THE FRIENDS OF LADY ATKYNS
What was the Chevalier de Frotté doing all this time? What steps was he
taking towards the realization of what he had called so often the goal
of his life, and towards the execution of the promises he had made with
so much ardour and enthusiasm?
Transported with joy on hearing that the British Government at last
contemplated listening to his projects and sending him to Normandy,
Frotté, when leaving London, betook himself with four comrades-in-arms
to Jersey--the great _rendezvous_ at that time for the insurgents
engaged in dangerous enterprises on the Continent, and seeking to find
landing-places on the French coast.
It was the middle of winter--snow was falling heavily, and there were
strong winds. Several weeks passed, during which the patience of our
_émigrés_ was severely taxed. Nothing was more difficult than to
effect a landing in Normandy under such conditions. Apart from the
difficulty of finding a vessel to make the crossing, it was necessary
to choose some spot where they might succeed in escaping the vigilance
of the troops stationed all along the cliffs, whose forts presented a
formidable barrier. In short, Frotté and his friends found themselves
confronted with serious obstacles.
On January 11, 1795, they were observed to leave Guernsey in a small
sailing-vessel manned by English sailors, taking with them three
_émigrés_ who were to act as guides. What happened to them? No one
knows exactly. Certain it is merely that the boat returned rudderless
and disabled, with Frotté and his four companions. According to their
own account, they took a wrong direction in the dark, and sailed
along the coast in the midst of rocks. Their guides landed first, and
disappeared from sight under a hail of bullets, and it was with great
difficulty that they themselves had been able to get back to Guernsey.
At the beginning of February they made another effort, and succeeded
in landing near Saint-Brieuc. Frotté at once made his way inland to
join the insurgents, but ill fortune followed him. He had not been a
fortnight in the country when he learned, to his surprise, that the
Chouans under Cormatin had just concluded a truce to prepare the way
for peace. His feelings may be imagined. To have waited so long for
this! So much for his hopes and castles in the air! But there was no
help for it. On February 17, 1795, the treaty of Tannaye was concluded,
and a month later Frotté, who had kept moving about over La Vendée
and Normandy unceasingly to survey the ground, established himself at
Rennes, where he assisted at the conference of La Mabilais, which was
to confirm the truce already agreed to.
[Illustration: MARIE-PIERRE-LOUIS, COUNT DE FROTTÉ, 1766-1800.
(_After a portrait belonging to the Marquis de Frotté._)]
If the turn taken by events had led him off temporarily in a different
direction, his mind never abandoned the secret purpose which had
brought him to France. Nevertheless, a change, at first imperceptible,
but afterwards obvious enough, was coming over him.
The reader will not have forgotten the way in which a feeling of
antagonism had grown up between Cormier and the Chevalier. The ill-will
cherished by the latter for his quondam friend had not disappeared.
On the contrary, the belief that Lady Atkyns was keeping him
deliberately at arm’s length had intensified the jealousy. The result
was inevitable. Chagrined at being thus left on one side, and at being
supplanted, as he felt, in his fair lady’s affections, he soon began
to devote himself entirely to his new _rôle_ as a Chouan leader, and
ceased to interest himself any longer in the drama of the Temple. In
truth, he was not without pretexts for this semi-desertion of the cause.
On March 16, anxious to explain himself to Lady Atkyns, he writes
to tell her just how he is feeling on the subject. He would have
her realize that there is no longer any ground for hopes as to the
Dauphin’s safety. When in touch with the representatives of the
Convention who took part in the conference at La Mabilais, he had
taken one of them aside, it seems, and questioned him frankly as to
whether the Republican Government would consent to listen to any
proposal regarding the young Prince, and whether he, Frotté, would
be allowed to write to the Temple. The member of the Convention made
reply, after taking a day to consider the matter and to consult his
colleagues, that what Frotté suggested was out of the question.
“Your devotion,” he said, “would be fruitless, for under Robespierre
the unhappy boy was so demoralized, mentally and physically, that he
is now almost an imbecile, and can’t live much longer. Therefore you
may as well dismiss any such idea from your head--you can form no
notion of the hopeless condition the poor little creature has sunk
into.”
