THE MYSTERY OF THE TEMPLE
Amidst the medley of feelings produced upon her mind by all the
events happening in Paris--all the insurrectionary outbreaks, all the
plottings and arrests--neither Lady Atkyns nor her friends withdrew
their gaze from the prison of the Temple. As though this edifice with
its four towers exercised some mysterious attraction, extending far and
wide, their thoughts returned persistently to this one spot, hidden
away in the enclosures of the old palace and closed in by a network of
other structures. What news was there of the happenings within those
sinister high walls? Baron d’Auerweck, who was the best-informed,
having just come from the Continent, retailed all that he had gathered
from public rumours and from personal inquiries which his relations
with people inside the prison enabled him to make.
Madame Elizabeth and her niece still lived in the suite occupied by the
Queen. The little Dauphin had been snatched away from his mother on the
night of July 3, 1793, and handed over to the care of the bootmaker,
Antoine Simon. Simon and his wife--as a recent work has made quite
clear--were very far from being guilty of the cruelties to the child
attributed to them by tradition. Chosen for his task by Chaumette,
whose authority at the Temple was supreme, and looking up to him as
his master, Simon was a rough specimen, uncouth somewhat in his ways,
and too fond of the bottle, violently republican in his sentiments,
but at bottom a decent fellow, and not wantonly cruel nor ill-natured.
His wife is shown to have had a good heart; she had been seen at the
bootmakers’ hospital, where her conduct won the praise of all, working
very actively and thoroughly at her task. She was known to be a great
chatterbox. Such as she was, Madame Simon undoubtedly felt much
sympathy with the child confided to her care.
What did Simon and his wife do with the young Dauphin? Did he fade away
in their hands, into the living spectre, the martyr succumbing to blows
and bruises that the Eckards and de Beauchesnes and Chantelauzes would
have us believe? Assuredly not. Doubtless the complete change in his
existence, the sense of being closed in and confined, must have told
upon the small prisoner. After the splendours of Versailles, it must
have been hard upon him to be subjected at once to so severe a _régime_
and to have for company a household of vulgar, common people, without
education. And tears must have coursed down his cheeks. But there is a
gulf between this and the stories of systematic cruelties, and we may
well refuse to believe in anything of this kind until ample proof is
forthcoming.
Suddenly, on January 19, 1794, it became known in the Temple _quartier_
that the Simons were giving up their functions and settling down
somewhere else.[66] What was the reason of this? Explanations differ.
It is certain that Simon had no heart for his duties, and that he
must have emitted a sigh of satisfaction when he left the Temple. He
showed the child before he quitted to the four men who were told off to
replace him, and received from them a voucher to the effect that he was
in good health.
Henceforth, for the next six months, the Dauphin is to be immured in
his prison, and no one is to penetrate within; the door of his cell is
to be bolted and barred, and food is to be ministered to him through a
grille. The four Commissioners of the Commune entrusted with his care
will take it turn about to spy at him through the peep-hole in the
door, but none of them will set foot inside.
What are we to think of this confinement? What was the meaning of it?
We feel that it is out of the question at this time of day to formulate
any clear-cut explanation of it. So great an air of mystery hangs
over all that happened in the Temple during this year of 1794 and
down to June 8, 1795, that it would be vain to attempt to elucidate
this imbroglio of deeds plotted in the dark, and performed by actors
each of whom played his part independently of the others. The various
personages mixed up in them were so situated that they could not see
the goal towards which they were called upon to work. What we desire
to do, with the help of the correspondence at our disposal, is to show
that Lady Atkyns was the leading spirit of a Royalist Committee, formed
for the purpose of securing the Dauphin’s escape, and that not only his
escape was practicable, thanks to the intervention of people high in
authority--probably of Barras--but that it was, in fact, carried out.
A sort of bureau had been instituted at Paris for turning to account
the sources of information contrived within the Temple, and for
keeping _au courant_ with the prison regulations and the methods
adopted for watching over the Royal captive. There was a house in Rue
Basse-du-Rempart in which M. Cormier lived formerly, and which, on
setting out for La Vendée, he left to the care of his wife.[67] In
this house they had a _pied à terre_ ready to their hands, and in Mme.
Cormier, _née_ de Butler, a person on whom they could absolutely rely,
active-minded, enterprising, the very person of all others to help the
projects of the Royalists in London. It is she who, during these first
weeks of the year 1794, will be keeping her husband and his friends _au
courant_ with all she can find out about the Dauphin and his gaolers,
and the way in which he and his now numerous partisans in Paris
are kept under watch. It is impossible for her, we may be sure, to
correspond direct with London, and we are in the dark as to her methods
of communication; but in these days there are any number of couriers
carrying news and despatches from the Continent to England. Soon, to
avoid suspicion and work in greater safety, Mme. Cormier, henceforth
referred to always by her maiden name, will secure a decree of divorce
from her husband on the ground that he is _émigré_, thus apparently
breaking up all connection with the former president of the Club
Massiac.[68] Had she not had her name removed already, a year earlier,
from the ill-fated list of _émigrés_?
