CHAPTER I

A FRIEND OF

MARIE-ANTOINETTE

(LADY ATKYNS)

[Illustration: MADAME CHARLOTTE ATKYNS.

(_After a miniature in the possession of Count Lair._)

[_Frontispiece._]

A FRIEND OF

MARIE-ANTOINETTE

(LADY ATKYNS)

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH

OF

FRÉDÉRIC BARBEY

WITH A PREFACE

BY

VICTORIEN SARDOU

OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY

[Illustration]

LONDON

CHAPMAN & HALL, LTD.

1906

PREFACE

When I brought out at the Vaudeville in 1896 my play, entitled _Paméla,

Marchande de Frivolités_, in which I had grouped together dramatically,

with what verisimilitude I could, all the various Royalist attempts

at rescuing the son of Louis XVI., the Dauphin, from the prison of

the Temple, there were certain scholars who found fault with me for

representing an Englishwoman, Lady Atkyns, as the protagonist, or at

least the prime mover in the matter of his escape. Some of them went so

far as to accuse me of having invented this character for the purpose

of my piece.

Lady Atkyns, certainly, has left but few traces of her existence; she

was a Drury Lane actress, pretty, witty, impressionable, and good--it

seems there were many such among the English actresses of the time.

Married (we shall see presently how it came about) to a peer, who gave

her wealth at least, if not happiness, and who does not appear to have

counted for much in her life, Lady Atkyns became a passionate admirer

of Marie-Antoinette; she was presented to the Queen at Versailles, and

when the latter was taken to the Temple, the responsive Englishwoman

made every effort to find her way into the prison. She succeeded by the

use of guineas, which, in spite of the hatred professed for Pitt and

Coburg, were more to the taste of certain patriots than the paper-money

of the Republic.

Lady Atkyns suggested that the Queen should escape dressed in her

costume, but the Royal prisoner would not forsake her children. There

is a tradition that in refusing the offer of her enthusiastic friend,

Marie-Antoinette besought her good offices for the young Dauphin, while

putting her on her guard against the intrigues of the Comte de Provence

and the Comte d’Artois. However, most of these facts were still in

doubt, resting only on somewhat vague statements, elliptical allusions,

and intangible bits of gossip, picked up here and there, when, one day,

my friend Lenôtre, who is great at ferreting out old papers, came to

me, all excitement, with a document which he had come upon the evening

before in a portfolio among the Archives of the Police.

It was a letter, dated May, 1821, and addressed to the Minister by the

director of the penitential establishment of Gaillon. This official was

disturbed over the proceedings of a certain “Madame Hakins or Aquins.”

Since the false Dauphin, Mathurin Bruneau, sentenced by the Court

of Rouen to five years’ imprisonment, had become an inmate of that

institution, this foreigner had installed herself at Gaillon, and had

been seeking to get into communication with the prisoner. She seemed

even to be bent upon supplying him with the means of making his escape.

I drew from this the obvious conclusion that if in 1821, Lady Atkyns

could bring herself to believe in the possibility of Mathurin Bruneau

being the son of Louis XVI., it must be because she had good reasons

for being convinced that the Dauphin had escaped from the Temple. And

this conviction of hers became of considerable importance because of

the _rôle_ she herself had played (however little one knew of it) in

the story of the Royal captivity.

It was quite clear that after her promise to the Queen, the faithful

Englishwoman, who, as we have seen, was not afraid to compromise

herself, and who was generous with her money, must have kept

in touch at least with all the facts relating to the Dauphin’s

imprisonment, learning all that was to be learnt about the Temple,

questioning everybody who could have had any contact with the young

captive--warders, messengers, doctors, and servants. If after such

investigations, and in spite of the official records and of the

announcement of his death on June 9, 1798, she could still believe

twenty-six years later that the prince might be alive, it can only be

because she was satisfied that the dead youth was not the Dauphin.

Had she herself got the Dauphin out of prison? Or had she merely had

a hand in the rescue? By what process of reasoning had she been able

to persuade herself that an adventurer such as this Bruneau, whose

imposture was manifest, could be the Dauphin? Why, if she believed that

the Prince had been carried away from the Temple, had she kept silence

so long? If this was not her belief, why did she interest herself in

one of those who had failed most pitifully in the impersonation of the

prince? Lenôtre and I could find no answer to all these questions. To

throw light upon them, it would have been necessary to undertake minute

researches into the whole life of Lady Atkyns, following her about

from place to place, learning where she lived during the Revolution,

ascertaining the dates of all her sojourns in Paris, studying all the

facts of her existence after 1795, together with the place and date of

her death, the names of her heirs, the fate of her correspondence and

other papers--a very laborious piece of work, still further complicated

by the certainty that it would be necessary to start out upon one’s

investigations in England. We did not abandon all idea of the task,

however; but time lacked--time always lacks!--and we talked of it as a

task that must wait for a year of leisure, knowing only too well that

the year of leisure would never come.

Chance, upon which we should always count, settled the matter for us.

Chance brought about a meeting between Lenôtre and a young writer, just

out of the École des Chartes, M. Frédéric Barbey, very well informed,

both through his earlier studies and through family connections,

concerning what it is customary to designate “la Question Louis XVII.”

M. Barbey had the necessary leisure, and he was ready to undertake

any kind of journey that might be entailed; he revelled in the idea of

the difficulties to be coped with in what would be to him an absorbing

task. Lenôtre introduced him to me, and I felt certain from the first

that the matter was in good hands. M. Barbey, in truth, is endowed

with all the very rare qualities essential to this kind of research--a

boundless patience, the _flair_ of a collector, the _aplomb_ of an

interviewer, complete freedom from prejudice, and the indomitable

industry and ardent zeal of an apostle.

M. Barbey set out for England at once, and came back a fortnight later,

already possessed of a mass of valuable information regarding the

early life of our English Royalist, including this specific item: Lady

Atkyns died in Paris, in the Rue de Lille, in 1836. An application to

the _greffe de paix_ of the _arrondissement_ resulted in M. Barbey’s

obtaining the name of the notary who had the drawing up of the deeds of

succession. At the offices of the present courteous possessor of the

documents, after any amount of formalities and delays and difficulties,

over which his untiring pertinacity enabled him to triumph, he was at

last placed in possession of an immense pile of dusty papers, which had

not been touched for nearly seventy years: the entire correspondence

addressed to Lady Atkyns from 1792 down to the time of her death.

That was a red-letter day! From the very first letters that were looked

at, it seemed that henceforth all doubts would be at an end: the Royal

youth had assuredly been carried away from the Temple! Between the

lines, beneath all the studiously vague and discreet wording of the

correspondence, we were able to follow, in one letter after another,

all the plotting and planning of the escape, the anxieties of the

conspirators, the precautions they had to take, the disappointments,

the treacheries, the hopes.... At last, we were on the threshold of the

actual day of the escape! Another week would find us face to face with

the Dauphin! Three days more...! To-morrow...! Alas! our disappointment

was great--almost as great as that of Lady Atkyns’s fellow-workers. The

boy never came into their hands. _Did_ he escape? Everything points

to his having done so, but everything points also to his having been

spirited away out of their hands just as he was being embarked for

England, where Lady Atkyns awaited feverishly the coming of the child

she called her King--her King to whose cause she made her vows, but on

whose face she was destined probably never to set eyes, and whose fate

was for ever to remain to her unknown.

Such is the story we are told in this book of Frédéric Barbey’s--a

painful, saddening, exasperating story, extracted (is it necessary to

add?) from documents of incontestable authenticity, now made use of for

the first time.

But can it be said to satisfy fully our curiosity? Is it the last

word on this baffling “Question Louis XVII.,” the bibliography of

which runs already to several hundreds of volumes? Of course not! The

record of Lady Atkyns’s attempts at rescuing the Prince is a singularly

important contribution to the study of the problem, but does not solve

it. What became of the boy after he was released? Was this boy that

they released the real Prince, or is there question of a substitute

already at this stage? Did Marie-Antoinette’s devoted adherent succeed

merely in being the dupe of the people in her pay? At the period of her

very first efforts, may not the Dauphin have been already far from the

Temple--hidden away somewhere, perhaps gone obscurely to his death, in

the house of some disreputable person to whom his identity was unknown?