These lines, reflecting the view then current among the official
representatives of the Convention, stand out strikingly when we recall
the situation at the Temple in this very month of March, 1795, and the
absolute order given to Frotté not to allow the child to be seen. They
tally at all points with what we know of the substitution that had been
effected. To this substitution, indeed, Frotté himself proceeds to make
an explicit allusion towards the end of the letter.
“Perhaps the Convention is anxious,” he writes, “to bring about the
death of the child whom they have substituted for the young King, so
that they may be able to make people believe that the latter is not
really the King at all.”
As for himself, he has made up his mind. He will make no further
efforts for the deliverance of the Dauphin.
On April 25, 1795, the La Mabilais Treaty was signed, and Frotté, who
refused to subscribe to it, went off again to Normandy, confident
of seeing the struggle recommence, and impatient to set going a new
insurrection. Had he received any reply from Lady Atkyns to his
outspoken missive? Assuredly not. If she gave any credence to his
statements at the time, they must soon have passed out of her memory,
for, thanks to Cormier, June found her quite confident again of the
success of their plans. Not knowing, therefore, what to say to her old
admirer--Cormier having forbidden her to tell him the names of their
agents--she determined to keep silent.
Shortly afterwards, on the day after June 8, the report of the
Dauphin’s death reached Normandy. The proclamation of the Comte de
Provence--for how many weeks must he not have been waiting impatiently
for it to be made--as successor to the throne of France in his nephew’s
place was read to the insurgents. Frotté, who for some time already
had been responding to the advances made to him by the pretendant, now
formally placed his sword at the service of the new King.
What would have prevented him from taking this step? Would a personal
interview with Lady Atkyns have had this effect? Perhaps; but devoted
now to his new mission, passing from fight to fight, Frotté was no
longer his own master.
Nevertheless, at the end of 1795, some feeling of remorse, or else
the desire to renew his old place in the goodwill of Lady Atkyns, who
had twice asked him to write and tell her about himself, moved Frotté
to take pen in hand once again. He had been engaged in fighting for
several months, concerting surprises and ambuscades, always on the _qui
vive_. He had twice narrowly escaped capture by the enemy. In spite
of this he managed to keep up an interesting correspondence with his
companions operating more to the south and to the west, in La Vendée
and in Le Bocage, and with the chiefs of his party in London, who
supplied the sinews of war, as well as with Louis XVIII. himself, in
whose cause he had sworn to shed the last drop of his blood. There
is no reason to be astonished at finding our “Général des Chouans”
expressing himself thus, or at the changed attitude adopted by him,
dictated by circumstances and the new situation in which he has now
found himself. Here is how he seeks to disabuse Lady Atkyns of the hope
to which she is still clinging:--
“No, dear lady, I shall not forget my devotion to you before I forget
my allegiance to the blood of my kings. I have broken faith in no
way, but, unfortunately, I have none but untoward news to give you. I
have been grieved to find that we have been deceived most completely.
For nearly a month after landing I was in the dark, but at last I
got to the bottom of the affair. I was not able to get to see the
unfortunate child who was born to rule over us. He was not saved.
The regicides--regicides twice over--having first, like the monsters
they are, allowed him to languish in his prison, brought about his
end there. He never left it. Just reflect how we have all been duped.
I don’t know how it is that without having ever received my letters
you are still labouring under this delusion. Nothing remains for you
but to weep for our treasure and to punish the miscreants who are
responsible for his death. Madame alone remains, and it is almost
certain that she will be sent to the Emperor, if this has not been
done already.”
These lines but confirmed what Frotté had written in the preceding
March, after his talk with the representative of the Convention. The
news of the Dauphin’s death having been proclaimed shortly after that,
there had been no longer any difficulty in persuading the Chevalier
to take up arms in the service of the Comte de Provence. He discloses
himself the change that has come over his sentiments.
“How is it,” he writes to Lady Atkyns, “that you are still under
the delusion, when all France has resounded with the story of the
misfortunes of our young, unhappy King? The whole of Europe has now
recognized His Royal Highness, his uncle, as King of France.... The
rights of blood have given me another master, and I owe him equally
my zeal and the service of my arm, happy in having got a number of
gallant Royalists together. I have the honour of being in command of
those fighting in Normandy. That is my position, madame. You will
readily understand how I have suffered over the terrible destiny of my
young King, and nothing intensifies my sorrow so much as the thought
of the sadness you yourself will feel when you learn the truth. But
moderate your grief, my friend. You owe yourself to the sister not
less than to the brother.”