It is time for us now to make fuller acquaintance with the members
of this circle of intimate friends surrounding Lady Atkyns, and
concentrating all their efforts upon the furthering of her plans.
Two figures stand out conspicuously: M. de Cormier and the Chevalier
de Frotté. These alone have been let into the secret of the first
operations; these alone can claim to have full knowledge of the
desires and hopes of the Queens friend. Cormier, “our big friend,”
as he is designated in their correspondence, is a strong support. His
experience, his good sense, his relations with the English Government,
inspire confidence at first sight in all who are brought into contact
with the corpulent Breton, and all are quickly won over by the charm
of his fluent and persuasive speech. Despite authentic certificates of
residence, according to which his son has not quitted Holstein, where
he is by way of pursuing his studies during this and the following
year, the ex-magistrate has not been willing to forego his son’s
companionship, and there are constant allusions to him in his letters.
A prey to frequent attacks of gout, Cormier requires to have some one
at hand to look after him affectionately.
Frotté, a man of some intellect, with a fine presence and a martial
air about him, and with the advantage of being acquainted with the
recent happenings in Normandy and La Vendée, is well fitted for helping
Lady Atkyns in her plans. He also has been able to get into intimate
relations with the Government, to secure a hearing for his views, and
thus to acquire real influence. In these two men Lady Atkyns possesses
powerful lieutenants, who henceforth will be indispensable to her, and
to whom she will have to unfold her ideas impartially and equally.
For while each of them is eager to devote himself entirely to her
enterprise, little by little, imperceptibly almost, and according as
difficulties crop up in their path, feelings of jealousy and envy will
make themselves evident between the two.
By length of service, and by reason of so many tender remembrances
therewith connected, Frotté considers himself entitled to the premier
place in the confidence and regard of his fair friend. His letters are
full of burning affection and admiration for her, to whom he is ready
to sacrifice everything.
“It is only in your society,” he writes, “that I am my real self. You
are in possession of all my secrets, and you share all those feelings
which cause me to have any joy in life and for which none the less
I should be ready to die. Adieu! Do you understand me? What am I to
think of the heroine to whom I devote my entire future and who may
make all my life’s happiness? Do you understand me? Adieu! If I speak
to ears and to a heart that refuse to listen to me ... then I am not
at the end of my troubles. Oh, most charming of women, whatever may be
the outcome of this Revolution of ours--even though you should have no
share in it--you will ever be in my eyes the tender and devoted friend
of Antoinette, the woman who would have sacrificed everything for the
Queen’s son, the woman to whom I would fain owe all my happiness.”[69]
Side by side with these two men we find a third individual, whose name
recurs very often in the conversation, and who will also play his part.
The Baron d’Auerweck, the “little baron,” comes to offer his services
to Lady Atkyns, and to profit by her generosity, which he knows to be
inexhaustible. He is not to be admitted into all the secrets of the
committee--he is to be spoken to in general terms. D’Auerweck, with his
philosophical whims and unceasing chatter, bombards his benefactress
with his letters, in which he retails to her all the rumours current
in London regarding the child in the Temple. On intimate terms with the
journalist Peltier, d’Auerweck acts as his collaborator, so to speak,
keeping him _au courant_ with the progress of the enterprise as far as
he is in a position to do so.
Finally, there is the Bishop of Saint-Pol-de-Léon. The bishop has
not broken off his relations with the indefatigable lady, for whom
he professes an immense admiration. His assistance is by no means to
be despised, for among the ever-increasing crowds of _émigrés_ now
pressing to London there are quite a number of persons who are under
obligations to him. When Lady Atkyns leaves Ketteringham and comes
to stay for a time among her friends, we find the venerable prelate
visiting her on several occasions.[70]
She entertains him with an account of the steps she is taking. Little
by little her money will be exhausted; but what matter provided she
succeeds? Not content with seeing her gold dispensed at Paris by her
paid supporters, the generous Englishwoman has made up her mind to
acquire a ship which she has had secured for herself by an _émigré_,
the Baron de Suzannet, and which had been entirely rigged out at her
expense.[71] This vessel plies continually between the English coast
and the continent, after January, 1794; her captain is instructed to
communicate by means of signs agreed upon with people stationed along
the French coast, generally at Dieppe. In this way news can always be
conveyed from Paris, while the ship will be ready at the right moment
to pick up the young Dauphin and carry him off into security.
This was the condition of things at the beginning of 1794, when, on
Monday, March 24, Cormier received a piece of news which at first
unbalanced him. His wife had been arrested in Paris, and there was
nothing to indicate how this mishap had come about.
“What terrible news, Madame!” he wrote to Lady Atkyns; “my wife has
been arrested! I am inconsolable. I know no details as yet.”
On reflection, however, he realizes that the nature of his former
duties, taken in conjunction with his present position as an _émigré_,
suffice to account for what had taken place.
