In writing this note, d’Eon allowed himself to be guided by his first
impulse, and he realised afterwards that he had been too hasty. He was
pleased to regard the Comte de Broglie’s letter as an earnest of more
extensive negotiations. In this he was entirely mistaken, for if M. de
Nort was disposed to let things take their course, he was obliged to
confine himself to the terms of the letter, which contained a promise of
a sum of money not stated, and the assurance of royal protection, but no
reference to his reinstatement, nor to any redress of the injuries he had
suffered at the hands of de Guerchy.
The infliction of this fresh and more bitter disappointment was a
blunder. It was irritating him unnecessarily, and at the same time
increasing his arrogance and infatuation by idle parleys. The Chevalier
became aware the day after de Nort’s arrival that he had been greatly
deceiving himself, and, in a fit of temper, he sent the Comte de
Broglie’s letter back to the messenger, adding that, “since he was not
being dealt with fairly,” he would rather remain, “like the goat in the
fable, at the bottom of the well into which the King’s and the Comte de
Broglie’s orders, and the personal hatred of de Guerchy’s friends, had
cast him.” M. de Nort did not lose courage, and exerted himself to make
him listen to reason; but d’Eon proved intractable and Tercier’s urgent
letters did not meet with greater success. Feeling he had gone too far,
however, in not providing himself with any loophole for the future, d’Eon
declared that he could not reasonably be expected to give up the only
weapons with which he could defend himself against M. de Guerchy in his
judicial proceedings. The ambassador had but to desist from his action
for the negotiations to be immediately simplified. Thus rebuffed, M. de
Nort deemed that there was nothing more for him to do in London. He had
not succeeded better, moreover, in the case of M. de Guerchy.
The time was indeed ill-chosen for urging the ambassador to be moderate.
Never was he so near the attainment of his object, so sure before long
of having the Chevalier at his mercy. The humiliation he had just
experienced had, moreover, greatly increased his irritation. He was
awaiting the result of the trial for libel, counting on English law
for the conviction of his enemy, and already keeping in readiness for
his capture a few carefully chosen myrmidons, despatched to him, at his
request, by the Duc de Praslin. “A vessel, manned by twenty-one armed
men, was moored at Gravesend,” and they had “detached a little six-oared
boat which lay between Westminster and London Bridge,” and into which he
was to be put as soon as they had seized upon his person. The admirers
whom d’Eon had found in the slums of London, among the mariners and the
rabble of the port, came immediately to report this to him, by which
means the Chevalier eluded once more the pursuit of the prematurely
triumphant ambassador. D’Eon wrote letters to the Lord Chief Justice, the
Earl of Mansfield, to Lord Bute and to Mr. Pitt, which he had printed,
and which the newspapers published. In these letters he represented
what plots were being laid against him, appealed to public opinion, and
requested the ministers to take measures for his safety.
Mr. Pitt alone replied by a few lines:
Considering the extremely delicate nature of the circumstances,
you will not, I trust, disapprove of my confining myself to
regretting a state of affairs with regard to which I am unable
to offer the advice you do me the honour of soliciting.
The agitations fostered by d’Eon were sufficient to protect him against
de Guerchy’s attempts, in a country where the liberty of the individual
was so effectively safeguarded. Summer was approaching, and he set out
for Staunton Harold, the seat of his friend, Earl Ferrers, while the
ambassador returned to France on leave of absence.
Autumn brought de Guerchy back to London, where the action for libel
was on the point of being tried. The cabinet had all but assured the
ambassador that he should obtain a favourable verdict, authorising him
to seize d’Eon and his papers. Meanwhile d’Eon, of whom everything could
be expected but a retreat, failed to make his appearance in court. His
counsel asked for an adjournment, alleging that the defendant had not had
sufficient time to summon the witnesses whom he intended to produce; the
judges refused the application and proceeded with the case. The desired
verdict was given, d’Eon being found guilty; but when the officers of
the law called at his residence to notify the sentence they found his
apartments empty—the Chevalier had departed. Foreseeing that the trial
would turn against him, he had taken refuge in furnished lodgings in
the city, together with his cousin de Mouloize. So safe did he think
himself, and so little did he trouble himself about his concealment, that
he narrowly escaped being arrested forthwith by “two messengers of State
who entered the house of Mrs. Eddowes, where the Sieur d’Eon was supposed
to have taken refuge, with a warrant and a number of armed soldiers.”
“The police officers,” relates d’Eon, “burst open doors, cupboards, and
valises, in their search for me, and only found my cousin, de Mouloize,
who was quietly warming himself beside the fire with Mrs. Eddowes
and another lady. The other lady was she who is generally called the
Chevalier d’Eon.”