For must we not place some reliance upon the assertions of the wife of

Simon the shoemaker, who declared she had carried off the Prince at a

date seven months earlier than the first steps taken by Lady Atkyns? It

is all a still insoluble problem, the most complex, the most difficult

problem that the perspicacity of historians has ever been called upon

to solve.

The most important result of this new study is that it relegates to the

field of fiction the books of Beauchesne, Chantelauze, La Sicotière,

and Eckart among others; that it disproves absolutely the assertions

of the official history of these events--the assertion that there is

no room for doubt that the Dauphin never left his cell, that he lived

and suffered and died there. Henceforward, it is an established fact,

absolutely irrefutable, that during nearly five months, from November,

1794, to March, 1795, the child in the jailer’s hands was not the son

of Louis XVI., but a substitute, and mute. How did this deception end?

Was the issue what was expected? The matter is not cleared up; but that

this substitution of the Prince was effected is now beyond dispute,

and this revelation, instead of throwing light upon the impenetrable

obscurity of the drama, renders it still more dense. This mute boy

substituted for the boy in prison, who was himself possibly but a

substitute; these sly and foolish guardians who succeed to each other,

muddling their own brains and mystifying each other; these doctors who

are called to the bedside of the dying Prince, and who, like Pelletan,

long afterwards invent stories about his death-bed sufferings--though

at the actual time of his death they were either so careless or so

cunning as to draw up an unmeaning _procès-verbal_, as to the bearing

of which commentators for more than a century have been unable to

agree;--all these official statements which establish nothing; the

interment recorded in three separate ways by the three functionaries

who were witnesses; the obvious, manifest, admitted doubt, which

survived in the minds of Louis XVIII. and the Duchesse d’Angoulême; the

manœuvres of the Restoration Government, which could so easily have

elucidated the question, and which, by _maladresse_ or by guilefulness,

made it impenetrable, by removing the most important documents from the

national archives; finally, the foolish performances of the fifteen or

so lying adventurers who attempted to pass themselves off as so many

dauphins escaped from the Temple, and each of whom had his devoted

adherents, absolutely convinced of his being the real prince, and whose

absurd effusions, when not venal, combine to produce the effect of an

inextricable maze; these were the factors of the “Question Louis XVII.”

The worst of it all is that one must overlook no detail: it is only by

disproving and eliminating that we can succeed in bringing out isolated

facts--solid, indisputable facts that shall serve as stepping-stones to

future revelations.

It is necessary to study, scrutinize, and reflect. One opinion alone is

to be condemned as indubitably wrong: that of the historians who see

nothing in all this worthy of investigation and of discussion, to whom

the story of the Dauphin is all quite clear and intelligible, and who

go floundering about over the whole ground with the calm serenity of

the blind, assured of the freedom of their road from obstruction, and

that they cannot see the obstacles in their way. Frédéric Barbey’s work

unveils too many incontestable facts of history for it to be possible

henceforth for any one to see in this marvellous enigma nothing but

fantasies and inventions.

VICTORIEN SARDOU.

INTRODUCTION

To tell once again the oft-told story of Queen Marie-Antoinette; to go

over anew all the familiar episodes of her sojourn at the Tuileries,

her captivity in the Temple, her appearance before the Revolutionary

tribunal, and her death; to append some hitherto undiscovered detail to

the endless piles of writings inspired by these events, and in our turn

sit in judgment alike upon her conduct and the conduct of her enemies,

and, as a natural sequence, upon the Revolution, its work and its

issues: to do any or all of these things has not been our intention.

This book has a less ambitious aim--that of restoring the picture

of a woman, a foreigner, who was brought by chance one day to

Versailles on the eve of the catastrophe, whom the Queen honoured

with her friendship, and who knew no rest until she had expended all

her energy and all her wealth in efforts to procure the liberty not

only of Marie-Antoinette herself, but of those belonging to her. How

Lady Atkyns set out upon her project, whom she got to help her, what

grounds for hope she had, and what hindrances and disappointments she

experienced, the degrees of success and of failure that attended all

her attempts--these are the matters we have sought to deal with.

In the maze of her plots and plans, necessarily mixed up with

the enterprises of the _émigrés_ and of the agents of the

counter-revolution--up above the network of all these machinations

within France and without--one luminous point shines forth always

as the goal of every project: the tower of the Temple. All around

the venerable building strain and struggle the would-be rescuers of

its prisoners. Its name, now famous, instils into the Royalist world

something of the terror that went forth of old from the Bastille. What

went on exactly inside the dungeon from 1792 to 1795? The question,

so often canvassed by contemporaries, is still where it was, crying

out for an answer. However hackneyed may seem the matter of the

Dauphin’s imprisonment, we have not felt warranted in deliberately

avoiding it. Had we been so minded when embarking upon this study (the

voluminous bibliography of the subject is calculated to discourage

the historian!), we should in any case have been forced into its

investigation by a heap of hitherto unpublished documents which we

unearthed.

This leads us to the enumeration of the sources whence we have drawn

the materials for our work.

All that has been hitherto known of Lady Atkyns amounts to very little.

M. de la Sicotière, coming upon her name in the course of his study of

the life of Louis de Frotté, refers to her merely in a brief note,

necessarily incomplete.[1] Four years later, M. V. Delaporte, on

the occasion of the centenary of Marie Antoinette, published in his

_Études_ a correspondence in which the name of the Queen’s English

friend repeatedly appeared. These papers caught our attention. Under

the friendly guidance of M. Delaporte we sought to recover the papers

which Lady Atkyns left behind her on her death. In the course of

systematic researches, into the nature of which we need not enter here,

we were enabled by an unlooked-for piece of good luck to lay hands upon

the entire collection of Lady Atkyns’s correspondence, covering her

whole life. This correspondence, docketed and arranged by the notary

entrusted with the regulating of the affairs of the deceased, was found

lying in the archives of the notary’s study, where, by the permission

of the present owner of the documents, I was able to consult them.

The letters are all originals. Some of them, of which copies had

been made by some one unidentified, had been destined probably for

use in supporting claims put forward by Lady Atkyns. Many letters,

unfortunately, are missing, having been confided by the too trustful

lady to members of the Royal Household or to Louis XVIII. himself.

To know what value to attach to these letters, it was necessary to

know something about the writers. Apart from General Louis de Frotté,

who has been made the subject of a detailed biography, the characters

mixed up with Lady Atkyns’s adventures appear for the first time upon

the stage of history.

The _Archives Nationales_, and those of the Ministry for War and the

Ministry for Foreign Affairs, enable us to recall these forgotten

worthies with sufficient accuracy. We have made use in the same way of

the Municipal Archives of Dunkerque in our account of the flight of

the Chevalier de Conterne and his companion out of the kingdom; of the

Archives of Lille; and of the Archives of the Grand Duchy of Baden,

preserved at Carlsbad.

This bald enumeration suffices to indicate the spirit in which our

task has been conceived and carried out. In a question such as

this, obscured and confused by any number of dubious second-hand

and third-hand testimonies and untrustworthy narratives, it was

necessary to get hold of absolutely irrefutable documents. Letters

from contemporaries seemed to us to fulfil better than anything else

the conditions thus imposed. They have made it possible for us to

supplement in large measure the information acquired from the Archives

of the State: many of these letters are derived from private family

archives which have most generously been placed at our disposal.

Thanks to these friendly helpers, we have succeeded in completing a

task undertaken in a spirit of filial affection. We cannot forget

her who guided and took part in our researches and helped with her

sympathy and encouragement. To her it is that we must make our first

acknowledgment of indebtedness, and then to the historian to whom this

book is inscribed, and whose valued and assiduous help we have never

lacked.

We have to express our gratitude also to all those who have helped us

with their advice and good offices: the Duc de La Tremoïlle, Member of

the Institute; the Marquis de Frotté; Comte Lair; General de Butler;

our lamented _confrère_, M. Parfouru, archivist of the Department

of Ille-et-Vilaine; and to M. Coyecque; M. Lucien Lazard, assistant

archivist of the Department of the Seine; M. Schmidt, keeper of the

_Archives Nationales_; M. Desplanque, municipal librarian at Lille; M.