And to enforce this advice, Frotté recalls to her the memory of the
Queen, which should serve, he thinks, to remove all scruples.
“Remember the commands of your august friend, and you will be able to
bear up under your misfortunes. You will keep up your spirits for the
sake of Madame. You will live for her and for your friends, to whom,
moreover, you should do more justice. Adieu, my unhappy friend. Accept
the homage of a true Royalist, who will never cease to be devoted to
you, who will never cease either to deplore this deception of which we
have been victims. Adieu.”
Was this farewell, taken in so nonchalant a fashion, to denote a final
sundering of two hearts united by so many memories in common? It would
appear so. Lady Atkyns was so strong in her convictions that the only
effect of such words would be to make her feel that all was over
between her and the Chevalier. Later, when he made an effort to renew
relations with her and asked her to return the letters he had written
to her, she would seem to have refused point blank, from what she wrote
to a confidant.
He must, however, have got hold of some portion of their
correspondence, for on his return to his château of Couterne, this
indefatigable penman, in the scant leisure left him by his military
duties, filled several note-books with reminiscences and political
reflections tending to justify his conduct. In one of these note-books,
which have been carefully preserved, he transcribed fragments of his
letters to his friend--fragments carefully selected in such a way as
not to implicate him in the affair of the Temple, once the death of
the Dauphin had been announced. Had he lived, he would doubtless have
learned what had really happened, as set forth in the documents we have
been studying; but his days were numbered.
His end is well known: how, having fallen into an ambush, he and six
of his companions were shot by Napoleon’s orders, in despite of a
safe-conduct with which he was furnished, on February 18, 1800, at
Verneuil. If in the course of these five years he did learn the full
truth about the Dauphin, he doubtless abstained from any reference to
it out of regard for the King. He carried his private convictions in
silence to the grave.
The news of his death was received with emotion in London. Peltier, who
had had good opportunities for forming an opinion of him, gave out a
cry of horror. “This act,” he wrote in his gazette, “covers Bonaparte
for ever with shame and infamy.”
* * * * *
The small circle of Lady Atkyns’ London friends lost thus one of its
members. Meanwhile, Lady Atkyns had been making the acquaintance of a
French woman who had been living in England for some years, and whose
feelings corresponded to a remarkable degree with her own. This lady
had found a warm welcome at Richmond, near London, on her arrival as an
_émigré_ from France.
Pale, thin, anxious-looking, the victim of a sombre sorrow which almost
disfigured her face, Louise de Chatillon, Princesse de Tarente, wife
of the Duc de la Tremoïlle, had escaped death in a marvellous way. A
follower of Marie-Antoinette, from whom she had been separated only
by force, she had been arrested on the day after August 10 as having
been the friend of the Princesse de Lamballe. Shut up in the sinister
prison of l’Abbaye, she had felt that death was close at hand. From her
dungeon she could see the men of September at their work and hear the
cries of agony given forth by their victims. At last, after ten days of
imprisonment, she was liberated, thanks to an unexpected intervention,
and in the month of September, 1792, she succeeded in finding a ship to
take her to England.
Hers was a strikingly original personality, and it is not without
a feeling of surprise that one studies the portrait of her which
accompanies the recent work, _Souvenirs de la Princesse de Tarente_.
The drama in which she had taken part, and the bloody spectacle of
which she had been a witness, seem to have left their mark on her
countenance, with its aspect of embittered sadness. Her eyes give out
a look of fierceness. Save for the thin hair partially covering her
forehead, there is almost nothing feminine in her face. Seeing her for
the first time, Lady Atkyns must have received an impression for which
she was unprepared. They took to each other, however, very quickly,
having a bond in common in their memories of the Queen. Both had come
under the charm of Marie-Antoinette, their devotion to whom was ardent
and sincere. The Queen was their one great topic of conversation. Few
of their letters lack some allusion to her.