“There is every reason to believe,” he proceeds, “that nothing has
been discovered regarding our plot, and that it is merely as the wife
of the President of the Massiac Club that she has been put under
arrest. At least, I flatter myself that this is so. If I get no news
here, I shall set out for the place where news will be forthcoming
soonest. Nothing will ever make me abandon our project and the object
of our desires. You shall have my news at the earliest possible
moment, either from here or from Choram.”
Now, on this very day Hébert was mounting the scaffold, a victim to
the accusations of Robespierre, whose despotism was triumphant. He who
had been to a great extent responsible for looking after Louis XVII.
had now fallen in his turn, to be followed a few weeks later (April
13) by his friend Chaumette. Here is what Cormier had to say on the
subject--the news had reached him with wonderful speed--
“Robespierre has triumphed over the others, and he has had Hébert,
Vincent, etc., arrested and guillotined. Robespierre had declared
himself anxious to stop the flow of blood ...; he had spoken up for
the prisoners in the Temple. Fresh letters are arriving here. It is
certain, I think, that my wife has not yet been charged with anything,
or even suspected of anything in regard to the prisoners.”
The event was inopportune. Cormier had just decided to leave London
for the coast, where he was to receive certain information and to take
counsel with his agents. Now his plans were all upset. He would have to
postpone the journey and redouble his precautions.
At the end of five days there was ground for taking a hopeful view of
things. There was every reason to believe that Mme. Cormier’s arrest
would not have any grave results.
“What annoys me most,” writes Cormier to Lady Atkyns on March 28, “is
the fact that the news had got back to Paris, with commentaries which
may do harm both to my wife and to our affairs.”
As a matter of fact, Peltier and d’Auerweck hastened, on hearing of
what had happened, to convey their sympathy to their friend, and,
like true journalists, spread the tidings in every direction, thus
intensifying Cormier’s uneasiness.
“But I must only try and put aside this anxiety,” he continues, “as I
have so many others. I have not yet started; I shall not start before
Monday or Tuesday, because I must wait for replies from Dieppe, which
cannot arrive before Sunday or Monday. Have no fears; my courage will
not fail me--indeed, at present it is taking the shape of a feeling
of rage, which I am trying to keep down. You will have learnt from
the public prints that the statement has gone out that the King has
been carried off to the army of the Prince of Saxe-Coburg. This false
report has troubled me a good deal. I don’t want attention to be
directed that way just now, especially as something has happened which
would increase our confidence--something which I cannot at present
confide to paper. Do not exert yourself too much, madame; do not
measure your efforts by your courage. Your friends beg this of you.”
In all these letters of the Breton magistrate there is a real ring of
sincerity. The admiration he feels for this interesting woman resolves
itself into a whole-hearted devotion to her cause, and if, later, her
large fortune and her generosity seem to have too large a part in
Cormier’s thoughts and too great an influence upon his actions, at
least he must be credited with absolute frankness throughout.
The death of Sir Edward Atkyns on March 27, 1794, gave Cormier an
opportunity for expressing his sympathy with the widow, and of
enlarging still further upon his feelings. The scant mention made
of Sir Edward, indeed, in the correspondence of this little circle
suggests that the relations between husband and wife must have become
perceptibly colder of late. It is probable that the baronet looked with
disfavour upon his wife’s schemes and the heavy outlay they entailed.
“A score of times,” writes Cormier, “I have taken pen in hand this
morning to express to you the intense interest with which I have
learnt of the sad event which occurred, and as often my courage has
failed me. Truly you have been the victim of many misfortunes. Will
the Fates never have done pursuing you? You must only make use of the
great qualities Providence has given you to bear up against what has
befallen. Your courage is exceptional. Make the most of a quality
which is rare with men, but rarer still in women. As for me, I vow I
shall not give in under my misfortune, and shall not be put off by
any perils.... I have not started yet, and shall not start to-morrow,
not having yet received the letters I was expecting. If they come
to-morrow, I shall start on Thursday. So that this delay may not cause
you anxiety, I may mention that in the last letters which have come to
me, he who left last ... asks me not to start until I heard again from
him. He has not been beyond D(ieppe), and the others have returned
from P(aris) to take counsel with him--I don’t know on what.”
These last words show that something was already happening on the
Breton coast, and that it was desired to send news of interest to
Cormier. But the departure postponed so often was still impracticable,
and Cormier began to lose patience.
“I am still kept here,” he writes. “It is becoming incensing. I feel
as though I were being chained up, but prudence and common sense keep
me quiet. I get news regularly from D(ieppe). I have just received a
third letter enjoining me to make no movement until they give me the
word, and insisting that the success of our project and the safety of
him who is so precious to us depend upon this. I don’t understand,
however, their not telling us why and how.... I have lost patience,
and have sent one of these gentlemen.[72] (That is not the same as
myself.) I am afraid that Hamelin may really have been killed; I can’t
make it out at all.”
Who was Hamelin? It is difficult to guess. It is difficult to identify
a great many of the individuals of whom there is question in these
letters, and who are designated by borrowed names. The most elementary
prudence called for absolute secrecy concerning the names of the agents
who were working for our committee, and although the messages were
carried by the most trustworthy emissaries, it was always possible
that one of them might be arrested _en route_. This doubles our
difficulty in clearing up the imbroglio, and enhances a mystery already
sufficiently troublesome.
Failing Mme. Cormier, who was still under arrest, and whose absence had
been making itself felt more and more, another arrangement had been
made for securing news from Paris. At what expense? Heaven knows! But
once again money had set tongues going and procured the needed help.
Cormier, coming back to the question of his departure, writes again
(April 14, 1794) to his friend to tell her of the messages he has sent
from England:--
“I shall not start until this evening,” he tells her. “You can guess
why. I have just despatched two messengers. Things are moving, but
very slowly. However, let us not lose heart. If we go slowly we go
all the more surely, and every day achieve something which helps to
advance our schemes and to keep us in security. Therefore do not be
impatient.”
The weeks passed by, and that fateful day “9th Thermidor,” which
was to bring with it such a _bouleversement_ in Paris, was drawing
nigh. At the Temple there had been no change--the Dauphin was still
sequestrated from the outside world.
On May 11, 1794, Robespierre visited the prison, and had a brief
interview with Marie-Therèse, but we have no information as to what
happened.
The 9th Thermidor arrives and throws the dictator down from his
pedestal, thereby proclaiming the end of his reign of terror. General
Barras, invested with the command of the armed forces within the city,
begins to take an important part in the management of affairs. One of
his first acts, it will be remembered, after he had triumphed over
Robespierre’s party, was to go to the prison of the Temple, on July
the 28th, accompanied by his brilliant staff, bedecked with gold. The
miserable aspect of the child after being shut up for months caused the
general to take immediate steps, and by his order of July 29, 1794,
a special guardian, chosen by himself, named Laurent, a native of
Martinique, was brought to the prison, there to be entrusted with the
sole care for nearly five months of the young Capet.
A careful study of the documents bearing upon this period of the
captivity of the Dauphin makes it quite clear that in the hands of his
new guardian he was looked after in a fashion which contrasted strongly
with the previous neglect, and that he soon became attached to Laurent,
who proved himself good-natured, kind, and even affectionate in his
attitude towards his charge. If strange things came about in the Temple
at that time, we may be certain that Laurent knew about them, and we
may assume that Barras was the prime mover in all that happened.
It is impossible, as we have said before, to recapitulate all the
arguments which tend to bring home to the general some complicity in
the fate of Louis XVII., and which implicate a large number of persons,
most of them people of influence in the world of the Convention.
Other writers, notably M. Henri Provins,[73] have done this so
conscientiously and thoroughly that there is no need for us to attempt
it. We may content ourselves with making public a series of documents
and newly ascertained matters, the gist of which bears out exactly all
that we knew already of Laurent’s conduct at the Temple. Lady Atkyns
and her friends could not have done without him. It is true that his
name never appears in their communications, for reasons already given,
but the striking connection between the events within the prison
walls and their effects in London upon the Royalist Committee proves
beyond doubt the relations subsisting between them. Between the lines
of these documents we get to understand what Cormier meant by “new
combinations.” Lady Atkyns has been at pains to say it herself in one
of her notes which she used to make upon her correspondence, and which
often serve to explain her actions.
In his anxiety about the future, did Cormier entertain fears lest all
remembrance of his heroine’s devotion would vanish with her if by some
mischance her enterprise should fail, or if she herself should lose her
life? Who knows? However that may be, it is the case that on August 1,
1794, he had two statements drawn up (the text of which, unluckily,
is not forthcoming), in which Lady Atkyns recorded all that she had
achieved down to that date for the safety of those who were so dear to
her.
“These records are to my knowledge the absolute truth,” attested
Cormier at the foot of the deposition, “and I declare that ever
since I first knew Lady Atkyns, she has always shown the same purity
of principles, and that all she has here stated is true in every
particular.”
These documents were to have been handed over for preservation, with a
number of others, to a solicitor or some trustworthy person in London.
Meanwhile, renewed efforts were being made to bring about a good
service of news to the Continent and Paris. As time passed, Lady
Atkyns’ friends realized more and more that it would have been madness
to proceed with a regular attempt at a sudden rescue in the actual
conditions of things. In truth, the calm which had followed the 9th
Thermidor, and which gave Paris time to take breath, was making itself
felt within the Temple. Laurent’s nomination was evidence of this.
Any attempt to act at once would have been sheer folly. What was to
be done was to “get at” those who had any kind of influence within
the Temple or without, whilst taking care not to let too many people
into the secret of the enterprise. Here, again, unluckily, the wise
secretiveness of all their papers prevents us from ascertaining any
names. Those who were tempted by Lady Atkyns’ gold to compromise
themselves in any way, took too many precautions against being found
out.
Lady Atkyns, however, was not idle. Two sailing vessels were
continually plying between different points on the French coast. A
third, which she had recently purchased, had orders to keep close to
land between Nantes and La Rochelle, ready at any moment to receive the
Dauphin.[74]
The cost of keeping these three ships was considerable, and Lady Atkyns
had great difficulty in providing the money. She was in the hands of
agents whose services, indispensable to her, could be depended upon
only so long as the sums they demanded were forthcoming. We can imagine
the feelings of anxiety and despondency with which she must have read
the following letter from Cormier. What answer was she to make to him?
(The person to whom she had applied for financial help appears on
several occasions in their correspondence under the designation of “le
diable noir.”)
“Your _diable noir’s_ reply is very little consolation to me,” writes
Cormier; “he has promised and postponed so often. For Heaven’s
sake, see to it that he does not promise us this time also to no
purpose!... I gather that you were to have two definite replies
to-day--I shall be in Purgatory until five o’clock. Mon Dieu! Mon
Dieu! I wonder what you will send me, or rather what you will be able
to send me? Our own courage alone does not suffice--we have to keep up
the courage of others, and they are losing heart. Worst of all, there
is that avaricious Jew of a captain! We are absolutely dependent upon
him. If we lost him where should we get another to take his place? I
beg of you, in the name of the one you know, to do all you possibly
can, to exert all your resources, to prevent his having to leave me
empty-handed.”
And to excuse the ultimatum-like tone of his letter, Cormier adds--
“Forgive the urgent persistent style in which I write! But when one is
writing about business matters and matters of this importance, one has
to forget one is writing to a woman--especially when it is a question
of a Lady Atkyns, who is different from the rest of her sex.”
The occasions for entering into communication with their agents on
the Continent are more propitious now than ever, but many efforts are
frustrated owing to the sharp watch which is kept along the coast.
“They have tried eleven times to land since Saturday last,” writes
Cormier, “and failed every time. There were always either people in
sight or else there were transports sailing from Havre to Dieppe or
from Dieppe to Saint-Valery, etc., etc. There has been a lot going on
evidently, for signals have been given on fifteen or twenty different
occasions. That shows how important it is to effect a landing. They
returned simply to make this fact known to me, and went back again
without coming on shore--except the captain, who came for an hour and
who is positive they have something to hand over to him. I believe
this myself, for I learn also this morning that the Government boat
which plies along the coast of Brittany has made thirty vain attempts
during the last three weeks.”
We can imagine the mental condition of poor Lady Atkyns on receiving
letter after letter in this strain. She no longer goes away from London
at this period, feeling too remote in the country from the centre of
news. She stays either at the Royal Hotel or else with friends at 17,
Park Lane. Here it is that she receives Cormier, Frotté, Peltier.
When there is a long interval between their visits her fears grow
apace. What would she not give to take an active part herself in the
enterprise! “No messenger arrived--no news, therefore, from France,”
that is the message that comes to her only too often. And Cormier
writes, full of excuses for his persistent appeals--
“Forgive my tone,” he writes. “I apologize a thousand times for being
such a worry to you, but I can’t help it in regard to so important a
matter, calling for so much energy and hurry. You have voluntarily
abandoned the position ensured you by your sex and great advantages in
order to play the _rôle_ of a great and high-minded statesman. There
are discomforts and disadvantages attached to this new estate, and it
is my misfortune to have to bring this home to you. I can but console
myself with the thought of your goodness and of the great cause which
we have embraced and which is the subject of all our anxieties. May
God prosper it, and may it bring you glory and me happiness!”
In the mouth of any one but Cormier these protestations would arouse
one’s distrust; but what we already know of him, and what we are to
learn presently of his later conduct, serve to reassure us in regard to
him.
In spite of all his good will, however, Cormier is constantly being
interrupted in his work. Now it is the health of his son, Achille,
which disquiets him, now he is a prey to terrible attacks of gout which
will give him no rest.
“I have been bent double for two nights and a day,” he writes to
his friend on September 1, 1794, “without being able to change my
position. It takes four persons to move this great body of mine. I am
a little more free from pain at present, and I take up my pen at the
earliest possible moment to send you this explanation of my silence.”
It is at this moment that Louis de Frotté, who has been a little in the
background, comes again to the front of the stage. Since his arrival
in London, the young officer, without neglecting the society of the
Royalist Committee, has been spending most of his time in the offices
of the English Government, endeavouring to impress upon Windham “the
desirability of carrying out his ideas, and the ease with which they
may be brought to fruit, as he has made up his mind to devote himself
to them.” One project he has specially at heart, that of receiving some
kind of official mission from the Government which will enable him to
land in Normandy with adequate powers and to give new life there to
the Royalist insurrection. Should he succeed, the help he “would thus
obtain would lead to the execution of our cherished plans,” he writes
to Lady Atkyns, and she will reap at last “all the honour that will be
due to the generous sacrifices that she has made.”