Georges Tassez, keeper of the Lille Archives; M. Edmond Biré; M. le

Dr. Obser, the learned editor of the political correspondence of Karl

Friedrichs von Baden; M. Léonce Pingaud; M. Barthélemy Pocquat; our

colleague and friend, M. E. L. Bruel; and to Mr. Freeman O’Donoghue, of

the Print Room of the British Museum.

PARIS,

_March 22, 1905_.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The particulars given by O. Alger in _Englishmen in the French

Revolution_, London, 1889, pp. 125-126, reproducing and condensing

information already available, including that which we owe to the

Comtesse MacNamara, are not of any interest.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. THE CHEVALIER DE FROTTÉ 1

II. LONDON 36

III. THE ODYSSEY OF A BRETON MAGISTRATE 69

IV. THE MYSTERY OF THE TEMPLE 94

V. THE MYSTERY OF THE TEMPLE (_continued_) 125

VI. THE FRIENDS OF LADY ATKYNS 139

VII. THE “LITTLE BARON” 166

VIII. AFTER THE STORM 206

EPILOGUE 229

APPENDIX 235

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

MADAME CHARLOTTE ATKYNS _Frontispiece_

(_After a miniature in the possession of Count Lair._)

TO FACE PAGE

CHARLOTTE WALPOLE, IN “THE CAMP” 12

(_After an engraving in the British Museum._)

JEAN-GABRIEL PELTIER, 1765-1825 44

(_After an engraving in the British Museum._)

MARIE-PIERRE-LOUIS, COUNT DE FROTTÉ, 1766-1800 140

(_After a portrait belonging to the Marquis de Frotté._)

A FRIEND OF

MARIE-ANTOINETTE

(LADY ATKYNS)

CHAPTER I

THE CHEVALIER DE FROTTÉ

At dawn, on April 7, 1790, a singular disturbance was going on in the

streets of Lille. In the northern districts, not far from the citadel,

troops of soldiers stood all along the avenues, filled the squares,

ransacked the courtyards of the houses. Shots went off every instant,

and the extraordinary thing was that this fusillade from the soldiers

was directed against other soldiers. In the midst of the smoke, the

deafening noise, and the cries of the awakened townsfolk, were to be

seen the blue uniforms, with sky-blue facings, of the Regiment of the

Crown, one of the four quartered in the garrison.[2]

Every horseman who appeared was greeted with successive volleys;

evidently the combat was to the death between the light cavalry of

Normandy, who charged upon the pavements or fought on foot with their

muskets, and the grenadiers of the Crown and of the Royal-Vaisseaux.

Moreover, there was no order in this street-fight. The officers on both

sides were absent, and if by any chance some _had_ been present, the

excitement and anger visible upon the assailants’ faces were a proof

that their intervention would have been useless.

Riot, in fact, was reigning in the city of Lille, the capital of

the province; and this time law and order were being upset by

those whose duty it was to make them respected. But the town,

with its 80,000 inhabitants, had for months been going, nervously

and anxiously, through a succession of anything but encouraging

episodes. The convocation of the States General, the formation of the

Garde Nationale, the creation of the Municipality, and, two months

earlier (in February), the administrative upset which thrilled the

province--all this, added to the distress of the kingdom, to the

general misery, to the exaggerated price of food, and to the ruin of

commerce, had brought about several outbreaks in this manufacturing

town, naturally dependent upon its trade for its well-being. And, at

the very moment that there came from Paris the most alarming news--that

is, on April 29, 1789 (coinciding almost day for day with the sacking

of the Reveillon factory) pillage had its first innings at Lille also;

the bakeries were invaded; and three months later four houses were

attacked by the mob and burnt down.

Of the troops which then composed the garrison of Lille, one part had

taken up their quarters in the town; these were the regiments of the

Crown and of the Royal-Vaisseaux. The other, consisting of the light

cavalry of Normandy and the infantry of Colonel-General, the leading

French regiment, were lodged at the citadel, that imposing fortress

which is Vauban’s masterpiece. Certain signs of insubordination had

crept into the two former regiments; the revolutionary spirit was

working actively in the men, and was favoured by the permanent contact

with the inhabitants in which these two regiments lived. More remote

from this influence, away off in the citadel, the “Colonel-Generals”

cherished sentiments of whole-hearted devotion to the King; moreover,

they had over them a body of officers whose unadulterated royalism was

to display itself in the events which we shall now endeavour to set

forth. As matters were, the least thing would let loose these warring

elements in the garrison upon one another. And what finally did it?

A mere nothing, a scuffle that broke out on the evening of April 8,

between the chasseurs and the grenadiers--some say a duel. At any

rate, two soldiers were killed on the spot.... Instantly cavalry and

infantry take sides for their respective comrades. During the night a

general attack is talked of, on both sides. The officers get wind of

it; but, unluckily, two of the colonels are on leave. The Marquis de

Livarot, commandant of the province, tries to restore peace by holding

a meeting of delegates from each corps; he believes he has succeeded,

but scarcely has he left them when the fusillade breaks out again in

every direction.

The “Colonel-Generals” had remained neutral until then; discipline,

so carefully maintained by the commanding officers, had prevailed

with the men. But when, in the evening, they saw the _chasseurs_ of

Normandy falling back on the citadel for refuge, these their comrades

of the infantry opened the gates to them, brought them in and joined

cause with them, refusing any longer to listen to their officers, who

still strove for peace. They carried things, indeed, even further

than that. M. de Livarot and M. de Montrosier--that last lieutenant

of the King--on coming out of the gate which led into the square, saw

that they were surrounded by a group of mutineers, whose attitude was

menacing. Despite the efforts of the few officers who were present,

these two were dragged into a casemate, where their situation was

simply that of prisoners.

During this time the most sinister rumours were circulating in the

town, kept alive by the infantry of the Crown and the Royal-Vaisseaux

regiments. People expected nothing less than to see the cannons of the

citadel open their throats and vomit down grape-shot on the populace.

Shortly, on the walls of the houses and in the _cafés_, the uneasy

citizens might read a strange proclamation, at the authorship of which

all the world could guess. It opened with this apostrophe:--

“LET US BEWARE, CITIZENS,

LET US BEWARE,

_and thrice: Let us beware_. We are deceived, we are betrayed, we are

sold!... But we are not yet ruined; we have our weapons! _The infernal

Fitz-James_[3] is gone with all his crew ... they have contented

themselves with keeping back a useless lot.

“_Livaro, the infamous Livaro_, is said to be in our citadel;

_Montrosier_, the atrocious author of all our ills, sleeps peacefully.

“The soldiers, whom they have tried to corrupt, offer these men to

us.... What are we waiting for? Why do we not show all France that we

are _Citizens_, that we are _Patriots_? Is it for the orders of our

Commandant that we look? But has not the _aristocrat_ of _Orgères_

already shown us how unworthy he is of the place which we have blindly

entrusted to him?... He commands us only that he may lead us into the

abyss. Seconded by his sycophant, _Carette_, and by the traitors whom

our cowardice leaves in command over us; leagued with the heads of

all the aristocratic intrigues, he now seeks to alienate from us our

brave comrades of the Crown, and of Royal-des-Vaisseaux. Shall we let

them go? No; ... but we will march with them.... We will go and seize

_Livarot_, _Montrosier_, and deliver them up, bound hand and foot, to

the utmost severity of the august National Assembly!

“Why are not our conscript Fathers convoked? Is the General Council of

the Commune a mere phantom? Is the blood of our citizens less precious

than vile pecuniary interests? Would not our secret enemies flinch

before the enlightenment and the patriotism of our Notables? _Ah!

Citizens! Let us beware, and once more let us beware!_”

At an extraordinary meeting at the Maison de Ville, the Municipality

had convoked the General Council; and, in the interval they received a

deputation from the troops of the citadel, assuring the inhabitants of

Lille of their good intentions: “The regiments of the Colonel-General,

and of the Chasseurs de Normandie” (said the envoys) “protest to the

townsfolk that it has never entered into their heads to cause the least

alarm to the citizens, of whom until now they have known nothing that

was not admirable;” and they also announced that two delegates had been

sent to Paris, on a mission to the National Assembly and to the King.