Knowledge of Lady Atkyns’ devotion to the Royal House of France, of
the sacrifices she had made, was widespread in the world of English
society, and the Princess, having heard of her, was anxious to meet
the woman, who, more fortunate than herself, had been able to afford
some balm to the sufferings, to prevent which she would so willingly
have given her life. The Duke of Queensberry brought about a meeting
between the two ladies. What passed between them on this occasion? What
questions did they exchange in their eager anxiety to learn something
new about the Queen? Doubtless the most eager inquiries came from the
Princess, and bore upon the achievements of Lady Atkyns, her visit to
the Conciergerie, her talks with the illustrious prisoner. For weeks
afterwards there was an interchange of letters between the two, in
which is clearly disclosed the state of affectionate anxiety of the
Princess’s mind. They address each other already by their Christian
names, Louise and Charlotte. Lady Atkyns shows Mme. de Tarente the few
souvenirs of the Queen she still possessed, the last lines the Queen
wrote to her. It is touching to note, in reading their correspondence,
how every day is to them an anniversary of some event in the life of
the Queen, full of sweet or anguishing memories.
“How sad I was yesterday!” writes the Princess. “It was the
anniversary of a terrible day, when the Queen escaped assassination
only by betaking herself to the King’s apartments in the middle of the
night. Why did she escape? _To know you_--but for that the Almighty
would surely have been kind enough to her to have let her fall a
victim then.”
For all the affection which surrounds her, Mme. de Tarente constantly
bemoans her solitude.
“I am in the midst of the world,” she writes, “yet all alone.
Yesterday I longed so to talk of that which filled my poor heart, but
there was none who would have understood me. So I kept my trouble to
myself. I was like one of those figures you wind up which go for a
time and then stop again. I kept falling to pieces and pulling myself
together again. Ah, how sad life is!”
In the summer of 1797 the Princess came to a momentous decision. The
Emperor and Empress of Russia, whom she had known formerly at the
French Court, having heard of her trials and of the not very enviable
condition in which she was living, pressed her to come to Russia, where
she would be cordially greeted. After long hesitation she decided to
accept, but it was not without genuine heartburnings that she separated
from her English friends, from her Charlotte most of all. She left
London at the end of July, and arrived at St. Petersburg a fortnight
later. Very soon afterwards she wrote Lady Atkyns an account of the
journey and of her first impressions of her new surroundings.
The Emperor and Empress received her in their Peterhof palace with
the utmost consideration. Appointed at once a lady-in-waiting on the
Empress, she found herself in enjoyment of many privileges attached to
this post. The house in which she was to live had been prepared for her
specially by the Emperor’s command. Finally, she was decorated with the
Order of St. Catherine, and the Empress on her _fête_ day presented
her with her portrait. Different indeed is her position from what it
had been at Richmond.
“I never drive out without four horses, and even this is my own doing,
for I ought not, as a lady-in-waiting, to have less than six. They
tell me I shall be obliged to get myself made the uniform of the Order
of St. Catherine, and that would cost me 1200 roubles, that is, 150
louis.”
But the very marked favour met with by the Princess could not but
disquiet some of the courtiers at the Palace. Within a week of her
arrival, one of the ladies in attendance upon the Empress, Mme. de
Nelidoff, at the instigation of Prince Alexandre Kourakine, hastened
to represent Mme. de Tarente’s conduct and the unusual honour that had
been shown her under the most unfavourable light to her Majesty the
Empress; and her jealousy thus aroused (so one of Mme. de Tarente’s
friends tells the tale), she had no difficulty in settling matters with
her husband, and when the Princess next entered the imperial presence,
the Emperor neither spoke to her nor looked at her.
The snub was patent, but the Princess seems to have taken it
nonchalantly enough. The friendly welcome accorded to her by St.
Petersburg society, the kindness and affection she met with from the
Golowine family, in whose house she soon installed herself, there to
remain until her death, enabled her speedily to forget the intrigue
of her enemies at the Court. The incident is barely alluded to in her
letters to Lady Atkyns, which continue to be taken up chiefly with
reminiscences of their beloved Queen.
