on Mrs. Atkyns was the chief organiser of several attempts to save the Dauphin, and expended some very large sums of money in plots, actually hiring ships to lie off the French coast ready to receive the young Prince should one of the efforts made to rescue him prove successful.
Living to a great age, the poor woman eventually died almost penniless in Paris as late as the year 1836, for Louis XVIII. though admitting, on his restoration, that she had devoted her life and fortune to the service of his line, would never reimburse any serious portion of the sums which the mistress of Ketteringham Hall had, with the greatest difficulty, raised upon her estate. He did once, however, under great pressure, send her some insignificant sum. Ketteringham Hall itself is now the property of Sir Francis and Lady Boileau, who, together with a few others, have, within the last year, erected a memorial tablet to the friend and would-be rescuer of Marie Antoinette. Owing to the comparative state of destitution in which the poor woman died her wish to be buried in Ketteringham church had not been respected. It is therefore pleasant to think that, owing to the kindly initiative of Lady Boileau, a memorial of her now exists close to those of her husband and son—the last members, it may be added, of a distinguished county family.
MRS. ATKYNS
There exists a print of Mrs. Atkyns engraved by Watson and Dickinson after Bunbury. In this she is represented in the character of “Nancy,” who, dressed as a young soldier, has followed her lover to the camp of Coxheath, a part which contemporary critics tell was enacted by the young actress with much dash and charm. In this character, indeed, she won the heart and hand of her Norfolk squire.
Retiring from the stage after the conclusion of the run of The Camp, her next appearance in a soldier’s dress was to be in far different surroundings. Surely when assuming the costume of the National Guard in which she set out to attempt the rescue of the captive queen, her thoughts must have flown back to those careless days in which, miniature firelock in hand, she had gone through the military exercise amidst the plaudits of the audience at “Old Drury.”
An inscription under the print runs:—
My Nancy leaves the rural plain
A camp’s distress to prove,
All other ills she can sustain