interfered when England beheaded Charles I, but had recognised the new regime, so England must cease to meddle in the affairs of the infant republic. 23
Such was the philosophy which Talleyrand expounded. It was small wonder that his audience at St James's was a trying encounter. George III, in place of his quirky, exclamatory manner on social occasions, received the envoy with glacial correctness and in almost total silence. Queen Charlotte, like a stately-rigged ship, ostentatiously turned her back on Talleyrand's apologies and refused either to speak to or look at him again.
Citizen Chauvelin was even more detestable. In August it was thought that he had bolted for France and a watch was kept for him at Dover and Margate, the likely ports of embarkation. But it proved that he had only gone down to Brighton for a couple of days. Presumably he had met a messenger from the National Convention, but the news which he had to send to Paris was not encouraging. The August massacres had turned the people of England against France. They felt a natural human interest in the fate of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. The political injustices of royalist France were eclipsed by a concern for the imprisoned family. The Whigs, who had opposed war on the grounds that it would be waged to interfere in the internal affairs of France, now washed their hands of the revolution. There was no longer an extreme anti-war faction in England which a few months previously had daubed the walls of London with such slogans as, "No war with France or we rebel".
During the autumn of 1792, the peacemakers like Talleyrand continued their efforts, but they did so without conviction. There was no inescapable reason driving France and England into conflict. Rather, the public mood which had been so strong for peace was drifting into approval of war.
The crisis came on the evening of 23 January 1793. In St James's and the City, Westminster and Southwark, small groups of men and women gathered to read the bills which had been freshly posted. As the crowds gathered, there was a mood of stupor and then indignation, the news being passed back from one person to another. Two days before, Louis XVI had been taken from captivity and guillotined. The shock was followed by suppressed anger. Every theatre closed and at one in which the performance had already begun, the audience demanded that the curtain should be rung down and the play stopped as a mark of respect. Men went home and reappeared in black coats. The court, parliament, and the great mass of the people went into mourning. By this final act of barbarity, the French republic had put itself beyond the conventions of diplomacy.
The next morning there was a hurried correspondence between the King, Pitt, and Lord Grenville. The royal drawing room to be held that afternoon was postponed and, instead, there was a meeting of the Privy Council at the Queen's House. On the King's insistence, the meeting drew up "the necessary order that Monsieur Chauvelin may instantly leave the kingdom". As for Talleyrand, he had already written to Grenville denouncing the "crime" of his countrymen in executing their King. He was permitted to stay for the time being and eventually made his way to America. It was a wise decision, since he had been secretly denounced to the Convention by Achille Viard on 7 December as a collaborator with emigres. 24
George III left his Privy Council. As he drove through the London streets, he was heartened by the crowds who cheered and roared, "War with France! War with France!" The diplomatic minuet was almost complete. Even as the King greeted his enthusiastic subjects, Lord Grenville was writing to Lord Auckland, British ambassador at The Hague, "the next despatch to you, or the next but one, will announce the commencement of hostilities. Probably the French will commence them". 25
As a matter of fact, hostilities had already begun. Captain Robert Barlow was off the north-west coast of France,
Such was the philosophy which Talleyrand expounded. It was small wonder that his audience at St James's was a trying encounter. George III, in place of his quirky, exclamatory manner on social occasions, received the envoy with glacial correctness and in almost total silence. Queen Charlotte, like a stately-rigged ship, ostentatiously turned her back on Talleyrand's apologies and refused either to speak to or look at him again.
Citizen Chauvelin was even more detestable. In August it was thought that he had bolted for France and a watch was kept for him at Dover and Margate, the likely ports of embarkation. But it proved that he had only gone down to Brighton for a couple of days. Presumably he had met a messenger from the National Convention, but the news which he had to send to Paris was not encouraging. The August massacres had turned the people of England against France. They felt a natural human interest in the fate of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. The political injustices of royalist France were eclipsed by a concern for the imprisoned family. The Whigs, who had opposed war on the grounds that it would be waged to interfere in the internal affairs of France, now washed their hands of the revolution. There was no longer an extreme anti-war faction in England which a few months previously had daubed the walls of London with such slogans as, "No war with France or we rebel".
During the autumn of 1792, the peacemakers like Talleyrand continued their efforts, but they did so without conviction. There was no inescapable reason driving France and England into conflict. Rather, the public mood which had been so strong for peace was drifting into approval of war.
The crisis came on the evening of 23 January 1793. In St James's and the City, Westminster and Southwark, small groups of men and women gathered to read the bills which had been freshly posted. As the crowds gathered, there was a mood of stupor and then indignation, the news being passed back from one person to another. Two days before, Louis XVI had been taken from captivity and guillotined. The shock was followed by suppressed anger. Every theatre closed and at one in which the performance had already begun, the audience demanded that the curtain should be rung down and the play stopped as a mark of respect. Men went home and reappeared in black coats. The court, parliament, and the great mass of the people went into mourning. By this final act of barbarity, the French republic had put itself beyond the conventions of diplomacy.
The next morning there was a hurried correspondence between the King, Pitt, and Lord Grenville. The royal drawing room to be held that afternoon was postponed and, instead, there was a meeting of the Privy Council at the Queen's House. On the King's insistence, the meeting drew up "the necessary order that Monsieur Chauvelin may instantly leave the kingdom". As for Talleyrand, he had already written to Grenville denouncing the "crime" of his countrymen in executing their King. He was permitted to stay for the time being and eventually made his way to America. It was a wise decision, since he had been secretly denounced to the Convention by Achille Viard on 7 December as a collaborator with emigres. 24
George III left his Privy Council. As he drove through the London streets, he was heartened by the crowds who cheered and roared, "War with France! War with France!" The diplomatic minuet was almost complete. Even as the King greeted his enthusiastic subjects, Lord Grenville was writing to Lord Auckland, British ambassador at The Hague, "the next despatch to you, or the next but one, will announce the commencement of hostilities. Probably the French will commence them". 25
As a matter of fact, hostilities had already begun. Captain Robert Barlow was off the north-west coast of France,
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