Towards the end of 1798 the two friends are sundered by Lady Atkyns’
decision to return to France, impelled by the desire to be near those
who had played so important a _rôle_ in her life, and to meet again
those friends who had co-operated in her work--perhaps also to meet and
question those who might be in a position to enlighten her regarding
the fate of the Dauphin. This decision she communicates to the
Princess, who opposes it strongly, warning her against the imprudence
she is about to commit. Lady Atkyns persists, and the Princess at last
loses patience. “I have so often combated your mad idea,” she writes
nobly, “that I don’t wish to say anything more on the subject.”
In the spring of 1814 the news came to St. Petersburg of the defeat of
the armies of Napoleon and the accession of Louis XVIII. Immediately
large numbers of exiles, who were but waiting for this, made haste back
to France. Mme. de Tarente contemplated being of their number, but
before she could even make arrangements for the journey, death came to
her on January 22, 1814.
* * * * *
Hamburg, where our friends Mme. Cormier and the “little Baron” took
refuge in 1795, was already a powerful city, rich by reason of its
commerce, and its governing body, conscious of its strength, were not
the less jealous of its independence. Its unique position, in the
midst of the other German states, the neutrality to which it clung
and which it was determined should be respected, sufficed to prevent
it hitherto from looking askance at the ever-growing triumphs of the
armies of the French Republic, and the Convention, too much taken up
with its own frontiers, had done nothing to threaten the independence
of the Hanseatic town.
This fact did not escape the _émigrés_, who were finding it more and
more difficult to evade the rigorous look-out of the Revolutionary
Government, and soon Hamburg was filled with nobles, ecclesiastics,
Chouans, conspirators, Royalist agents, just as London had been some
years earlier. Safe from surprises, and in constant communication with
England, Germany, and Italy, this world of wanderers had discovered
an ideal haven in which to hatch all their divers plots. Clubs were
started by them, called after celebrated men. Rivarol was the centre of
one set, noted for its intellectual stamp and its verve and wit. The
publications also that saw the light in Hamburg enjoyed a wide liberty,
and this it was that opened the eyes of the Republican Government to
the state of things.
On September 28, 1795, there arrived at Hamburg, Citoyen
Charles-Frédéric Reinhard, official representative of the Convention,
formerly head of a department in the Ministry for Foreign Affairs in
Paris. There could be no mistake about the nature of the instructions
with which this personage was provided. If the condition of the
commercial relations between the two states was the official pretext
for his embassy, an investigation into the affairs of the _émigrés_ was
its real object. The Senate of the town were quick to realize this.
However, Reinhard’s conciliatory bearing and his expressed dislike for
the police duties imposed upon him by the Directoire prevented his
mission from having too uncompromising an aspect. He could not shut his
eyes, of course, to what was going on, and, in spite of his repugnance
to such methods, he was forced to employ some of the tale-bearers and
spies always numerous among the _émigrés_. In a short period a complete
system of espionage was organized. It did not attain to the state of
perfection secured by Bourienne later under the direction of Fouché,
but its existence was enough to enhance the uneasiness of the Hamburg
Senate. Their refusal to acquiesce in certain steps taken by the
Directoire forced Reinhard to quit the town previously, in the month
of February, and to take up his abode at Bremen, afterwards at Altona.
This suburb of Hamburg, separated from it only by an arm of the river,
was yet outside the limits of the little republic, and suited his
purpose excellently as a place from which to conduct his observations.
Everything that went on in Hamburg was known there within a few hours.
It was at this period that Reinhard received a visit from a somewhat
sinister individual, named Colleville, who came to offer his services
to the Directoire. He volunteered to keep Reinhard informed as to the
doings of the _émigrés_, to whom he had easy access. On March 5, 1796,
he turned up with a lengthy document containing a wealth of particulars
regarding one of the principal agents of the princes--no other than our
friend d’Auerweck, for the moment a long way from Hamburg, but soon
expected back. “He is one of the best-informed men to be met anywhere,”
Colleville reports. “He has travelled a great deal, and is _au courant_
with the feeling of the various courts and ministers.”
