THE MYSTERY OF THE TEMPLE (_continued_)
Meanwhile the feelings of jealousy and suspicion which had sprung
up between Cormier, still Lady Atkyns’s principal lieutenant and
confidant, and the Chevalier de Frotté were becoming more and more
marked. At the beginning of October, 1794, Cormier learns of a
correspondence in progress between Lady Atkyns and a person whom he
imagines to be his rival (but who turns out to be merely the “little
baron”), and his ill-humour breaks out in the form of reproaches.
“Chance has willed that I should become acquainted with the fact that
some one has been getting up a correspondence with you,” he writes to
Lady Atkyns, “in such a way as to prevent me from hearing of it....
You will admit that I am justified in assuming there are reasons why
this correspondence is being kept secret from me.”
But he proceeds to assure Lady Atkyns that she still retains all his
admiration and respect, and to protest that he only acquaints her
with the discovery that he has made because of his attachment to her.
Filled with mistrust of Frotté, Cormier withholds from him particulars
as to the progress of affairs at the Temple, and only vouchsafes his
information now and again in vague terms. “I refused to give Frotté
the names of the agents,” he wrote to Lady Atkyns some months later.
“Please remember that. I shall always be proud of that.”
It is not astonishing that Frotté should show some surprise at the way
in which he was being treated, though he was prevented by other causes
of annoyance--his failure to get any satisfaction out of the British
Government and the repeated postponements of his departure--from taking
his position in this respect too much to heart.
Lady Atkyns herself was keeping him at a distance at this time and
avoiding him when she came to London. When he asks for an interview,
she refuses on the pretext of her widowed state and public opinion.
“I wished to avoid seeing or writing M. de Frotté,” she herself
records at a later period, “as I was not in a position to talk to him
about the means being taken for the rescue of the King.”
However, on the eve of setting out from England into the unknown, the
Chevalier makes one more effort to see her.
“You do not write to me,” he begins his letter (December 27, 1794),
“and I should be angry with you if I could be angry with any one, now
that I have all my wishes fulfilled. In three days everything has
changed, and I have nothing more to ask for in England. The longed-for
moment has come. P[uisaye] wants me. I go with him, and all my
requests are granted. We start on Thursday at latest. It is important
that I should see you. I beg of you to set out at once and spend
twenty-four hours here, but without any one knowing of your journey,
lest its object should be suspected. Try to be here by Monday evening,
and let me know where I could see you.”
This time the appeal was too strong to be resisted. It was in the
depths of winter, and the letter arrived at Ketteringham in the
evening; but Lady Atkyns hired a post-chaise at once, and set out a
few hours later, and travelled all night in stormy weather to London,
arriving there in the morning. She seems, however, to have resisted the
temptation to let Frotté into the secret of the Temple doings. Perhaps
she had a presentiment that the Chevalier, for all his protestations
of fidelity now, would fall away later and pass into the camp of some
other pretendant to the throne.
We have spoken already of the endless intrigues which were being
hatched round the British Government by the hordes of _émigrés_ and
broken-down exiles from the Continent. For these gentry, mostly
penniless and forced to beg their livelihood, no resource was too
base by which they could get into favour with the Ministers. Besides
scheming in a thousand different fashions against the common enemy, the
Revolution, they stuck at nothing in their efforts to throw suspicion
upon each other. The little court which had gathered round the Comte
D’Artois on the Continent was also a hotbed of plots and schemes, the
influence of which made itself felt in London. Every one spied on every
one else.
In the midst of this world of intruders a sort of industrial
association came into being in the course of the year 1794, for the
purpose of inundating France with false paper-money. It was hoped
that in this way a severe blow would be dealt at the hated Jacobins
and their friends. These nefarious proceedings soon became known, and
called forth the indignation of some of the better class of _émigrés_,
among them the honest Cormier.
His position among his compatriots was not at this time of the best.
They had no love for this man of firm character, faithful to his
principles and incapable of lending his countenance to such doings. He
himself soon came to realize this.
“One doesn’t know whom to trust,” he wrote to Lady Atkyns. “I am sure
some one has furnished the Government with a long report upon my
projects. I am on the track of the man who I think is guilty. There
is no reason for you to be anxious on the subject. I shall soon know
what has been done, and both the traitor and the Government shall be
outwitted.”