The English ministers, goaded by de Guerchy, and furious at the
blundering of the police officers, as well as at the laxity of their
chief, were growing impatient. Lord Halifax, extremely displeased that
d’Eon was still at large, was surprised at the Solicitor-General’s
absence at this critical moment, and requested him to return hastily,
in order that the affair might be no further delayed, and that the
culprit might be arrested legally and brought before the court to receive
sentence. All these measures proved ineffectual, for d’Eon had hidden
himself, his recent adventure having taught him to be more prudent.
He had set his spies to work, going out “only with all the vigilance
a captain of dragoons should observe in time of war,” and was engaged
in his retreat upon a “brilliant and exhaustive defence” against the
cabal of the court. He was preparing the crowning act of his folly, the
set-piece of the firework display with which to astound the ambassador.
His “brilliant defence” was about to cause an unprecedented scandal, in
London and Paris, unique in the annals of diplomacy. Having disdained to
answer the notice of action served on him in the Court of King’s Bench,
he was about to summon the ambassador of France before the grand jury of
the Old Bailey on a charge of attempted poison and murder.
In fact, d’Eon renewed all his former accusations, having discovered an
invaluable witness and gathered fresh proofs. At his instigation the
Sieur Treyssac de Vergy reappeared upon the scene. Imprisoned for debt
and deserted by the ambassador whom he had served with his pen, but from
whom he had been unable to procure any help, Vergy turned to d’Eon quite
repentant, promising to give evidence in support of extremely grave
disclosures. He again affirmed that he had come to England by order of
the ministers, who had made him understand that they desired “to bring
d’Eon into disgrace; but that a skilful and an alien hand must do this.”
No sooner had de Guerchy arrived in London than he brought about the
events which, thanks to d’Eon, were already notorious. Vergy declared
himself ready to sigh his statements, and to recapitulate them, for
greater safety, in his will. In 1774, he again repeated them, when on the
point of death, as the Chevalier’s papers prove.
However suspicious, such evidence was extremely compromising in the eyes
of a British jury. Guerchy would not be convinced, refusing to believe
that anybody could credit these fabrications, which “were enough to
make one shudder.” More astonished than alarmed he merely remarked that
“d’Eon had crowned his rascality.” The Chevalier was exulting openly;
however, in order to avoid breaking with the secret minister, he strove
to interest the Comte de Broglie in his behalf, and to induce him to make
common cause with him. In a letter accompanying a copy of Treyssac de
Vergy’s lengthy deposition he wrote:
The horrible plot is at last disclosed. I can now say to M.
de Guerchy what the Prince de Conti said to the Marshal de
Luxembourg before the battle of Steenkerque: “Sangaride! this
is a great day for you, my cousin! You will be indeed a clever
man if you get out of this mess.” ... The King cannot but be
persuaded now of the truth; it is as clear as daylight.... I
have informed the Duke of York and his brothers of the truth
and heinousness of the conspiracy against you, the Marshal de
Broglie, and myself. They will inform the King, the Queen, and
the Prince of Wales. M. de Guerchy, who has been unfavourably
received since his return, is disturbed beyond measure,
notwithstanding his recklessness, and I know that the King of
England is disposed to be just towards the Marshal and myself.
Do your part and do not desert me as you appear to be doing. I
will defend myself to the last drop of my blood, and fearlessly
serve your house notwithstanding that you desert me, for you
send me no money, whereas I am struggling on your behalf. Do
not abandon me and do not drive me to despair. I have expended
more than twelve hundred pounds in carrying on my war, and yet
you send me nothing. It is abominable, and allow me to say that
I should never have believed it.
The Comte de Broglie, who naturally desired to have nothing to do
with such a campaign, refrained from sending the funds which d’Eon so
insolently solicited. Several months before he had ceased to submit to
the King the claims of his secret agent; but this time, realising the
imminence of the scandal which d’Eon was about to cause, he asked Louis
XV. to allow him to proceed to London in person. The King agreed to the
Comte de Broglie’s proposal, and sought for a plea on which to obtain M.
de Praslin’s approval of this mission. The design was abandoned, however,
owing to an incident which threatened his secret diplomacy and completely
absorbed his attention. D’Eon’s valet, a man named Hugonnet, who had
been employed formerly as courier by the Marquis de L’Hospital, and
afterwards by the Duc de Nivernais, was arrested at Calais when bearing
despatches from Drouet, private secretary to the Comte de Broglie.