It must be admitted that the spy was well informed as to the character
and record of the “little Baron.” D’Auerweck would seem in intimate
relations with a certain Pictet, “Windham’s man.” Through him he was in
correspondence with Verona. He was known to be the “friend of the Baron
de Wimpfen and of a M. de Saint-Croix, formerly Lieutenant-General in
the Bayeux district. In his report upon d’Auerweck, Colleville had
occasion inevitably to mention his friend Cormier. He stated, in fact,
that at the moment d’Auerweck was located at Mme. Cormier’s house in
Paris in the Rue Basse-du-Rempart.
Colleville could not have begun his work better. D’Auerweck was not
unknown to Reinhard, who, five months before, in a letter to Delacroix,
the Minister for Foreign Affairs, had mentioned the fact of his
presence in London, “where he was in frequent touch with du Moustier
and the former minister Montciel.”
By a curious coincidence, on the same day that Reinhard got his
information, the Minister of Police in Paris, the Citoyen Cochon, had
been made aware that a congress of _émigrés_ was shortly to be held at
Hamburg. The agent who sent him this announcement drew his attention at
the same time to the presence at Hamburg of a person named Cormier.
“It should be possible to find out through him the names of those who
will be taking part in the Congress. He is a magistrate of Rennes who
has been continually mixed up in intrigue. His wife has remained in
Paris.... The correspondence of this Cormier ought to be amusing, for
he is daring and has _esprit_.”
Reference is made in the same communication to “the baron Varweck, a
Hungarian, passing himself off as an American, living in Paris for the
past five months.”
This was enough to arouse the attention of the Directoire. The
persistence with which the two names reappeared proved that their
efforts had not slackened. By force of what circumstances had they been
drawn into the great intrigue against the Revolutionary Party? It is
difficult to say. For some months past Cormier’s letters to Lady Atkyns
had been gradually becoming fewer, at last to cease altogether. Having
lost all hope in regard to the affair of the Temple, the ex-magistrate,
placing trust in the general belief as to what had happened, came to
the conclusion that it was vain to attempt to penetrate further into
the mystery, and he decided to place his services at the disposal of
the Princes.
The Minister for Foreign Affairs lost no time about sending
instructions to Reinhard, charging him to keep a sharp watch on the
meeting of the _émigrés_ and to learn the outcome of their infamous
manœuvres. He should get Colleville, moreover, to establish relations
with Cormier, “that very adroit and clever individual.” In the course
of a few days Reinhard felt in a position to pull the strings of his
system of espionage.
Two very different parties were formed among the _émigrés_ at Hamburg.
That of the “Old Royalists,” or of the “_ancien régime_,” would hear
of nothing but the restoration of the ancient monarchy; that of the
“new _régime_” felt that it was necessary, in order to reinstate the
monarchy, to make concessions to Republican ideas. Cormier would seem
to have belonged to the former, of which he was the only enterprising
member. His brother-in-law, Butler, kept on the move between Paris and
Boulogne, and Calais and Dunkirk, with letters and supplies of money
from England. D’Auerweck had left Paris now and was in England, eager
to join Cormier at Hamburg, but prevented by illness.
Cormier was now in open correspondence with the King, to whom he had
proposed the publication of a gazette in the Royalist interest. He was
in frequent communication, too, with the Baron de Roll, the Marquis de
Nesle, Rivarol, and the Abbé Louis, and all the “monarchical fanatics.”
Despite his age, in short, he was becoming more active and enterprising
than ever. Too clever not to perceive that he was being specially
watched, he was not long in getting the spy into his own service by
means of bribes, and making him collaborate in the hoodwinking of
the Minister. The report that had got about concerning his actions,
however, disquieted the Princes, and at the end of June Cormier is
said to have received a letter from the Comte d’Artois forbidding him
“to have anything more to say to his affairs,” and reproaching him
in very sharp terms. At the same period, Butler, to whose ears the
same report had found its way, wrote to rebuke him severely for his
indiscretion, and broke off all communication with him. Meanwhile, he
was in pecuniary difficulties, and borrowing money from any one who
would lend, so altogether his position was becoming critical. Soon he
would have to find a refuge elsewhere.
When, in the autumn, Baron d’Auerweck managed to get to Hamburg, he
found his old friend in a state of great discouragement, and with but
one idea in his head--that of getting back somehow to Paris and living
the rest of his days there in obscurity.
