inconceivable that they would continue to keep him in confinement,

and, what is worse, without putting any fresh questions to him.

However, early in the month of March, 1808—and d’Auerweck had
now been nearly seven months in the Temple—Baron de Dalberg
was informed that Fouché’s intervention was not enough by itself,
and that a pardon for the prisoner had been submitted to the
Emperor, who was about to leave Paris for a campaign in Spain, but
he had refused to sign it. The situation became serious. Dalberg fully
recognized the difficulty which he would experience in delivering the
unfortunate Baron from prison; for he was looked upon as “an
English Agent,” and, as such, infinitely more an object of suspicion
than if he had been an emissary of any other Power. The hatred of
England was then at its height, and Napoleon’s sentiment was that
an English spy deserved to be taken care of, and, indeed, well taken
care of. D’Auerweck could not deny that he had at one time been in
the service of the hated nation; for all that, he laid claim to being a
subject of Baden.
The weeks rolled by, and d’Auerweck began to despair. He had,
perhaps, a momentary glimmer of hope that his deliverance was at
hand, when he became aware of an unexpected confusion and
tumult in the Temple. What had happened? Was Paris once more
agitated by a change of Government? Had the Emperor met with
defeat? Alas! It was nothing of the kind. But Napoleon had ordered
the Temple tower to be demolished, and the seventeen prisoners
who were kept there had to be carted off to another lodging. They
were taken to Vincennes, and d’Auerweck’s faint hope was blighted.
He was more miserable than ever, and, as soon as he had settled
down in his new quarters, despatched a vehement protest to
Desmarets.
“What is the reason, in the name of God, that I find myself
dragged from one place to another six months after the arrival
of written statements which ought to have proved my
innocence? If my character had again been blackened by
spite, at least give me the opportunity of fixing the lie. I cannot
think that any one in this world has ever been placed in a
more unhappy case than I. My eyesight is impaired, my health
 ruined, and my wits are worn out. I can only think of my
unfortunate children, ruined and deprived of every necessity,
and this in the case of a man who is absolutely innocent of all
wrong-doing.”
It never once occurred to him that his rigorous imprisonment might
be due to some indiscretion connected with his past and with his
conduct in 1795, or with the part which he had taken in the “Temple
affair.” Why should these old times, which were wrapped in a mist of
obscurity, be remembered? And, besides, there was no reason for
suspecting anything of the kind.
Neither the Grand Duke nor his Ambassador in Paris relaxed in
any degree their efforts to help the Baron, and a voluminous
correspondence was carried on between Paris and the Court at
Baden about him during the following years; but, to all Dalberg’s
demands, Fouché replied that no one denied Baron d’Auerweck’s
“perfect loyalty;” the matter depended on the Emperor’s will, and he
refused to pass any final order. In order to soften Madame
d’Auerweck’s affliction—for she never left them alone—supplies
were regularly sent to the prisoner at Vincennes, and he was
assured that his family were not being neglected or in want.
“My detention is the outcome of a lengthy series of
slanderous informations,” the Baron declared over and over
again, “which has been woven and pieced together, more or
less cleverly, but the falseness of which has already been
demonstrated to those who have been bribed to utter it.”
He was then informed that yet another accusation had been added
to the former charges against him: an accusation of having published
in the Moniteur, in 1799, certain letters dated from Naples, which
were insulting to the First Consul: Now, the Journal Politique de
l’Europe had at once, in the name of d’Auerweck, given the lie direct
to these statements. But what had he to say for himself?
“You know perfectly well, monsieur, that for the last two
years, less ten or twelve days, I have only heard the voice of
the Government through the medium of the bolts which have
been shot in my face.”
 In this way three years slipped by, in the course of which Madame
d’Auerweck (who, by the way, does not appear to have led a very
virtuous life in her husband’s absence) never stopped pestering the
Ambassador of Baden in Paris with her entreaties; de Ferrette, who,
on his arrival in France, had succeeded Baron de Dalberg, took up
the unfortunate Baron’s case, and determined to bring it to a
conclusion. So as to increase the authority of his demands, he
managed to interest the Minister of the King of Bavaria on
d’Auerweck’s behalf, and the two combined to present a very urgent
memorandum, in the summer of 1810, to the Minister of Police. This
was not Fouché, for he had been degraded for the second time, and
his post was occupied by Savary, the Duc de Rovigo. The two
Ministers made their application to the latter.
“Yesterday, at this unpleasant ball,” Ferrette wrote on July
2, “I importuned the Duke of Rovigo to let Lord Auerweck out
from Vincennes; this was just before the Emperor arrived. He
said to me: ‘His case is not unpardonable, but you may rest
assured that we are not keeping him locked up like this
without very good reasons. You must wait.’”
At last, on October 16, Savary presented to Napoleon the
anxiously-looked-for report, which advised the prisoner’s discharge.
To every one’s astonishment, the Emperor only made the following
observation: Better keep him until universal peace is declared. There
was nothing to be done but to submit to this merciless imprisonment,
and to accept the explanation which was given, viz. that d’Auerweck
was “a bold intriguer, who was to be found everywhere: sometimes
in the interests of Austria, sometimes in England’s.”
Afterwards, as though to find an excuse for this prolonged
detention, the Baron was brought in contact with one of those
persons who are known as Moutons; his line of action was to get on
friendly terms with the prisoner, and to try to get him to talk, the
result of these conversations being handed on to the police. A man
called Rivoire was chosen for this purpose. He was formerly a naval
officer, but had been arrested and imprisoned for conspiracy; he
escaped, but was caught and put in prison for the fourth or fifth time.
The “Chevalier de Rivoire” was at the end of his resources, and
hoped to obtain a remission of his sentence by spying on his
companions in misfortune. It was impressed on him that he must
specially pump Baron d’Auerweck on the subject of the Rastadt
assassination. The two reports, which he sent to Desmarets during
the year 1811, give a rather amusing account of the success of his
enterprise: a success, of course, skilfully exaggerated.
“D’Auerweck is very suspicious when one begins to put
questions to him, so I adopted the ruse of contradicting him
and of only grudgingly giving in to him. Then, after having
started him in the right direction, if I resign myself to listening
patiently, he obligingly begins to overwhelm me with
confidences, both false and true, and with all the rubbish
which his conceit and his insatiate garrulity inspire in him....
He boasted of having rendered the most important services to
the English, both on the Continent and in their own country,
where he had exposed and baffled many plots, and had been
the cause of the arrest and punishment of many French
agents.... When we began to talk about the Rastadt affair, he
at first repeated the story which had been manufactured in
order to divert suspicion from the real culprits.
“Rivoire: ‘Only children will believe such a fairy tale.’
“D’Auerweck (laughing): ‘That’s true; but we must always
tell it, and by dint of many repetitions they will begin to believe
it. The matter concerns other people’s interests. I only left
Austria when I saw that its Government was fatally weak; so
much so that it has to be treated like a spoilt child that does
not want to take its medicine. Besides myself, there are not
more than two people who are acquainted with the correct
details of this affair.’
“Seeing that he had said too much, he then, like a fool,
began to retract, saying, ‘Besides, I was attached to a certain
Prince’s Minister, who was not there with reason, and I was
perfectly neutral in all that happened.’”
Rivoire concluded by saying, “D’Auerweck was the leader, or one
of the leaders, in this crime, which was committed at the instigation