But in his interview with the Minister he does not think it necessary
to speak of their relations with the Temple. This secret is too
important for him to confide it to any one. “Too many people know it
already.” These words, hinting a delicate reproach, are meant, perhaps,
to put his fair friend upon her guard. Perhaps they mean more than
that. Read in the light of subsequent letters from the young _émigré_,
they serve as a key to his private feelings--to his dislike at having
to share her confidence with so many others, and to his jealousy later
of the man who has so large a place in her heart. These feelings, still
slight, soon become more marked, and presently we find that they are
reciprocated.
For the time being, however, both Frotté and Cormier worked with the
same ardour at their allotted tasks. Frotté, proceeding with his
negotiation with Windham, counted now upon support from Puisaye, his
famous compatriot recently come to England. Cormier writes to her to
report that, despite apparent dilatoriness, their agents have not been
inactive.
“I have received letters through the captain,” he tells her on October
1, 1794, “which satisfy me, brief as they are. Here is what they have
to tell me: ‘Be at ease in your mind; they imagine they are working
for themselves, and really they are working for us, and we shall have
the profit. Be patient and don’t lose trust.’ The captain had orders
to return at once to-day, but he will not start until to-night or
to-morrow morning, and we have news by the packet-boats meanwhile that
order reigns in Paris.”
Day after day passed by, bringing new reports, none of them positive,
of the death of the little Dauphin. Lady Atkyns knew not what to make
of the situation. Presently--eight days after the last--there came
another letter from Cormier, to reassure her.
“I have great faith in your judgment,” he declares, “and your
presentiments are almost always right, but I really do not think that
you have ground for disquiet now. Three agents of ours at the Temple
are either at work silently or else they are in hiding. All we know
for certain is that they have not been guillotined, as they have not
been mentioned in any of the lists.”
His wife was still unfortunately detained, but there was prospect of
her being shortly at liberty, and then she would write to him. If the
agents had taken it upon themselves to modify their project--the one
thing that was to be feared--they could not possibly have succeeded in
sending particulars yet of this. But an explanation of the mystery was
soon to be forthcoming.
“The Dauphin is not to be got out by main force or in a balloon,”
Cormier had once written. Any attempt at carrying him off under the
very nose of his warders and of the delegates of the Commune would have
been madness. All idea of such a rescue had long been put aside. How,
then, was the matter to be dealt with? By such means as circumstances
might dictate--by finding a substitute for the young prisoner, a mute
who should play the _rôle_ until an occasion should offer for smuggling
away the real Dauphin, concealed meanwhile somewhere in the upper
chambers of the Tower. Mme. Atkyns did not herself approve of this plan.
“I was strongly opposed to it,” she notes at the foot of a letter
from Cormier dated June 3, 1795, “as I pointed out to my friends that
it might have an undesirable result, and that those who were being
entrusted with the carrying off of the Dauphin, after getting the
money, might declare afterwards that he had not been got out of the
Temple.”
She saw reason to fear that at the last moment she would be done out of
the recompense of all her efforts, and that the Royal child would not
be entrusted to her care.
However, it was clear that once the plan was agreed upon it was
necessary in order to carry it out to secure the help of the gaoler
Laurent, who had had the Dauphin under his charge during the last
four months. Laurent’s complicity may be traced through the documents
bearing upon the whole episode.
Let us examine first of all Laurent’s own famous letters, the first of
which, dated November 7, 1794, synchronizes with the events we have
been following.
It is well known that only copies of these letters are in
existence--the originals have never been discovered. They were
published first in a book which appeared in 1835, _Le Véritable Duc
de Normandie_, the work of an adherent of the pretender, Nauendorff,
Bourbon-Leblanc, whose real name was Gabriel de Bourbon-Russet, dit
Leblanc. From the fact of the originals being missing, the authenticity
of these letters has long been a matter for debate. A close
examination of them, side by side with all the other documents upon
which we have come in the course of our researches, results, we think,
in justifying our belief in their genuineness.
Cormier, then, was not mistaken in supposing that his agents had
modified their plan. The letter in which he confided his suspicion to
Lady Atkyns was dated October 8, 1794. On the last day of the same
month he wrote to her again:--
“I have to thank you cordially for your kind letter of yesterday. I
have had no time to answer it properly, not because of the gout, for
that has left me. In fact, my mind is so fully occupied that I have no
time to trouble about any kind of malady, and am, in fact, at my wits’
end with excitement. However, I must just send you this brief note in
haste (for it is just post time) to bid you not merely be at rest but
to rejoice! _I am able to assure you positively that the Master and
his belongings are saved! There is no doubt about it._ But say nothing
of this, keep it absolutely secret, do not let it be suspected even by
your bearing. _Moreover, nothing will happen to-day, or to-morrow, or
the day after, nor for more than a month, but I am quite sure of what
I say, and I was never more at my ease in my own mind._ I can give you
no details now, and can only tell you all when we meet; but you can
share my feeling of security. I am glad to say I have good news of my
wife, but I must continue to keep a sharp look out all round me.”