Long suspected of being the intermediary of the secret correspondence,
of which the ministers had some inkling, he had succeeded hitherto
in baffling the spies set to watch him. Less fortunate this time, he
was forcibly detained on applying at the offices of the Admiralty for
his passport. “Upon his stating his name,” d’Eon relates, “the naval
commissioner at once pointed his sword at his breast saying that he made
him a state prisoner. Two grenadiers took him to M. de la Bouillie,
commandant of Calais, who seized the bundle of papers and caused the
said Sieur Hugonnet to be placed in close custody. He was then made to
undress, his clothes and even the heels of his boots ripped open. A week
later an officer of police arrived from Paris who had Hugonnet fettered
and handcuffed, and removed him to the Bastille, chained by the waist to
the coach-box of a post chaise.”
Hugonnet’s arrest brought about that of Drouet. The Duc de Praslin
thought he had at last a proof of the Comte de Broglie’s correspondence
with the criminal of the state, d’Eon, and he hastened to apprise
the King of his discovery and his suspicions. Louis XV., seeing his
secret again in danger, did not think of stopping the inquiry by simply
expressing his will. He preferred the deplorable expedients to which his
weakness had already led him to resort. Irresistibly attracted at all
times by double-dealing, he contrived a comedy of which the subordinate
agents of the ministers were to be at once the confidants and the
actors. He sent for M. de Sartine, lieutenant of police, and ordered him
“to lay aside all papers which might be seized in this affair concerning
the Comte de Broglie, Durand, and Tercier.” Satisfied with this skilful,
but still more strange, move, he wrote to Tercier making this admission,
unexpectedly humble on the part of an absolute monarch: “I have
unburdened myself and confided in de Sartine. He seemed pleased, and we
must hope that his discretion and this mark of confidence will guide him
aright. If we are disappointed, we will see what is to be done.”
Sartine had, at first, shown himself flattered with the secret
unexpectedly entrusted to him; but it was not without misgivings that
he undertook a dangerous part which was equally incompatible with his
character and his office, and exposed him besides to the Duc de Praslin’s
resentment. Indeed, so diffident had the Comte de Broglie found him that,
in order to overcome his hesitation, he was obliged to reprimand him
twice and to assure him that he could not refuse the service the King
expected of him. Drouet’s papers were in consequence carefully sorted,
and only a few unimportant letters were left to be investigated. Though
the documents in question were now in safety there was still some fear of
indiscretion on the part of the two prisoners, and Louis XV. was obliged
to apply, directly and under the seal of secrecy, to M. de Jumilhac,
Governor of the Bastille, in order that he should allow Tercier to enter
the prison and communicate to Drouet and Hugonnet the depositions which
the Comte de Broglie “had been more than fifteen hours preparing.” So
well did each actor know his part, and so minutely was every detail
foreseen, that the comedy was a complete success. No clear sign of a
compromising correspondence could be traced, and de Praslin, who was
present at the investigation, was forced to accept a judgment by which
he was not really deceived. “I know well enough they are playing the
fool with me,” he said to de Sartine angrily, as he left the court. But,
conjecturing that he was running counter to a superior will, he resolved
to await events before reopening the case.
Drouet was released after a few days; but Hugonnet was left in the
Bastille, it being feared that too much indulgence would arouse
suspicions. During his detention, which lasted over two years and a half,
he lost all the savings of the calling whereby he had lived. In 1778 he
was reduced to poverty, and if he obtained some slight compensation it
was due entirely to the pressing appeals in his behalf which d’Eon made
to M. de Sartine.
This incident, which had created so many different impressions at
Versailles, had revived the hopes of revenge which de Guerchy nourished
against his adversary and de Broglie’s partisans, and the news of
this fresh defeat proved a bitter disappointment which increased the
ambassador’s ire.
At this juncture strange reports began to be circulated about d’Eon,
which were countenanced at the embassy, always ready to be malignant.
The reserved habits of the Chevalier and the total absence of feminine
intrigues in his life had long since excited ironical curiosity. Even the
least perfidious tongues mocked the weakness of his constitution, others
suspected him of being a woman; but many, attracted by the unusual,
ascribed both sexes to the Chevalier. However strange and absurd such
an assertion may appear, there is no doubt that it was made, and that
it met, at this time as well as later, with amazing credulity. Other
less ridiculous but more formidable insinuations, emanating from the
same enemies, attributed to him the authorship of a defamatory pamphlet,
published in the form of an anonymous letter addressed to the Lord Chief
Justice. D’Eon was obliged to protest, and published a reply haughty
enough to refute such accusations; but public attention, which he had
courted so frequently, was now fixed upon him so persistently that
several of the satirical works which it was becoming the fashion to treat
with rigour were laid to his account. He was regarded as the author of a
“dialogue between Mr. Frugality and Mr. