In his letter to the Duc de Praslin d’Eon called to mind “the point
whence he started,” and only found cause to pride himself on his success.
This was a fair estimate of himself, though not a very modest one; but
it showed little knowledge of his time. Having obtained when still quite
young a rank and distinction which, to a man of his birth, should have
appeared an unlooked-for consummation of his whole career, he could
neither rest satisfied nor even equip himself with patience. Above all
he could not resign himself to being put back. After contributing to
an important negotiation as secretary to an enlightened and brilliant
ambassador, whose tradition and bearing he had striven to maintain as
minister plenipotentiary, he found himself compelled to act again as
secretary under the orders of a chief new to diplomacy, wanting in ideas
and resources, and bent on reaping the advantages of a fat living from
his embassy.
Short of money, and irritated by the recriminations which the expenses of
his temporary administration had obtained for him, d’Eon angrily awaited
his ambassador.
The Comte de Guerchy arrived on October 17. “He received me with
hypocritical politeness,” d’Eon relates, “and asked me in a wheedling
tone if I did not regret having sent him my letter of September 25. I
replied quietly: ‘No, sir; my letter was perhaps a somewhat sharp, but a
fair, rejoinder to your attack of September 4, and were you to address to
me such another letter, I should be obliged to send you a similar reply.’
‘Come, come, my dear M. d’Eon,’ he retorted. ‘I see you are rather a
quarrelsome person.’ Thereupon he drew from his pocket my letters of
recall, which he handed to me with a grieved air, expressing his regret
and assuring me once more of his friendship and attachment. I answered
him only with a look ... and bowing distantly I withdrew, taking with me
that official document of my disgrace.”
If d’Eon was as successful as he relates in concealing his mortification
and in maintaining his composure, which was hardly his wont, the Duc de
Praslin’s letter must have roused bitter reflections. Not only was he
recalled to Paris, but he was forbidden to appear at court. This meant
utter disgrace, exile and a severe check, if not an end, to his career.
Too irritated to give way to despondency, and still hoping that Louis
XV. would intervene on behalf of his secret agent, he determined upon
awaiting events and deferring his departure as long as possible. His
imagination, which was never at a loss for an expedient, supplied him
with a complete plan of resistance in the scandalous contest which he did
not hesitate to wage against the orders of his ambassador, the Minister
for Foreign Affairs, and the King. The next day, upon delivering the
papers of the embassy to de Guerchy, d’Eon informed him that he was not
in the least hurry to obtain his audiences of leave. Being accredited
by letters bearing the King’s signature, he could only be recalled, he
contended, by an act in the same form. Regarding, therefore, as null and
void the letters of recall which he had received, and which were signed
with the stamp alone, he declared his intention of awaiting “further
orders from his court.”
De Guerchy pointed out to him in violent language the extreme impropriety
of his behaviour, and the consequences to which it exposed him; then,
growing gradually more and more heated, he told him—according to
d’Eon—that “he should soon get the mastery over his obstinacy, and that,
moreover, his ruin was already decided upon.”
With a view to putting an end to an equivocal situation and depriving
d’Eon of every means of resistance, Guerchy went so far as to ask the
court of St. James’ to hasten the audiences of leave of his embarrassing
colleague. D’Eon allowed the step to be taken, but was most opportunely
hindered from proceeding to the palace on the appointed day. All these
chicaneries exasperated him and made him completely lose his presence of
mind. A single incident was enough to make the dispute public, and to
give this diplomatic intrigue an unexpected notoriety.
A Frenchman, the Sieur Treyssac de Vergy, arrived during the month of
September. Advocate of the Bordeaux Parliament, he gave himself out to
be a man of letters, made a parade of his grand acquaintances, and even
boasted of having come to England with the promise of being appointed
minister plenipotentiary in place of d’Eon. Upon calling at the embassy,
he was somewhat harshly dismissed by d’Eon himself, who gave him to
understand that he would not be received unless he brought with him the
letters of introduction of which he had made mention. De Vergy protested,
asserting that he was on intimate terms with the Comte de Guerchy;
nevertheless, he promised to produce the recommendations required of him.
D’Eon had not seen this strange visitor again, but had received extremely
unfavourable reports concerning him from Paris. He was described as
being a mere adventurer, over head and ears in debt, and of doubtful
reputation, who imposed upon people under an assumed name. Consequently,
the Chevalier was greatly surprised to meet de Vergy, with whom de
Guerchy was, or pretended to be, unacquainted, at a reception given by
the ambassador soon after his arrival. He showed his astonishment at
seeing him at the embassy without an invitation, and during the course
of a somewhat heated altercation “insulted him, and challenged him to
a duel on foot or on horseback,” and was only calmed at de Guerchy’s
intervention.