About this time a flood of memorials of all sorts poured in by
mysterious channels upon the British Government, maintaining that “the
general desire of the French was for a change in the ruling family.”
Cormier discovered that they all were traceable to the same source, and
we find him declaring energetically that “the blasphemous scoundrels”
who were responsible for them all belonged to one clique.
His indignation, in which he found few sympathizers, made him a number
of enemies, and the disfavour with which he was already regarded in
French circles soon changed into downright hatred. The fact that he
denounced the false paper-money to the British Government--and not in
vain--was a cause of special bitterness against him. By way of revenge,
they could think of nothing better than to accuse him of being himself
guilty of the very offences against which he had set his face.
“They are trying to make out that I am the owner of ships which I use
for the purpose of conveying this false paper-money to Brittany,”
he writes to Lady Atkyns. “They have stated this to the Government.
Fortunately, my whole conduct and reputation, and all that I have done
to destroy this shameful traffic, serve to show the improbability of
such accusations.”
But, in spite of all his energy and determination, Cormier’s enemies
were too strong for him. It was in vain that he demonstrated his good
faith. Calumny had done its work.
The British Government had decided, in concert with the Comte
d’Artois, to send an important mission to the Netherlands, with a
view, doubtless, to establishing relations with the Stadtholder, whose
position was becoming critical owing to the sequel to the Revolution.
The man to be entrusted with this mission would have to be some one
who had given proof of his qualifications. Cormier seemed cut out for
the post, and he stood in readiness for it, enjoying the prospect of
thus getting into touch again with France, and of perhaps being able
to serve the interests that were so dear to him. But he had reckoned
without his foes. Their efforts were redoubled, and in the course
of November Cormier learnt that another had been entrusted with the
mission. His anger and disappointment can be imagined. He decided
that, in spite of all, he would leave England and betake himself to
Holland on private business. Doubtless he imagined also that it would
be an advantage to be near the French frontier, and that he would be
the better able to follow the course of events at the Temple. It was
a risky step to take, for there was nothing to guarantee his complete
security in the Netherlands.
However that might be, his decision was taken, and on November 25,
1794, Baron d’Auerweck wrote to Lady Atkyns to acquaint her with the
news of Cormier’s departure, conveying to her at the same time many
apologies for his having himself neglected to write to her to take
farewell. During the months that follow the “little baron” replaces the
Breton magistrate as principal correspondent of Lady Atkyns.
It is a strange personality that stands revealed in these letters of
Baron d’Auerweck. Keen and resourceful, the baron lays himself out to
exploit to the utmost the valuable friendship of the English lady,
thus bequeathed to him, as it were, by Cormier. Trained by Peltier,
d’Auerweck seems to have modelled himself upon his master, and to have
become in his turn the accomplished publicist, plausible, fluent,
supple, with a gift of raillery and sarcasm, together with a turn
for philosophy. Lady Atkyns, though not unappreciative of his copious
epistles, shows clearly that she estimates him at his real value, and
is careful not to take him too much into her confidence. It must be
enough for him to know that there is still reason to hope that the
Dauphin may be saved. D’Auerweck himself is not in a position to give
her much information in return. His letters consist rather of a bright
and lively commentary upon the political situation and the course of
events generally in France.
Upon Cormier’s decision to leave England the Baron expresses himself
in downright language, and makes it a text for a disquisition upon his
elder’s character.
“Cormier’s departure has disturbed me a good deal,” he writes to
Lady Atkyns, “the more so that, with a little prudence, he could
have spared himself this unpleasantness, and might have succeeded
in getting what he wanted. A man who has passed his whole life in
the magistracy ought, at the age of fifty-six, to know something
about men, but Cormier has never got further than the A B C of such
knowledge. I have had some rather hot disputes with him over his rash
confidence, his purposeless explosions, his sudden friendships that
ended in ruptures, thus increasing the number of his enemies.... But
we both of us felt the parting. I must do him the justice of admitting
that there is a lot of kindness and sympathy in his character. I think
he has the same feeling of friendship for me that I have for him. It
is my wish to serve him whenever the opportunity may arrive.”
By an unfortunate coincidence, the political situation in Holland was
undergoing a disquieting change at the moment of Cormier’s arrival.
Until then England had exercised a decisive influence there, both
by reason of the presence of her army and through counsels of the
Stadtholder. But in the autumn of 1794 a popular feeling in favour
of the Revolution began to make itself felt, fanned by the hostility
aroused against the undisciplined English troops, with their looting
and pillaging, and intensified by an unlooked-for piece of news: the
French, led by Pichegru, had crossed the frontier and were advancing
by long marches, and seizing all the places they passed through on
their way. In a few weeks the power of the Stadtholder would have
gone! Though clothed in rags, the soldiers of the National Convention
were welcomed with transports of delight. Never did troops show such
discipline, it should be added.
But Pichegru was not alone. Beside him marched representatives of the
Convention, eager to institute in the United Provinces the principles
of the Revolution and to establish the guarantees of order and security
inseparable therefrom.
Therein lay the danger for those who, like Cormier, were to be found in
_flagrante delicto_ of emigration. On November 8, 1794, an order came
from the Committee of Public Safety to the representatives with the
army, commanding them to seize the Stadtholder, together with his wife
and children, as well as to arrest immediately all _émigrés_ who might
fall into their hands.
Knowledge of this important decree had not come to London on December
15, for on this date we find d’Auerweck writing to Lady Atkyns that
he has had news of Cormier, “who is now at La Haye in good health and
spirits.”
The extreme cold which prevailed this year contributed in a remarkable
degree, as is well known, to the success of Pichegru’s operations
in Holland. Shut in by the ice, the powerless fleet was obliged to
surrender to the French cavalry--a memorable incident in the military
annals of the Republic. The famous dams, which were to be opened and
to flood the country and submerge the French, became useless by reason
of the frost. In short, Pichegru triumphed throughout. He made his
entry into Amsterdam on January 10, 1795, and eight days later the
Stadtholder embarked for England. The Dutch Republic had come into
being.
Cormier’s fate throughout this period must have been a matter for
anxiety to Lady Atkyns, but the absence of anything in the shape of
definite news from Paris as to the state of things at the Temple
continued to be to her a source of far greater disquietude. The vague
assurance as to the Dauphin’s well-being, which d’Auerweck transmitted
to her from time to time, counted for nothing, as she knew herself to
be better informed as to what had been under way.
What had been happening? A third letter, addressed by Laurent to his
correspondent, under date of March 3, 1795, enlightens us a little:--
“Our little mute has now been smuggled away into the palace of the
Temple and well concealed. There he will remain, and if need be
can be passed off as the Dauphin. The triumph is altogether yours,
general. You can now be quite at ease in your mind--send me your
orders and I shall carry them out. Lasne will take my place now as
soon as he likes. The best and safest steps have been taken to ensure
the Dauphin’s safety. Consequently I shall be able to get to you in a
few days, and shall be able to tell you all further details orally.”
These lines herald a momentous alteration in the _régime_ of the
prison. First of all, there is the question of Laurent’s leaving it.
Presumably his presence is no longer needed there. This suggests that
success is assured. And Lasne--how is it that his name makes its
appearance here for the first time? We shall find him declaring in
1834 that his service in the Temple began in Fructidor year II., that
is to say, between August 18 and September 16, 1794.[75] In that case
Laurent would have had him as his colleague for several months already!
The Temple documents preserved in the National Archives, and examined
fifteen years later, establish the fact that Lasne did not, indeed,
enter upon his duties until March 31, 1795, thus bearing out the
accuracy of Laurent’s statement.
We see, then, that the little mute has been transferred to the palace
of the Temple--that is to say, into one of the many empty suites in the
great maze of buildings that surrounded the Tower. Here he has been,
or perhaps will soon be, joined by the Dauphin himself, for means of
retreat from this labyrinth of buildings are infinitely greater than
from the fourth storey of the Tower.
To replace the mute, another substitute has been found, a scrofulous
boy who may be expected soon to die. All barriers to the Dauphin’s
escape will thus be removed. So much we gather from Laurent, and all
his statements are borne out by documents which have been left by
Royalist agents.
This second substitution effected, Laurent was able to quit his post
with an easy mind, and we find that he did actually leave the Temple on
March 29, 1795. His successor, Lasne, arrives two days later. Gomin,
who perhaps knows part of the truth through Laurent (and, moreover,
his _rôle_ is more especially to attend to Marie Thérèse), is careful
not to confide in him, knowing well the risk he would run by so doing.