This letter evidently alludes to what had happened at the Temple. The
young Dauphin, we may conclude, was halfway on his road to liberty.
Lodged in the garrets of the Temple tower, and with the little mute
as his substitute down below, he was not yet out of peril. But an
important step had been taken towards the ultimate goal.
It seemed clear that Laurent, _l’homme de Barras_, was having a share
in this, and had at least rendered possible the execution of the
project. The letter which he wrote eight days later to a general, whose
identity has never been established, bore out exactly what Cormier had
said; here it is:--
“General,
“Your letter of the 6th came too late, for your first plan had been
carried out already--there was no time to lose. To-morrow a new warder
is to enter upon his duties--a Republican named Gommier, a good fellow
from what B---- tells me, but I have no confidence in such people. I
shall find it very difficult to convey food to our P----. But I shall
take care of him; you need not be anxious. The assassins have been
duped, and the new municipal people have no idea that the little mute
has been substituted for the Dauphin. The thing to be done now is to
get him out of this cursed tower--but how? B---- tells me he cannot
do anything on account of the way he is watched. If there were to be
a long delay I should be uneasy about his health, for there is not
much air in his _oubliette_--the _bon Dieu_ would not find him there
if he were not almighty! He has promised me to die rather than betray
himself, and I have reason to believe that he would. His sister knows
nothing; I thought it prudent to pass the little mute off on her as
her real brother. Meanwhile, this poor little fellow seems quite
happy, and plays his part so well, all unconsciously, that the new
guard is convinced that he is merely refusing to speak. So there is no
danger. Please send back our faithful messenger to me, as I have need
of your help. Follow the advice he will convey to you orally, for that
is the only way to our success.
“The Temple Tower, November 7, 1794.”
The contents of this letter, taken together with its date, accord in a
remarkable way with Cormier’s communication to Lady Atkyns.
There is another striking argument in favour of the authenticity of
Laurent’s letters. When they were produced by the pretender Nauendorff,
they were for the most part in complete contradiction to all that
was known of the Dauphin’s captivity and the testimonies of those
connected with it. Certain facts to which they made allusion were
known to nobody. Thus Laurent states clearly on November 7 that a new
warder--whom he calls Gommier instead of Gomin--is to come to the
Temple next day and to be associated with him. Now, in 1835, when this
letter was published, what was known of Gomin? Next to nothing, and the
little that was known did not tally with Laurent’s statements. Simeon
Despreaux, author of a book entitled “Louis XVIII.,” published in 1817,
did not even know of Gomin’s existence. Gomin himself made a formal
declaration before the magistrates that he entered the Temple about
July 27, 1794, before Laurent was there at all. Many years later it was
found, on examining all the documents referring to the Temple that were
kept in the National Archives, that Laurent’s statements were quite
correct.
Some days after this letter to Lady Atkyns, Cormier informed Frotté of
the great news, in the course of a visit paid him by the latter.
“I know all about it,” he said, according to Frotté’s account of the
interview afterwards in a letter to Lady Atkyns, “because they could
do nothing without me; but everything is now ready, and I give you my
word that the King and France are saved. All the necessary steps have
been taken. I can tell you no more.... Do not question me, don’t try
to go further into the matter. Already I have told you more than I had
any right to, and from Mr. Pitt down to myself there is now no one who
knows more about it than you do. So I beg of you to keep it absolutely
to yourself.”
From November 8, then, Laurent is no longer sole guardian of the
young Prince. His duties are henceforth shared with Gomin. What kind
of relations subsisted between the two? It is hard to say, for it is
even more difficult to find out the truth about the Temple during the
subsequent months than during those which went before.
We find one innovation introduced during these months which is worth
noting. It is no longer the delegates of the Commune who have to pay
the daily visit to the prison, but the representatives of the _Comités
Civils_ of the forty-eight divisions of Paris. Now, among all those
who visited the Dauphin none left any record, with one exception, to
which we shall come presently. All that we can learn from Gomin’s own
statements, so often contradictory, is that throughout the period
the child placed under his care uttered no word. The warder takes
no further notice of this strange conduct, Laurent having satisfied
him that if the Dauphin will not open his mouth it is because of the
infamous deposition against his mother that he was made to sign. It
is unnecessary to point out how improbable was this explanation, the
Dauphin’s examination having taken place on October 6, 1793, and
Laurent not having come to the Temple until July 29, 1794. Gomin,
however, asked no further questions, and Laurent experiencing no
further anxiety in regard to him, sought what means he could of
bringing about the desired end.
Six weeks pass, however, without further progress, and then on November
5 Laurent hears, to his great satisfaction, that his master has become
a member of the Committee of Public Safety. This new office would
surely enable the general to carry out his plan and relieve the anxious
guardian from the heavy responsibility lying on his shoulders.