The whole night went by, and no solution had been found. Towards

four o’clock the two regiments which had stayed in town were about

to leave it on the persuasion of the town councillors; but the City

Guard would not let them go, and thus, on the morning of April 10, the

same difficulties had to be faced anew. But this situation could not

continue. Messengers are despatched to Paris, and with them are sent

denunciators of the “infamous” Livarot, whose conduct is considered

suspicious; and for eight days he is kept under surveillance at the

citadel, in defiance of the Royal authority with which he is invested.

Meanwhile, the officer delegated by the “Colonel-Generals” was making

his way to Paris. Despite the importance of the mission, it was a

young lieutenant who had been chosen for it; but the coolness he

had shown all through the episode, and his determined and energetic

attitude, had designated him at once as the man to be selected. Louis

de Frotté was born at Alençon on August 5, 1766.[4] Of noble lineage

(his family had been established in Normandy since the fifteenth

century), he had inherited the sentiments of duty and fidelity to his

King and of devotion to that King’s cause. Left motherless at the

age of six,[5] educated first at Caen, then at Versailles, in the

school of Gorsas,[6] he had entered as supernumerary sub-lieutenant,

in 1781, the regiment of “Colonel-General,” then garrisoned at Lille.

The young officer attracted every one by his generous, liberal, and

affectionate character, and by his strong sense of comradeship. It was

in the regiment that he contracted those solid friendships which were

afterwards so beneficial to him, such, for instance, as that of the

Prince de la Tremoïlle, and of a Norman gentleman named Vallière.

A short stay at Besançon had broken up the long months in garrison at

Lille; then he had returned to that town, where the disturbances of

which we are speaking had come to diversify the somewhat monotonous way

of existence which is inseparable from garrison life.

Filled with hope for the result of his mission, Frotté rode swiftly to

Paris. The prospect of seeing the King, of narrating to him, as well as

to the War Minister, Le Tour du Pin, the recent occurrences at Lille,

of assuring him of the fidelity of the regiment, of obtaining some

tolerably satisfactory solution of the critical situation--all this

was spurring on our cavalier. And the thought of soon getting back to

Lille, his mission crowned with success, of reappearing before certain

eyes to which he was not insensible--everything combined to make him

forget the length of the journey.

His stay at Paris was a short one. The future chief of the _chouans_

of Normandy realized one of his greatest wishes in being admitted to

an audience with the King; but the position of the Royal Family in the

midst of the prevailing effervescence of feeling, and the atmosphere

of hostility which surrounded them, filled his heart with foreboding

thoughts. Burning with devotion, powerless to make valid offers to

the King, Frotté--who had suggested the bringing together at Lille of

a nucleus of reliable troops, absolutely to be trusted--regained the

garrison at the end of a few days, for it had been made clear to him

that Louis XVI. did not wish to share in his youthful ardour and its

projects. He had, however, succeeded thoroughly in the official part of

his task. When confronted with a deputation from the hostile regiments

of the Crown and of the Royal-Vaisseaux, who came in their turn to

plead their cause, the representative of the Colonel-Generals had been

able to cope with them in defence of his own interests; he came back,

bringing with him an order for the alteration of the whole garrison.

The Colonel-Generals were transferred to Dunkirk, the three others were

sent out of the province. As to the unfortunate Marquis de Livarot,

who was still a prisoner at the citadel, a mandate from the Minister

summoned him to Paris, there to answer for his conduct. Needless

to say, he cleared himself of every accusation, and was entirely

rehabilitated.

Frotté did not spend in idleness the few days which preceded the

departure of his regiment. Besides the ordinary arrangements--the

giving up of his place of abode, the packing of his affairs, the paying

of his debts; besides the friends to whom he had to bid farewell;

in short, besides the thousand ties that are contracted during a

stay of nine years in a town which is not among the smallest in the

kingdom, there was, in the Rue Princesse, at a few minutes’ walk from

the citadel, a one-storeyed house of unimposing exterior, whose door

had often opened to receive the young officer. The prospect of not

returning there for a long time filled his heart with distress and

regret. For some months this house had been inhabited by a foreigner,

an English lady, who had come to Lille with a reputation for grace and

beauty which had proved to be not unmerited. At that time there was

already in Lille quite a colony of English people, who were attracted

there either by the proximity of their own country and the closeness of

Paris, or by the commercial prosperity of the place and its numerous

industries. In the census returns of the town at the beginning of the

Revolution, and also in the taxation assessments, we have come across

many names of evident British origin. But the remarkable thing about

the new-comers at the Rue Princesse, was that they had not arrived from

England, but from Versailles. They were very soon received by the best

society of Lille, and questions began to circulate about them, every

one trying to penetrate a certain mystery which hung about their past

life.

Let us, in our turn, attempt to lift the veil, and to find out

something about the English lady who is to be the heroine of this work.

Charlotte Walpole, who was born probably about 1758,[7] bore a name

that in the United Kingdom is illustrious among the illustrious. Was

she a direct descendant of Sir Robert Walpole, Earl of Oxford, the

celebrated statesman who administered English politics for some years

under George I.? It is difficult to ascertain.

The youngest of three daughters,[8] Charlotte probably passed all

her youth in the county of Norfolk, the cradle of her family, under

that gloomy sky, in that ever-moist climate, in the midst of those

emerald green pastures which make that part of England one of the

great agricultural districts. The tranquil, melancholy charm of the

scenery there, the immense flocks of sheep and goats browsing in the

pastures, the wide horizon, unlimited except by the heavy clouds which

hang eternally over the land--all this fastened upon the imagination of

the girl, naturally of a very enthusiastic temperament, and developed

in her that indefinable charm which struck all who knew her. Her

large eyes, enhanced by very marked eyebrows, had an infinitely sweet

expression. The only existing portrait of her depicts her with her hair

dressed in the fashion of the time--her dark curls lightly tied with

a slender ribbon, and falling back, carelessly, on her forehead. She

had a most original mind, a face which changed and lit up with every

passing mood, and an expression all her own, which made her, as it

were, a unique personality. All this is enough explanation of why, at

nineteen, Charlotte Walpole went to London, with the idea of making use

of her talents on the stage.

The capital of England could then boast of only three theatres, of

which the most frequented, Drury Lane, which ranked as Theatre Royal,

is still in existence, and preserves intact its ancient reputation. It

was there that, on October 2, 1777, at the opening of the theatrical

season, Miss Walpole made her first appearance in a piece called _Love

in a Village,_[9] a comedy probably in the same _genre_ as those of

O’Keefe, and then very much to the public taste, which was growing

weary of the brutal and licentious farces of the preceding centuries.

Five days later Miss Walpole reappeared in _The Quaker,_ and the week

after she was seen in the _role_ of “Jessica” in _The Merchant of

Venice_, one of Shakespeare’s masterpieces. After having played, in the

spring of 1778, in _The Waterman_, her success seemed assured; on May

2, _Love in a Village_ was given again for her benefit, and she then

filled to perfection the part of “Rosetta”; the season terminated ten

days later with a representation of _The Beggars’ Opera_, by John Gay.

There can be no doubt that the young actress had found her vocation,

and that, moreover, with the consent of her family. But, as a matter of

fact, there did not then prevail in England the sort of disfavour that

so often attaches to a theatrical career in a certain set of society.

Miss Walpole’s experience is a proof of this. During the summer, which

she most probably spent in the country, she sought to cultivate her

talents, and so well did she succeed that in the season, which reopened

on September 15, 1778, she was seen again in London, eager to gather

fresh laurels. This time she appeared in costume, in a sort of operetta

entitled _The Camp_, which had a tremendous success all that winter.

The piece, an imitation of Sheridan by Tickell, represented the arsenal

and the camp at Coxheath, and Miss Walpole, as “Nancy,” took the part

of a young soldier, and filled it most admirably, a contemporary author

informs us.[10] We have found an engraving which represents her in

this costume, doubtless a souvenir of the plaudits which she then

received. In the month of April, 1779, she appears again in other

pieces by Farquhar. After this, the bills for us have nothing to say;

Miss Walpole’s name is not to be found in them.

[Illustration:

_W H Bunbury Delinᵗ._ _Watson & Dickinson Excudᵗ._

CHARLOTTE WALPOLE, IN “THE CAMP.”

(_After an engraving in the British Museum._)

[_To face page 12._]

To what must one attribute this sudden silence, this disappearance

from the stage, just when so fair a future seemed opening before the

actress? To a determination brought about by her very success itself

and by the charm she exercised. Several times during the winter a young

man had been seen at Drury Lane, who occupied a front stall and watched

very keenly the acting of the graceful young recruit of Coxheath; so

that there was no very great astonishment expressed when, on June 18,

1779, _The Gentleman’s Magazine_, in its society column, announced

the marriage of Sir Edward Atkyns with Miss Charlotte Walpole, of the

Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.[11] “The pretty Miss Atkyns”--that was

henceforth to be her appellation in London, and all over Norfolk!

If the Walpoles could boast of an illustrious descent, the Atkyns’ in

this respect were in no wise inferior to them. In this family, where

the Christian names are handed down from generation to generation,

that of Edward is, as it were, immutable! Illustrious personages are

by no means wanting. An Atkyns had been Chancellor of the Exchequer

in the seventeenth century; his son had built a splendid manor-house,

Ketteringham, in the same county of Norfolk; at his death he left it

to his grand-nephew, who, in his turn, bequeathed it to the fortunate

husband of Miss Walpole.

The young couple took up their abode in this antique mansion of

Ketteringham Hall, the name of which will often recur in this

narrative. They appear to have lived peacefully there for some years,

coming only for a few weeks in mid-winter to London. “Happy is the

nation that has no history,” says the proverb; and it is equally true

that happy folk have none. So we will certainly not, in the absence of

any material, create one for these young people.

Nevertheless, it is well to mention the account given of them by a

friend of our heroine, the Countess MacNamara, who seems to have been

very well acquainted with the different particulars of her life. She

tells us that the young couple, who, if we are to believe her, had not

many friends in England, decided to go to the Continent, and live at

Versailles.[12] (The explanation does not seem a very plausible one.)

There the charm of the young wife, her pretty voice, the receptions

which she soon began to give, and to which, thanks to her husband’s

wealth, she was able to lend so much brilliancy, opened to her quickly

the doors of all the society connected with the Court. In the Queen’s

set, the beautiful Duchess de Polignac, in particular, took a great

fancy to this graceful foreigner; and was desirous, in her turn, to

make her known to her august friend. Thus it came about that Lady

Atkyns was introduced into the circle of Marie-Antoinette’s intimates.

Even more completely than the others, the new-comer fell under the

Queen’s spell. A current of ardent sympathy established itself

between the two women. They were united by a deep and intimate mutual

comprehension and sympathy. For any one who knew Lady Atkyns, it was

certain that these first impressions would not fade, but that they

would prove to be, on the contrary, the first-fruits of an unalterable

friendship. These are the only materials one has for the details of

that sojourn at Versailles. When exactly did the Atkynses resolve upon

this move? Their only child, a son, must have been born before it took

place. What were their plans in coming to the Court? All these are

insoluble problems.

They were probably at Versailles when the first revolutionary troubles

broke out. They were present, perhaps, at the opening of the States

General, that great national function; and they were among those who

shuddered at the taking of the Bastille. When the October days brought

back the Royal family in a mournful procession to Paris, the young

couple were already gone--already too far away to enter into the

anxieties and sufferings of those whom they loved.

A brief mention, a few words found after patient research, in dusty

registers, tell us enough to make us certain of their fate. This is

one of the joys of the explorer in this sort--to find buried under the

waste of years of accumulated official papers, a feeble light, a tiny,

isolated indication, which opens, none the less, an infinite horizon

before him.

In the autumn of the year 1789, an Englishwoman, named by the officials

charged with the collection of a special poll-tax, Milady Charlotte,

arrived at Lille with one servant.[13]

In December, she installed herself in the parish of St. André, in a

house in the Rue Princesse, then numbered 337, which belonged to a

gentleman named De Drurez. Of her husband there is no mention, nor is

her surname given. Probably she had stayed some time at an inn, before

settling down in Rue Princesse; but what is to be concluded from so

vague an appellation as “Milady Charlotte”? Why did she conceal half

her name? Nevertheless, at Lille there is some information to be had

about her. We know that she was pensioned upon the Royal Treasury,

since she is described as a French pensioner.

In the following year she increases her establishment, keeping one more

servant; her poll-tax, which had been 14 louis, now rises to 16. We may

add here that, in order to satisfy our curiosity, we have examined--but

in vain--the lists of the pensioners from the Royal Treasury at that

period; there is no mention anywhere either of Milady Charlotte

or of Lady Atkyns--not even in those which relate to the Queen’s

household.[14]

By what right did she enjoy this pension? By the same, probably,

as so many of those favoured folk whose names fill the famous

_red-books_--the books whose publication was to let loose the fury of

the half of France upon the Court and the nobility, because they showed

so plainly what treasures had been swallowed up in that abyss.

As we have said, the documents say nothing of the presence of Edward

Atkyns at Lille--nothing, that is, with one exception, which, delicate

as it is, cannot be passed over in silence. Had disunion already

crept into the household? Had the pretty girl from Drury Lane found

out too late that he to whom she had given her heart and her life

was no longer entirely worthy of her gifts? Perhaps. At any rate, on

March 20, 1791, the curate of the parish of St. Catherine at Lille

baptized a male child, son “of Geneviève Leglen, native of Lille,”

whose father declared himself to be Edward Atkyns.[15] Henceforth this

last individual disappears completely from the scene in which we are

interested; we shall merely learn that in 1794 Charlotte Atkyns was

left a widow.

* * * * *

This somewhat lengthy digression was necessary in order to portray

the lady whom Frotté was to designate as “That heroic and perfect

being,” and who was to take such a hold upon his life. How did they

become acquainted? Probably very quickly, in one of the numerous

drawing-rooms where Lille society congregated, at balls, at the

theatre, in the concert-hall. The white tunic, with red facings, of

the “Colonel-Generals” was eagerly welcomed everywhere. As one of

his friends wrote to Frotté: “All the decent people in the town will

be delighted to see the uniform, if you wear it there!” And one can

imagine the long talks that the young officer had with his fair friend

in that winter of ’89--talks that circled always around one precious

topic. Already full of Royalist feeling, Frotté grew enthusiastic for

the Queen’s cause, as he listened to the stories about Versailles, to

the reminiscences of her kindness, her charm, her affectionate ways--of

the thousand characteristics, so faithfully recounted by the friend who

had come under her influence.[16]

One can divine all the advice, all the prudent counsels which were

impressed upon our young lieutenant on his departure for Paris.

Everything combined to make him eager to offer his services to the King

and his belongings. We have seen that his efforts were unsuccessful;

but the journey had not been entirely fruitless, since it had enabled

him to bring back to his friend some news of the woman she so loved.

At the end of April the good folk of Lille were to bid farewell

to the regiments which had caused them so much anxiety. While the

Colonel-Generals were leaving the town by the Dunkirk Gate, the

townspeople were watching the long columns of the Normandy _chasseurs_,

the grenadiers of the Crown, and the Royal-Vaisseaux disappearing in

different directions. What had been a partial failure in Lille was to

break out again three months later, in another part of the kingdom,

for the affray there was but the prelude to the revolt of the troops

of Chateauvieux, at Nancy, and to many other risings. The army, in

fact, was every day becoming more and more infected by the spirit of

revolution, which crept in somehow, despite all discipline and all

respect for the commanding officers. And the army was no untilled

field; it was well prepared for the seed of the Revolution, which lost

no time in taking root there.

This explains the discouragement which nearly all the officers felt.

They were gentlemen of unflinching Royalist sympathies, but they

perceived the fruitlessness of their efforts to re-establish discipline

and to preserve their authority. Frotté was especially a prey to

this feeling. We shall see that during his time at Dunkirk he found

it impossible to conquer the hopeless lassitude that was growing on

him. And yet Dunkirk is not far from Lille, and he knows that he has

left behind him there a friend who will console and guide him. But

his restless, questioning turn of mind makes it difficult for him to

reconcile himself to accomplished facts. He can feel no sympathy for

this Revolution, which now strides over France as with seven-leagued

boots; he has, indeed, an instinctive repulsion for it. Frotté is an

indefatigable scribbler, and in the long idle hours of his soldier-life

he confides to paper all his fears and discouragements, while keeping

up, at the same time, a regular correspondence, especially with his

friends Vallière and Lamberville. It is a curious fact, already

commented on by his biographer, M. de la Sicotière, that this intrepid

and active officer, this flower of partisans, who spent three-fourths

of his time in warfare, was yet the most prolific of writers and

editors.