On the following day d’Eon happened to be dining at Lord Halifax’s, in
the company of Lord Sandwich and the Comte de Guerchy. He was too excited
by the events of the previous day to maintain his composure, even before
the English ministers, and the ambassador’s presence only served to
aggravate him the more. He thought it a good opportunity for declaring
that he would not leave England before being recalled in a regular
manner, and that, besides, he could not, in any case, dream of taking
his departure before settling an affair of honour. The affair of honour
in question was the quarrel of the previous day, which he complacently
related to his hosts, informing them that he expected a visit from de
Vergy on the morrow, that he should accept his challenge, and kill
his adversary. When the English ministers reproached him with causing
a scandal, and reminded him of the duties attached to his official
position, he replied that “if he was a minister plenipotentiary he was
above all a dragoon.” “Well, then,” retorted Lord Halifax, “were you even
the Duke of Bedford himself, I should have to give you in charge of the
guards.” “I have not the honour of being the Duke of Bedford; I am M.
d’Eon, and have no need of any escort.”
He was so heated that Guerchy joined Lord Halifax in making every effort
to calm him. D’Eon heeded neither entreaties nor threats and, pleading
an engagement at his club, attempted to make his escape. Thereupon the
minister ordered the passage to be barred, and d’Eon, beside himself
with rage, exclaimed that he never could have believed it possible for
a minister plenipotentiary to be kept a prisoner, in the presence of
his ambassador, at the residence of a secretary of state. The scene was
becoming tragi-comic. Lord Halifax and de Guerchy felt that they must put
an end to it, so as to avoid a far greater scandal than the one they had
tried to prevent. They began again to argue with d’Eon, who gradually
grew calmer, and finally consented to sign a paper whereby he gave his
word of honour to the Earls of Sandwich and Halifax not to fight M. de
Vergy, and “not to insult him in any way, without previously informing
the said earls of his intention.”
D’Eon made a copy of his engagement and caused Lord Halifax, Lord
Sandwich and the Comte de Guerchy to sign it.
This extraordinary scandal, brought about quite as much by the
ambassador’s tactlessness as by the very undiplomatic excitement of his
impetuous minister plenipotentiary, had its sequel the next day. D’Eon
himself has written an account of it too graphic to be omitted.
“The affair passed without a blow being struck. My position was far more
difficult than his, for I had promised not to molest him, and I could
not foresee that the brave Vergy was the man to take alarm at my every
movement. But when I secured the door, intending to detain him until the
ambassador’s servants for whom I had sent arrived, he at once began to
rush round the room, crying, ‘Do not touch me, do not touch me!’ ‘What!’
I replied, smiling, ‘you come to me in fighting trim, and are afraid
lest I should touch you!’ A few dragoon-like expletives interlarded in
this speech led him to mistake the window for the door; and noticing his
pallor and his action, I said: ‘If you jump, I will push you; but take
care, for you will find a moat and pikes below.’ This remark sufficed to
stop him.
“Then, handing a paper to him, I said: ‘I require you to read this
note and sign it in duplicate.’ He ran through it so hastily that on
returning it to me he asked for a delay of three weeks in order that he
might receive letters from Paris. ‘If your mind was not so confused,’
I replied, ‘you would see that I give you a month.’ And taking him by
the arm, I led him to my bedroom, where my writing-table stands. Upon
entering he cried out: ‘Do not kill me!’ I did not know what to make
of this exclamation, when suddenly I saw de Vergy’s eyes fixed on my
Turkish sabre and my cavalry pistols, which I had brought back from the
war in Germany. I then understood the cause of his excessive alarm, and
at once laid one of the pistols on the floor, putting my foot on it lest
it should bite the so-called de Vergy. ‘You see I am not going to hurt
you or even to come near you,’ I said. ‘Now, sign with a good grace.’
Thereupon he resigned himself gallantly to signing the note in duplicate,
and—I think it necessary to add—he did so with his hat under his arm and
one knee on the floor. He did not see fit to take a copy of the note,
although I suggested that he should do so; he was in too great a hurry to
reach the door.”
Vergy made straight for a justice of the peace, to whom he gave a
dramatic account of what had just passed, and obtained a summons against
d’Eon. The Chevalier, who still enjoyed diplomatic immunity, did not
think fit to reply. Besides, he was far too preoccupied by his disputes
with his ambassador, which were daily growing more serious. He accused
de Guerchy of an attempt to poison him, declaring that on October 28,
when he dined at the embassy for the last time, Chazal, the butler,
had mixed with a certain brand of wine from Tonnerre, to which he was
known to be partial, so strong a dose of opium “that he all but fell
into a lethargy,” and was obliged to keep his room for several days. The
following day the ambassador, accompanied by two of his secretaries,
came to inquire after his health, and d’Eon imagined that de Guerchy
wished to acquaint himself with the plan of his apartments, with a view
to discovering the hiding-place of the secret papers. Upon his visitor
being announced, he even hastened to the room of his cousin, d’Eon de
Mouloize, and asked his secretary to come—“in order,” as he said, “to
prevent a sudden attack.” He kept telling his friends of all these
persecutions, and assured them he was constantly watched. His servant,
having to put a new lock on the door of his lodging, naturally sent for
the nearest locksmith, who happened to be the locksmith of the embassy.
D’Eon then thought that he was at the mercy of the Comte de Guerchy,
apprehending an attack upon his person, and the immediate seizure of
his papers. Accordingly, driven to distraction and no longer able to
contain himself, he discharged his servant, and convoked his faithful
comrades to a secret meeting, at which it was resolved that he should
move immediately. D’Eon, who was never prevented by any circumstance from
indulging his mania for writing, has left us a kind of official report
of the proceedings, which well depicts his state of mind: “The Council
of Three,” he writes, “after discussing at some length the question of a
change of lodgings, has decided that the furniture and clothes shall be
conveyed to-morrow morning on a barrow, because everything can be removed
in two or three journeys.... All these batteries are ready to be unmasked
in case of need, and the garrison is fully determined, in the event of a
capitulation, to leave the fortress, with drums beating, torches alight,
and all the honours of war—_et operibus eorum cognoscetis eos_.”
D’Eon was not obliged to adopt the war-like proceedings with which he
threatened his ambassador. He took up his residence in the house of
Carrelet de la Rozière, his kinsman, and his colleague in the secret
mission with which he was entrusted, bringing with him arms and baggage;
and then, still suffering from the same obsession, he transformed his
new habitation, situated in the very centre of London, into a real
stronghold, occupied and commanded by soldiers.
De Guerchy was accustomed by now to d’Eon’s ways, and yet this
surreptitious and sudden departure filled him with amazement, and made
him all the more anxious because he began to despair of settling the
accounts which d’Eon owed him, but always deferred paying. On November 9,
he wrote to him in his ambassador’s style, which the Duc de Praslin had
so justly dreaded:
I learned yesterday that you had left the house which I rented
for you and for those whom Lord Holland’s residence, which I
occupy, was unable to accommodate. I do not know what can be
the reason for so hasty a determination on your part, or why
you omitted to inform me of it. The day that I came to inquire
after your health, hearing you were unwell, I forgot to mention
the account which you have to settle, for the various sums
of money you have drawn on my credit. You told me, some time
since, you would let me have it within two days, and I beg you
will bring it or send it to me immediately.
D’Eon did not send the account required of him, but he proceeded to the
King’s levee, and, as soon as his Majesty had retired, he approached
the ambassador, saying: “I did not answer your letter of this morning,
because I rose late. If I have any accounts to settle, I shall settle
them with my court when I am asked to do so. The minister plenipotentiary
of France has lived at the expense of the King, just as the ambassador
now lives. I am delighted at the opportunity you have given me of stating
that I never was, and never will be, your steward.” And, without giving
de Guerchy time to reply, he made him a “deep bow,” and hastened back to
his stronghold. Summoning his council, he exerted his utmost eloquence
in convincing M. de la Rozière that, to judge by the turn of events,
the secret documents were in imminent danger of being discovered. They
were voluminous enough to prove embarrassing, and difficult to conceal
in the event of a surprise visit. D’Eon spoke to such good purpose
that de la Rozière offered to convey part of them to France. The
mission was a perilous one, though his somewhat obscure office and the
discreet attitude he had adopted made it easier for him than for anybody
else. D’Eon entrusted him with a large number of the documents in his
possession; but he was careful to keep the most important and the most
compromising, those which could serve him as a weapon, or at any rate
as a guarantee which he would know how to turn to account. These papers
naturally included the minutes concerning the mission which kept him in
England, the studying of plans for a military invasion.
Charged with the mysterious parcel, de la Rozière set out for Paris a
few days later, taking with him, besides, in an envelope addressed to M.
Tercier, letters which were to be delivered to the King and the Comte
de Broglie. In them d’Eon told of all the plots which he imagined he
had discovered; the attempts which had been made to poison, to abduct
and to watch him. He even boasted of having “humiliated and mystified
his ambassador,” and “of having fought like a dragoon for the King, his
secret correspondence, and the Comte de Broglie.”
These letters, full of such obvious exaggerations, produced an effect in
Paris contrary to that which d’Eon had expected. The King felt that in
the keeping of such a hare-brained individual his correspondence might
at any moment be seized by his ambassador, and sent to his ministers.