The arrival of the “18th Brumaire” and the establishment of the
Consulate facilitated, probably, the realization of this desire. There
is no record of how he brought his sojourn at Hamburg to an end.
D’Auerweck we find offering his services to Reinhard, who formed a high
estimate of his talents. His offer, however, was not entertained. At
this point the “little Baron” also disappears for a time from our sight.
It is about this period that Cormier and d’Auerweck fall definitively
apart, never again to cross each other’s path.
Reassured by the calm that began to reign now in Paris, and by the
fact that other _émigrés_ who had returned to the capital were being
left unmolested, Cormier made his way back furtively one day to the
Rue Basse-du-Rempart, where the Citoyenne Butler still resided. The
former president of the Massiac Club returned to his ancient haunts
a broken-down old man. Like so many others, he found it difficult to
recognize the Paris he now saw, transformed as it was, and turned
inside out by the Revolution. Wherever he turned, his ears were
met with the sound of one name--Bonaparte, the First Consul. What
did it all matter to him? His return had but one object, that of
re-establishing his health and letting his prolonged absence sink into
oblivion. The continual travelling and his ups and downs in foreign
countries had brought him new maladies in addition to his old enemy
the gout. He had lost half his fortune, through the pillaging of his
estates in San Domingo. Thus, such of his acquaintances as had known
him in the old days, seeing him now on his return, sympathized with him
in his misfortunes and infirmities.
He seemed warranted, therefore, in counting upon security in Paris. The
one thing that threatened him was that unfortunate entry in the list
of _émigrés_, in which his name figured with that of his son. In the
hope of getting the names erased, he set out one day early in November,
1800, for the offices of the Prefecture of the Seine. There he took the
oath of fidelity to the Constitution. It was a step towards getting
the names definitely erased. His long stay in Hamburg was a serious
obstacle in the way, but both he and his son looked forward confidently
now to the success of their efforts.
Suddenly, on August 21, 1801, a number of police officials made their
appearance at Cormier’s abode to arrest him by order of the Minister
of Police. His first feeling was one of stupefaction. With what was
he charged? Had they got wind of his doings in England? Had some
indiscretion betrayed him? He recovered himself, however, and led his
visitors into all the various apartments, they taking possession of
all the papers discovered, and sealing up the glass door leading into
Achille’s bedroom, he being absent at the time. This investigation
over, Cormier and the officials proceeded to the Temple, and a few
hours later he found himself imprisoned in the Tower.
What thoughts must have passed through his mind as he traversed
successively those courts and alleys, and then mounted the steps of the
narrow stairway leading to the upper storeys of the dungeon!
In the anguish of his position had he room in his mind for thoughts of
those days in London when the name of the grim edifice was so often on
his lips?
Three days passed before he could learn any clue as to the cause of
his arrest. At last, on August 24, he was ordered to appear before a
police magistrate to undergo his trial. An account of this trial, or
_interrogatoire_, is in existence, and most curious it is to note the
way in which it was conducted. The warrant for his arrest recorded
that he was accused “of conspiracy, and of being in the pay of the
foreigner.” These terms suggested that Cormier’s residence in England,
or at least in Hamburg, was known to his accusers. Had not the Minister
of Police in one of his portfolios a _dossier_ of some importance, full
of all kinds of particulars calculated to “do” for him? Strange to
relate, there is to be found no allusion to this doubtful past of his
in the examination.
After the usual inquiries as to name, age, and dwelling-place, the
magistrate proceeds--
“What is your occupation?”
“I have none except trying to get rid of gout and gravel.”
“Have you not been away from France during the Revolution?”
“I have served in the war in La Vendée against the Republic from the
beginning down to the capitulation. You will find my deed of amnesty
among my papers.”
“What was your grade?”
“I was entrusted with correspondence.”
“With whom did you correspond abroad?”
“With the different agents of the Prince--the Bishop of Arras, the Duc
d’Harcourt, Gombrieul, etc.”
“Did you not keep up this correspondence after you were amnested?”
“I gave up all the correspondence eight months before peace was
declared.”
“Do you recognize this sealed cardboard box?”
“Yes, citoyen.”