At Dunkirk he encountered among the officers of the regiment Viennois,

which shared with his own the garrison of the place, a very favourable

disposition towards his plans. His Royalist zeal, fostered by his

friendships, was to find an outlet. Already the National Assembly,

eager to secure the army on its side, had issued a decree obliging the

officers to take the oath not only to the King, but to the nation, and

to whatever Constitution might be given to France. Nothing would induce

our young gentleman to take such an oath as that. He never hesitated

for a moment, and he succeeded in influencing several of his brother

officers to think as he did. It was thus that he announced his decision

to his father:--

“You already know, my dear father, that an oath is now exacted from

us officers which disgusts every honourable and decent feeling that

I have. I _could_ not take it. I know you too well, father, not to

be certain that you would have advised me to do just what I have

done. And of course I did not depend only on my own poor judgment; I

consulted most of my brother officers, and amongst those whom I esteem

and love, I have not found _one_ who thinks differently from myself.

Our dear chief, too, M. de Théon, has been just the good fellow we

always thought him.”[17]

His friend Vallière, on hearing of his conduct and his intentions,

wrote to him in enthusiastic admiration.

“I am truly delighted to hear” (he wrote some days before his arrival

at Dunkirk) “that the regiment Viennois is almost of the same way of

thinking as our own, so that we are sure to get on well with them.

Then there _are_ still some decent Frenchmen, and some subjects who

are faithful to their one and lawful master! Alas! there are not

many of them, and one can only groan when one thinks how many old

and hitherto courageous legions ... have stained irretrievably their

ancient glory by this betrayal of their sovereign. Well, my dear

fellow, we must hope that you will have some peace now to make up for

all that you have been going through. Unfortunately, the immediate

future does not seem likely to make us forget the past, or to promise

us much happiness. If the scoundrels who are persecuting us, and

ruining all the best things in Europe, take it into their heads to

disband the Army (as one hears that they may), be sure to come here

for refuge. Everything is still quiet here.... If their fury still

pursues us, we will leave a country that has become hateful to us, and

go to some foreign shore, where there will perhaps be found some kind

folk to pity us and give us a home in their midst.”[18]

The first hint at emigration! Frotté was already thinking of it; often

he had envisaged the idea, but, before giving up all hope, he wanted to

make one last effort.

The proximity of Lille enabled him to keep up unbroken relations,

during the summer and winter of 1790, with the officers of the garrison

he had just left. A plot had even been roughly sketched out with

Lady Atkyns’ assistance; but a thousand obstacles retarded from day

to day any attempt at carrying it out, and once more our poor young

soldier was totally discouraged. Despairing of success, disgusted with

everything, he began to meditate escape from an existence which yielded

him nothing but vexations, and, little by little, he ceased to brood

seriously over the thought of suicide. He spoke of it openly and at

length to his friend Lamberville, in a strange composition which he

called _My profession of faith_, and which has been almost miraculously

preserved for us.[19] This confession is dated February 20, 1791. We

should have given it in its entirety if it were not so long.[20] After

a quasi-philosophical preamble--Frotté was addicted to that kind of

thing--he described to his friend the miserable state of mind that he

was in, with all his troubles and his griefs. In his opinion, a man who

had fallen to such depths of ill-fortune could do but one thing, and

that was, to give back to God the life which he had received from Him.

“My ideas about suicide are not” (he added) “the outcome of reading

nor of example; they are the result of much reflection. I have long

since familiarized myself with the idea of death; it no longer seems

to me a sad thing, but rather a certain refuge from the troubles of

life.... When I consider my own situation, and that of my country;

when I think of what I have been, what I am, and what I may become, I

can find no reason for valuing my own life. Moreover, I live in an age

of crime, and it is my native land that is most subjected to its sway.”

And Frotté went on to describe his past life to his friend, telling him

of the way he had behaved hitherto, of the principles that had guided

him, the hopes he had cherished in the brighter opening days of life;

then the disappointments and the discomfitures that had overwhelmed

him. The events he had lived through filled his mind with bitterness.

“I was born to be a good son and a good friend, a tender lover, a good

soldier, a loyal subject--in a word, a decent fellow. But it breaks my

heart to see how my compatriots have altered from kindly human beings

to crazy ruffians, and have so accustomed themselves to slaughter,

incendiarism, murder, and robbery, that they can never again be what

they used to be. They have trampled every virtue under foot; they

torture the hearts that still love them.... And my own profession,

soldiering, is dishonoured; there is no glory about it now; my country

is in a state of anarchy which appals me.”

Very evident in these pages, written in a delicate cramped handwriting,

is the continual bent towards self-analysis, towards minute details

of feeling, towards a lofty and remote attitude, so markedly

characteristic of Frotté’s prose.

Many pages of the thick, ribbed paper, fastened together with a

sky-blue ribbon, are filled with the same kind of reflections; then he

suddenly breaks off altogether. Had he carried out his intention? Was

that why he ceased to write? Not at all; for two months later, on April

10, there is a further confession, and the young soldier-philosopher

begins by admitting that he has changed his mind; he defends himself

on that point, and says that reflection has made him resolve to give

up such gloomy views for himself. First of all, the fear of causing

irreparable grief to his father had made him pause (and yet their

relations do not seem to have been so affectionate as of yore);[21] and

then the desire to settle certain debts, considerable enough, that he

would leave behind him.

“In fact,” (he says) “since fresh troubles are overwhelming me, I have

decided not to choose this moment for suicide. _I want to be quite

calm, on the day that I set out on the Great Journey._... The month

of August saw my birth; it shall see my death.... But I don’t want to

play for effect. I try my best to seem just the same and to let no

one guess what I am thinking of.... Then there’s another reason for

my going on with life. Since I was born a nobleman of France, I want

to do my duty as one.... My sword may still be of some use to my King

and to my friends; and since I must die, I want my death to benefit

my family and my country.... I shall fasten up this confession, until

the moment comes for me to die. If I have the good luck to fight, and

die in the cause of honour, this, my dear Lamberville, will console

you a little, for it will prove to you that death was a comfort to me.

If disorder and dissolution are still reigning in France when August

comes, if there has been no attempt to restore order--then I shall

lose all hope, and all the reasons that I give you here will acquire

full force. I shall not be able to hesitate. I shall then take up my

pen again to add my last wishes, and my last farewell to my tenderest

and dearest friend.”

In spite of the melancholy tone of these pages, their author had

finally taken the advice which came to him from all directions, from

people who loved him and were in his confidence, and who deeply grieved

to hear of such a state of mind. There was none more loyal than that

young Vallière of whom we have already spoken. At that time he was

on leave in the Caux district. Frotté and he were very intimate, and

Vallière knew every step that was made towards the carrying out of the

plot which had been arranged simultaneously at Lille and at Dunkirk.

“I am very sorry,” he wrote to his friend on November 13, 1790, “that

the things you had to tell me could only be entrusted to me verbally.

However, in the absence of further knowledge, there was nothing for me

to do but simply come here,[22] where in any case I had business, and

where I am now waiting quietly for the carrying out of the promises

you made me, being, as you know, fully prepared. But, my dear fellow,

I see with amazement that nothing as yet is happening to verify your

forecast. Can you possibly have been prematurely sanguine, or has the

plan miscarried? Perhaps it is merely a question of delay--Well! That

is all right, and I hope that’s what it is.”[23]

Two months later, Vallière, who had doubtless gone to Paris to make

inquiries, gave the following account of his journey:--

“I came back on the 3rd instant; and I shall have no difficulty in

telling you of all my doings in Paris, for I did nothing in the least

out-of-the-way. I lived there like a good quiet citizen, who confines

himself to groaning (since he can do nothing better) over all the

afflicting things he sees. I went from time to time to see our ‘August

Ones,’ and they always put me in a furious temper.”

Our “August Ones,” as Vallière mockingly called them, were the

members of the Constituent Assembly, and they were busied with the

elaboration of that gigantic piece of work, the Constitution, which was

to substitute the new order for the old traditions of France. Little

by little the edifice was growing, built upon the ruins of the past.