The entire scheme of his secret diplomacy, which he had concealed so
carefully, would thus be discovered. Without consulting the Comte de
Broglie, or even M. Tercier, Louis XV. hastened to take his precautions.
He despatched a courier to his ambassador in London informing him that
he had just countersigned a letter from the Duc de Praslin, demanding
d’Eon’s extradition. In the event of d’Eon’s arrest, Guerchy was to take
charge of “all the papers he might find in the Sieur d’Eon’s possession,
without communicating their contents to anybody.” These documents were
to be “kept entirely, and without exception, secret,” and, being first
carefully sealed, were to remain in the keeping of the ambassador, who
was to deliver them to the King in person on his next journey to Paris.
The Sieur Monin, secretary to the Comte de Guerchy, and a friend of
d’Eon, was entrusted with the mission of discovering the place where
these papers had been deposited.
Louis XV. thought he had thus guarded against every event, expecting to
make sure of Guerchy’s discretion by the semi-confidential attitude he
had adopted towards him, and prevent him from imparting his discoveries
to the Duc de Praslin. Tercier and the Comte de Broglie were dismayed by
the hasty step taken by the King, who informed them of it the following
day. They knew that Guerchy was blundering enough to reveal everything
inadvertently, even if his attachment to the house of Choiseul did not
tempt him to commit an indiscretion which would betray the secret of the
King’s private policy. If such disclosures were necessarily mortifying
for the King, they were to be dreaded by the secret agents, upon whom the
ministers would assuredly vent their rage. Consequently, the Comte de
Broglie, much alarmed, at once made known to the King his apprehensions
with regard to the instructions sent to Guerchy, and Tercier communicated
to him equally pessimistic reflections. Louis XV., relieved at having
escaped so imminent a danger, made a point of reassuring his counsellors:
“If Guerchy betrays the secret,” he wrote, “he betrays me, and will be a
lost man. If he is a man of honour, he will not do so; if he is a knave,
he deserves to be hanged. It is very clear that you and the Comte de
Broglie are uneasy. Be reassured, I am quite calm.”
Guerchy, to do him justice, does not appear to have abused the King’s
confidence. Whether he perceived the danger to which disclosures exposed
him, or whether he preferred to regard the King’s letter as a mark of
confidence of which he wished to prove himself worthy, he divulged the
matter only to Madame de Guerchy, who kept the secret loyally. The
ambassador was glad enough, moreover, to have at his disposal fresh
weapons against d’Eon, for he was at a loss to know what he should do
next. Threats having failed, he had tried flattery, suggesting to the
Duc de Choiseul that he should write a letter full of promises to d’Eon.
The minister had consented, couching his letter in the most affectionate
terms:
Whatever detains you in England, my dear d’Eon? Abandon the
diplomatic career and your ministerial disputes with M. de
Guerchy, and join me here, where I intend to employ you
usefully in the army. I promise you will be quite free from
annoyance in my service. As the military contract will shortly
expire, I have requested M. de Praslin to recall you. Nothing
should prevent you from coming now, and you will please me
greatly by joining me at Versailles without delay. I await you,
my dear d’Eon, with the great interest which, as you know, I
take in you.
In spite of the alluring terms of this letter, d’Eon was not tempted to
relinquish the barren and interminable contest which he had undertaken
against his ambassador, in order to seek again, on real battlefields,
successes worthier of his brilliant past. Fully aware of the reception
which awaited him in France, he limited himself to declining the Duc de
Choiseul’s proposals respectfully and gratefully.
He was determined not to quit London, where every citizen’s residence was
protected so effectually by law. Such a safeguard was indeed calculated
to astonish a Frenchman of the eighteenth century, and de Guerchy was
not yet accustomed to it. So unused was he to English customs that he
could not save his government from an unpleasant miscalculation. Hardly
had he received the King’s further instructions than he hastened to
submit to the English ministers the demand for extradition transmitted
to him by the Duc de Praslin. However great their desire to deliver the
unfortunate ambassador out of his embarrassments, the English ministers
did not consider they were justified in coming, on their own initiative,
to a decision so contrary to the laws and spirit of their country, and
they referred the matter to the Privy Council. Guerchy made a second
still more urgent application to the secretaries of state, but in vain;
and the King of England only expressed to the ambassador “his regret
at being unable to comply with the request of his cousin, the King of
France, since the laws of his kingdom did not empower him to do so.”
The defeat was the more mortifying for Guerchy as he had involved
his government in these unskilful tactics, and he found but slight
compensation in the formal discharge which the chamberlain of the King of
England caused to be delivered to d’Eon:
SIR,—The King your master has informed the King my master that
you are no longer his Minister at the Court of St. James’,
and has at the same time required of the King to forbid you
the court, and I deeply regret to have to inform you that I
have this morning received orders from the King my master to
communicate to you his intentions on that point.