It was, therefore, not without surprise that on December 19 Laurent
and Gomin saw three Commissioners of the Committee of Public Safety
make their way into the prison and up the stairway of the Tower to
the Dauphin’s cell. These three visitors--Harmand la Meuse, Matthieu,
and Reverchon--asked to see the Dauphin, so that they might question
him and satisfy themselves as to the way in which he was kept under
supervision. At a time when there were so many rumours current about
the Temple, and when rescues were openly talked about, when every day
brought forth some new sensational report, it was only natural that the
Convention, in order to silence these rumours and calm public opinion,
should institute an official inspection of the prison in this way.
In a work which he published twenty years later, Harmand de la Meuse
tells us all that we know of this visit, and of the impression made
upon the delegates by the little mute ushered into their presence.
Suffice it here to record that this narrative (written with an eye to
the good graces of Louis XVIII.) makes it quite clear that it was a
mute whom they saw, and that all efforts to extract replies were quite
in vain.
Harmand repeats the explanation of this persistent silence which had
been furnished by Laurent. He ignores the fact that the Dauphin had
talked with the Simons, had been interviewed by Barras, and had been
heard to speak on several other occasions.
Assuredly, Harmand and his colleagues--his narrative allows it to
be seen on every page--very soon realized that they were not in the
presence of the Dauphin. This is proved by the fact that, despite the
very distinct terms of the resolution of the Committee entrusting them
with this mission, and the object of which was to dispel the rumours
current in Paris, “they decided they would make no public report, but
would confine themselves to a secret record of their experience to the
Committee itself.”
However natural and intelligible all this may have been to those who
knew what was in the mind of the Convention and the exigencies of the
situation at this period, to Laurent it was a matter of stupefaction.
Barras had sent him no warning, and his position was getting more and
more difficult, for his colleague, who had, of course, to be taken into
his confidence, was beginning to be nervous about participating any
further in the intrigue, and might betray him any day. At last he loses
patience, and expresses himself as follows to his friend the unknown
general:--
“I have just received your letter. Alas, your request is impossible.
It was easy enough to get the ‘victim’ upstairs, but to get him down
again is for the moment impossible, for so sharp a watch is being kept
and I am afraid of being betrayed. The Committee of Public Safety
sent those monsters Matthieu and Reverchon, as you know, to establish
the fact that our mute is really the son of Louis XVI. General, what
does it all mean? I don’t know what to make of B----’s conduct. He
talks now of getting rid of our mute and replacing him by another boy
who is ill. Were you aware of this? Is it not a trap of some kind.
I am getting very much alarmed, for great care is being taken not
to let any one into the prison of our mute, lest the substitution
should become known, for if any one examined him they would discover
that he was deaf from birth, and in consequence naturally mute. But
to substitute some one else for him! The new substitute will talk,
and will do both for our half-rescued P---- and for myself with him.
Please send back our messenger at once with your written reply.
“The Temple Tower, February 5, 1795.”
Let us note the date of this letter--February 5. Therefore the visit
referred to must have taken place before February 5. Now, Eckard, one
of the earliest biographers of the Dauphin, having in the first edition
of his book made the date December 2, 1794, altered it afterwards to
February 13, 1795. De Beauchesne makes it February 27. Chantelauze,
February 26.
On referring to the original documents at our disposal, however, we
find that Laurent’s letter is borne out. In his book, _Le dernier roi
legitime de France_, M. Provins shows that the visit must have taken
place between November 5, 1794, and January 4, 1795, as it was only
during this period that the three delegates were all members of the
Committee. A recent discovery of documents in the National Archives
establishes the fact that it took place on December 19, 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[66] G. Lenôtre, _Vielles Maisons_, _Vieux Papiers_, 2nd series.
[67] A curious plan of this house is to be found at the Bibliothèque
Nationale, Print Department, Paris topography, the Madeleine quarter.
[68] The decree of divorce of Marie-Anne-Suzanne-Rosalie Butler,
forty-nine years old, born at La Rochelle, resident in Paris, Rue
Basse, section des Piques, daughter of Jean-Baptiste Butler and
of Suzanne Bonfils; and Yves-Jean-François-Marie Cormier, aged
fifty-six, born at Rennes, department d’Ile-et-Vilaine, son of the late
Yves-Gilles Cormier and of Marie-Anne-Françoise Egasse.
[69] V. Delaporte, article already quoted, _Études_, October, 1893, p.
265.
[70] _Unpublished Papers of Lady Atkyns._
[71] Note in Lady Atkyns’ own handwriting at the end of a letter of
Cormier’s, dated March 24, 1794.
[72] M. M. de Corbin (note on the letter in Lady Atkyns’ handwriting).
[73] Henri Provins, _Le dernier roi légitime de France_, Paris, 1889, 2
vols.
[74] Note in Lady Atkyns’ handwriting at the foot of a letter from
Cormier, dated June 3, 1795.