The sight of it filled with vexation and fury those who, like Frotté,

deplored the fallen Royalty, the lost privileges, the dispossessed

nobility, of the old order. For the rest, our chevalier, during his

stay at Dunkirk, had frequent news about his fair friend at Lille. One

day it would be a brother officer who would write, “I played cards

yesterday with your fair lady, who looked as pretty as an angel, if

angels ever _are_ so pretty as were told they are. She is going to have

her portrait painted in oils by my favourite artist. I dare say she’ll

manage somehow to get a copy done in miniature for her Chevalier!”[24]

Or another time he would be told to come to a concert at which a place

had been taken for him.... In a word, the time went on; and, kicking

against the pricks, our young soldier awaited the moment when he might

bring his plans to realization.

From month to month the spirit of insubordination which had crept into

the regiment with the events at Lille was gaining ground, and showing

itself more and more overtly. The Garde Nationale recently formed at

Dunkirk showed signs of it. At the head of this was an enterprising

officer, of the “new order,” named Emmery, who sought persistently to

win the troops of the garrison over to his own way of thinking. But

he found his match in the colonel of the regiment, the Chevalier de

Théon, a staunch Royalist, who had no intention of pandering with the

enemy. In a small place like Dunkirk, shut up between its ramparts--the

barracks were in the middle of the town--it was physically impossible

to prevent the soldiers from coming in contact with the townsfolk.

M. de Théon and his officers (the majority of whom were on his side)

had seen that very clearly; and suddenly, in the month of June, they

resolved to try a bold stroke. Dunkirk was only five leagues from the

Austrian frontier, which was some hours’ distance from Brussels, where

already the forces of resistance of the anti-revolutionary party were

concentrating. They resolved on winning Belgium to their cause, on

gaining over the troops, and on offering their services to the Prince’s

Army, which was forming beyond the frontier.

Before executing this scheme, Louis de Frotté is secretly sent to

Brussels. He there sees the Marquis de la Queville, formerly a member

of the Constitutional Assembly, and deputy of Riom, who has become

agent for the Princes; but little attention is paid to Frotté’s

proposals, and no promises of any kind are made. Frotté returns

somewhat discouraged to Dunkirk.

Suddenly, like a clap of thunder, resounds the news which is to

throw the kingdom into confusion for three days. During the night of

June 20-21 the Royal Family have escaped from the Tuileries, despite

Lafayette’s guards, and the berlin which holds them is driving rapidly

towards the frontier. Directly the exploit is known messengers set

off in all directions, despatched by the National Assembly; they take

chiefly the northerly roads, where everything points to the probable

finding of the fugitives. The authorities at Dunkirk, in their turn,

receive despatches from Paris, and take extra precautions.

This was quite enough to let loose the thunderstorm that was gathering

in the garrison.

On June 23, at 11 a.m., the grenadiers of the Colonel-General, who

had been skilfully worked upon by some of the agitators, signed the

following protestation, and refused to follow their officers. They

actually succeeded in raising the whole garrison.

“When the Commonwealth is in danger” (so one may read in their

manifest), “when the enemies of our blessed revolution raise an

audacious resistance, when a cherished King abandons his people and

flies to his enemies’ side--the duty of all true Frenchmen is to

unite, to join forces! There should be but one cry--Liberty! Resolute

to conquer, we should confront our enemies with a body of men who are

ready to dare all at the lightest sign, and to wash off with the blood

of traitors the insult done to a free people!”[25]

Then came the announcement of a federative compact, to which were

summoned the representatives of the municipality, the National Guards,

and the Club of the Friends of the Constitution.

And here arises a question. Were Frotté and his friends aware of the

King’s intentions? It is difficult to be sure; but, hasty as their

decision apparently was, it had really been fixed for some time, as is

clearly shown by the following lines written by Frotté to his father at

that very time:

“It was arranged this morning that I am to go to Furnes with several

of my comrades, on Saturday; and there, dear father, I shall await

your wise decision as to whether I shall return home to you or go to

join the Prince de Condé.”

Furnes is a small village about fifteen kilometres from Dunkirk. It was

then on Austrian territory, and had been chosen as the rendezvous for

the fugitive officers.

On Friday, June 24, in the afternoon, each of these “gentlemen”

received a secret message from Colonel de Théon, giving them his

instructions.

“Set out for Furnes” (he told them) “immediately on reading this;

make no preparations; just take whatever money you may have, and do

not worry about your other possessions; they will be seen to later.

I invoke the aid of Heaven upon our enterprise--may we all meet that

same night at Furnes.

“Your friend for life,

“THÉON.”

At the same time, he made to his soldiers a last supreme appeal,

conjuring them to respond to it, and to come back to the path of duty.

“Soldiers, your King was put in irons and the news of his capture

is false. Surely it is impossible that the leading regiment should

fail to join him, to form his bodyguard, and to shield him from the

knives of the assassins who have, of course, been sent after him. We,

who bear the ensign of the General of Infantry, shall find all good

Frenchmen and true patriots ... rallying round our colours. Believe

me, when that happens, the Royalist party, which is very numerous,

will declare itself, and when it sees that it can do so without

endangering its sovereign’s life, will flaunt the white cockade.

Let us, too, wear this as our symbol of France--not the colours of

a regicide and factious prince, the scandal of his country and the

author of all the evils which are now rending it. Your officers, your

real friends, await you at Furnes, where the august brother of your

Queen has given orders (as on all the frontiers) that the faithful

servants of the unhappy Louis XVI. are to be received, when they

arrive there on his service....

“Come there, then--meet there, renew your early oath of fidelity to

the most upright of kings. But as for such as you as are infected with

the maxims of the Club, such of you as think you are patriots, because

you have neither faith, nor law, nor honour--such as these had better

stay in their dens. Only those are adjured to come whose hearts still

tell them they are Frenchmen. Long live the King!”[26]

But it was too late. The hour for such an appeal had gone by.

Towards five o’clock on the evening of the same day, just as

the roll-call was ending in the barracks, the officers of the

Colonel-Generals (and several brother-soldiers from the Viennois

regiment) left the town in groups of three. They took with them the

white _cornette_ of the infantry, and the flags of their regiments,

which they had torn from the handles. They had not been able to make

up their minds to leave their colours behind. When they had passed

the ramparts some of them went to the right over the downs which run

along the coast, and which the fugitives intended to use as their path

to the frontier; the others struck into the open country, and crossed

the canal; as soon as they were out of sight, however, they rejoined

the first lot. At eight o’clock that evening the boatmen on the Furnes

ferry took over two more, and these were MM. d’Averton and De La Motte.

Now, at that hour, the Royal berlin and its freight had just left la

Ferti-sous-Jouarre, on the high-road to Châlons, and was proceeding

slowly through the dust, followed and accompanied by a noisy, drunken

crowd, towards Meaux. It was caught at Varennes; and the fugitives,

foiled in their attempt, went back to Paris, from that day forth to be

their prison.

The news of their capture, so unluckily contradicted by de Théon in his

manifesto, might possibly have altered the plans of the officers from

Dunkirk. But we hardly think so. Their arrangements had long since been

made, and the Varennes episode gave them, suddenly, an opportunity to

carry them out. But imagine their discomfiture when they heard of the

dramatic ending of the attempt.

It was again Frotté who had been sent to Brussels, to carry to his

King the standard of the regiment.

He arrived there at night, met the Marquis de la Queville, and learnt

the truth from him. Instead of the King, it was the King’s brother,

the Comte de Provence, whom Frotté found there; for _Monsieur_, more

fortunate than the others, had reached the frontier without any trouble.

Thus the affair had partly failed. There was nothing for the fugitive

officers to do but go and join the ever-increasing tribe of _émigrés_

who lined the frontier. They withdrew to Ath, in Hainault, the

rendezvous of many exiles.[27]

What happened at Dunkirk when their absence was discovered? On the

25th, at 5 a.m., a “good patriot,” M. François, awoke the commandant

of the Garde Nationale, M. Emmery, and presented to him the manifesto

of the “Sieur de Théon.” The alarm spread instantly through the town;

it was with indignation that people heard the news of the desertion

of the officers, who had even been so infamous as to carry off the

regimental colours. The soldiers chose new officers, and held a meeting

on the parade-ground. M. Emmery came to them, and tried to pacify them

by offering them one of the colours of the Garde Nationale, to replace

those which had been filched from them. He was enthusiastically

received. Hopes rose high once more. Grenadiers and _gardes nationaux_

met in warmest comradeship; and the tricolour was sent for, and

presented to the regiment, which was drawn up in battle-array.