And that was all! Cormier’s replies, however, so innocent on the
surface, seem to have evoked suspicion, for on August 30 (12
Fructidor) he was brought up again for a second examination.
“With whom did you correspond especially in the West?” he was asked.
“With Scépeaux, d’Antichamp, Boigny, and Brulefort.”
“And now what correspondence have you kept in this country?”
“None whatever.”
“What are your relations with the Citoyen Butler?”
“I have had no communication these last two years, though he is my
brother-in-law.”
“Where is he now?”
“I have no idea. I know he passed through Philadelphia on his way to
San Domingo. I don’t know whether he ever got there or whether he
returned.”
“When was he at Philadelphia?”
“He must have been there or somewhere in the United States not more
than two years ago.”
Thus no effort was made in the second inquiry any more than in the
first to search into his past. It should be mentioned that immediately
on his return Cormier had made haste to destroy all documents that
could compromise him in any way.
After a detention of three weeks he was set free, his age and
infirmities doubtless having won him some sympathy. He and his son--for
Achille had been arrested at the same time--were, however, not accorded
complete liberty, being placed _en surveillance_, and obliged to live
outside Paris. On September 20 they were provided with a passport
taking them to Etampes, whence they were not to move away without
permission from the police.
At this period Fouché had immense powers, and was organizing and
regulating the enormous administrative machine which developed under
his rule into the Ministry of Police. The prisons overflowed with men
under arrest who had never appeared before the ordinary tribunal, “on
account of the danger there was of their being acquitted in the absence
of legal evidence against them.” He was reduced to keeping the rest
under what was styled “_une demi-surveillance_.” His army of spies and
secret agents enabled him to keep _au courant_ with their every step.
The reports furnished as to Cormier’s behaviour seem to have satisfied
the authorities, for at the end of a certain time he was enabled to
return to Paris. Having learnt by experience how unsatisfactory it
was to be continually at the mercy of informers, he now set himself
energetically to trying to secure a regular and complete amnesty. His
petition was addressed to the First Consul on June 18, 1803, and in it
he described himself as “crippled with infirmities,” and it was covered
with marginal notes strongly recommending him to the mercy of the chief
of the state.
At last, on October 10, the Minister of Police acceded to his
request, and Cormier received a certificate of amnesty, freeing him
henceforth from all prosecution “on the score of emigration.” With
what a sense of relief must not this document have been welcomed in
the Rue Basse-du-Rempart! Bent under the weight of his sufferings,
Cormier enjoyed the most devoted care at the hands of his family.
His younger son, Patrice, had returned to Paris after an existence
not less adventurous than his father’s. He had thrown himself into
the insurrection in La Vendée, and for three years had served in the
Royalist army of the Maine. Benefiting, like his father, by the general
amnesty, he found his way back to the paternal roof in Paris, and went
into business, so as to throw a veil over his past, until the day
should come when he might appear in uniform again.
Achille, the elder, devoted himself entirely to his father, but the old
man was not to enjoy much longer the peace he had at length secured for
himself. The loss of almost all his income forced him, moreover, to
quit his residence in the Rue Basse-du-Rempart, and to betake himself
to a modest pension in the Faubourg Saint Antoine, in which he occupied
a single room, in which he kept only a few items from the furniture
of his old home--some rose-wood chairs, a writing-table, a desk with
a marble top, a _prie-dieu_, and a small wooden desk, “_dit à la
Tronchin_.” The rest of his furniture he sold. It was in this humble
lodging that he died on April 16, 1805, aged sixty-five. Some months
later Mme. Cormier died at the house in Rue Basse-du-Rempart.
It is strange to reflect that Lady Atkyns, in the course of her many
visits to Paris, should not have ever sought to meet again her old
friend. The Emperor’s rule was gaining in strength from day to day.
Of those who had played notable parts in the Revolution, some, won
over to the new Government, were doing their utmost to merit by their
zeal the confidence reposed in them; the others, irreconcilable, but
crushed by the remorseless watchfulness of a police force unparalleled
in its powers, lived on forgotten, and afraid to take any step that
might attract attention to them. This, perhaps, is the explanation of
the silence of the various actors in the drama of the Temple, once the
Empire had been established.