Lasne finds in the prison a boy who is evidently very ill, in great
suffering, whose death is soon to be expected. What would be the use of
asking questions? It is enough for him to attend to the child as best
he may during the few weeks of life that still remain to him.
* * * * *
Spring had passed and June had arrived before Lady Atkyns was again to
see the familiar handwriting, rounded and minute, of her friend the
Breton magistrate. The letter bore the postmark of Hamburg. What was
Cormier doing on the banks of the Elbe? He would seem to have had some
perilous adventures. Probably he had been arrested as an _émigré_ and
had escaped the guillotine by some happy chance. However that may be,
the news he had to tell of events in France came as a great relief to
his correspondent.
“We have been better served, my dear friend, than we ourselves
arranged. Our agents have not kept to our plan, but they have done
wisely.... But we must have patience. Things are in such a condition
at present that they can be neither hastened nor delayed. A false move
might have very bad results.”
Within a week of the arrival of this letter, an announcement, that came
to many as a surprise, found its way round London. It was officially
reported that the Dauphin had died in prison on June 8, 1795. Had not
Cormier’s assurances come in time to buoy her up, so categorical a
statement might well have given Lady Atkyns a severe shock. She knew
now, however, that it could not be of _her_ boy that there was question.
Some weeks pass in silence, and Lady Atkyns, impatient for news, urges
the “little baron” to set out for Hamburg. He starts in the first week
of July, but is delayed at Ocfordnese, whence he writes to her on the
16th. At last he reaches his destination, but means of communication
are so uncertain that several more weeks elapse before she hears
anything further. September finds d’Auerweck returning to London with
a letter from Cormier to Lady Atkyns. In October, again unable to
curb her anxiety, she had just decided to send d’Auerweck to Paris,
when, to her deep grief and dismay, she learnt suddenly from Cormier
that everything had gone wrong--that “they had all been deceived,
shamefully deceived.” The child that had died on June 8 was, indeed,
the second substitute, and the Dauphin had undoubtedly escaped, but
others had got possession of him, and the boy handed over to Lady
Atkyns’ agents was the young mute.
“Yes,” he writes, “we have been taken in totally and completely. That
is quite certain. But how have they managed to do it? And did we take
every step that could be taken to make this impossible? These are
matters you will want me to go into in detail, and I shall not fail
to do so; but I must wait until I have time to trace the sequence of
events from a diary day by day for a year past. The entries for the
first two months are missing for the present--the least interesting
period certainly, since down to that time, and for several months
afterwards, only the project of carrying off the Dauphin was being
kept in view, the project which had to be abandoned afterwards in
favour of another which seemed simpler and more feasible, as well as
less perilous.”
Cormier’s long letter left Lady Atkyns completely in the dark as to
what exactly had happened. They had been tricked somehow--that was all
she knew.
To us, as to her, the names of most of the many participants in this
mysterious intrigue remain unknown. Laurent went off to San Domingo in
the following year, where he died on August 22, 1807. Gomin, to some
extent his accomplice in the matter of the substitution, followed Marie
Antoinette’s daughter to Austria, and was careful to keep what he knew
to himself. As for our three friends, Cormier, Frotté, and d’Auerweck,
we shall learn presently the reasons for their silence.
The one person who has tried to clear up the obscurity of these
happenings inside the Temple is the wife of the bootmaker, Antoine
Simon, the Dauphin’s first warder. Considerations of space prevent
us from entering here upon any detailed examination of her evidence,
but we must not pass it by without a word. Mme. Simon, after her
husband’s death during the Reign of Terror--he was guillotined in
Thermidor--withdrew to the asylum for incurables in the Rue de Sèvres,
where she was to spend the remainder of her existence. Here she was
heard on many occasions to assert that she was convinced the Dauphin
was alive, having seen him carried off when she and her husband were
leaving the Temple, on the evening of January 19, 1794. If this were
true, it would result that that child looked after by Laurent was not
the Dauphin at all! This does not fit in with the version that we have
put together from Laurent’s own letters and the various other documents
which we have been able to examine. But even if it were true, the
poignant question would still call for an answer--what became of the
young Dauphin after his escape? Into whose hands did he fall?
FOOTNOTES:
[75] His deposition at the Richemont trial.--PROVINS.