Vengeance was vowed against traitors and enemies of the Republic.

“From that moment there reigned boundless confidence, perfect joy, and

assured tranquillity.”

But this was not all. It had to be ascertained whether the runaways

had left anything behind them. The Justice of the Peace for the

Quartier-du-Midi, Pierre Taverne, betook himself to the officers’

quarters in the barracks. On the first storey, under the landing,

there was a door which led into the room that was known to have

been Frotté’s. That door was sealed, as were those of all his

brother-officers’ rooms. Five days later the seals were broken. The

inspection brought nothing noteworthy to light. In Frotté’s room they

found two helmets, a cross-belt, and a gorget. The others were still

less exciting; a cap and two portmanteaus, “containing a little music,”

were found in M. Derampan’s quarters; a cap and a double-barrelled gun

in M. Metayer’s; a trunk in M. de Dreuille’s; a cap and a cross-belt

in M. Demingin’s, and so on. The Royal tent contained a cabriolet

belonging to M. de Théon; the stables, “near the fuel-stores,” yielded

another old cabriolet, the property of M. de Frotté. Everything was

confiscated, and taken to the Municipality.

The only thing which interested the authorities was a trunk full of

papers, which had been seized in Frotté’s quarters. It was examined,

but no proofs were found of the suspected conspiracy. It was then

tied up, sealed, and sent to the Research Committee of the National

Assembly, with a curt account of the occurrence. On the evening of

June 28 this was read to the Deputies of the Assembly, some of whom

were very angry on hearing the defiant appeal of de Théon to his

soldiers.[28]

* * * * *

Was Lady Atkyns at Lille to hear the issue of the adventure? She had

more probably left France by that time, terrified by all that was going

on around her, and the more so that she was alone, for her friends on

every side had left her.

While her lover was languishing among the _émigrés_ (made miserable

by their inaction and selfishness) she regained her old home at

Ketteringham, uneasy in her mind, but not despairing. She saw plainly

what her own path was to be; for her love for the Queen and the Queen’s

people was henceforth to rule her life, and carry her on from one

devoted action to another.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Victor Derode, _Histoire de Lille et de la Flandre Wallonne_, 1848,

in 8vo, vol. iii. p. 26. For the account of these military disturbances

at Lille, we have also made use of a MS. narrative by the Chevalier

de Frotté, _Archives Nationales_ D. XXIX., 36; and of a statement

addressed to the King by the Marquis de Livarot, regarding his conduct,

a printed copy of which is at the Bibliothèque Nationale, L.K. 4008.

[3] These words are underlined in the text.

[4] L. de la Sicotière, _Louis de Frotté et les Insurrections

Normandes_, 1793-1832, Paris, 1889, two volumes in 8vo.

[5] His father married again, a Dumont de Lamberville, whose brother

was one of the best friends of Louis de Frotté.

[6] The future journalist, founder of the _Courrier de Versailles_.

[7] This approximate date is furnished us by the death certificate of

Lady Atkyns; but these certificates are known to have been for the most

part very inaccurately made out, especially with regard to the date of

birth, when they had reference to a foreigner dying at Paris.

[8] Will of Robert Walpole of March 14, 1803, by which he bequeathed

all his worldly goods to his wife, Blancy Walpole, and to his three

daughters, Mary, Frances, and Charlotte. Inventory after death of the

effects of Lady Atkyns.--_Unpublished Papers of Lady Atkyns._

[9] Genest: _History of the Stage_.

[10] Genest: _History of the Stage_. “This musical entertainment

was written for the sake of exhibiting a representation of the camp

at Coxheath.... Miss Walpole, as a young recruit, went through her

exercises adroitly.”

[11] _The Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical Chronicle_, by Sylvanus

Urban, Gent., London, vol. xlix., for the year 1779, p. 326.

[12] _Diaries of a Lady of Quality, from 1797 to 1814_, edited, with

notes, by A. Hayward, Esq. London: Longman, Green & Co., 1864, pp.

216-219.

[13] “Milady Charlotte, English, pensioner of France, twelve livres;

for one servant in 1789, two livres; twelve livres, two servants for

1790, four livres.”--_Register of the Poll-tax of the Seven Parishes_,

1790. _Parish of St. André, Rue Princesse, No. 337_, p. 46. _Municipal

Archives of Lille._

[14] “To-day, October 28, 1790, in the Assembly of the General Council

of the town of Lille ... having heard the solicitor for the Commune,

the Council proceeded to the continuation of the work of sur-taxation,

and of taxation for the patriotic contribution.... After which, it

proceeded to the taxation of those able to contribute, having an

income of more than 400 livres, as follows:--Parish of St. André ...

Rue Princesse, Milady Charlotte, because of her pension from the Royal

Treasury ... 300 livres....”--_Register No. 1 of the Deliberations of

the Corporation of Lille. Archives of Lille._

[15] “On the 20th March, 1791, I the undersigned, Curate of this

Parish, baptized Antoine-Quentin Atkyns, born yesterday at 8 o’clock

a.m., the illegitimate son of Edward, native of England, and of

Geneviève Leglen, native of Lille; attested by M. Warocquier, junior,

registered _accoucheur_; verified by Derousseaux, clerk. God parents:

Antoine-Quentin Derobois, and Therése Cordier, the undersigned,

Signed: “Derobois. Cordier,

“F. Dutheil, Curate.”

_Civil Registers. Parish of St. Catherine. Baptisms. Archives of Lille._

[16] “After having loved and served the unhappy Marie-Antoinette with

a love that was almost idolatry.”--_Mémoires manuscrits de Frotté_;

La Sicotière, _Louis de Frotté_, etc., vol. i. p. 49. “O exquisite

woman, let our Revolution end as it may, and even if you should have

no part in it, you will still and for ever be to me the tender and

devoted friend of Antoinette ... and she to whom I hope some day to owe

all my happiness.”--Letter from de Frotté to Lady Atkyns, November,

1794. V. Delaporte, _Centenaire de la mort de Marie-Antoinette. Études

religieuses_, October, 1893, p. 265.

[17] _National Archives_, D. XXIX. 36.

[18] Unpublished letter to Frotté, May 7, 1790. _National Archives_, D.

XXIX. 36.

[19] In the course of a search made at Dunkirk, in Frotté’s

dwelling-place (in circumstances of which we shall speak directly),

the greater part of the articles seized were sent to the Committee of

Research of the National Assembly, and it was in the Archives of this

Committee that we discovered them. _National Archives_, D. XXIX. 36.

[20] The entire text will be found, published by M. A. Savine, in the

_Nouvelle Revue Retrospective_, 1900, vol. xiii. pp. 217-233.

[21] “You will have got a letter from me, explaining my apparent

neglect; I wrote it the day before I went to Vaux, as well as I

remember. Your father, who may have told you in a moment of irritation

that you were a burden to him (it was only a letter after all), charged

me then to send you his love. My sister has often spoken of you with

the most sincere and tender affection. You would be most unkind if you

did not write to her; she would have every reason to be angry with

you; you would pain her, and that would pain your father.... Dear

fellow, don’t, _don’t_ despair; you make me very uneasy by the way you

write.”--Letter from Lamberville to Frotté. April 5, 1791. _National

Archives_, D. XXIX. 36.

[22] To Fours, in the Eure district, whence the letter comes.

[23] Letter from Vallière to Frotté, November 13, 1790. _National

Archives_, D. XXIX. 36.

[24] Letter dated “Lille, December 14” (1790). The address runs: “To

M. le Vicomte de Frotté, officer in the Regiment Colonel-General of

infantry at Dunkirk.” _National Archives_, D. XXIX. 36.

[25] _Municipal Archives of Dunkirk_, p. 60.

[26] _Municipal Archives of Dunkirk_, p. 60.

[27] It was from that place that they addressed, on July 3, 1791, a

petition for the restoration of their effects left in the garrison,

and also asked for the liberation of their regimental chaplain, whom

the Corporation had had arrested, on the charge of having aided the

plot.--_Archives of Dunkirk_, p. 60.

[28] _Moniteur_, June 30, 1791.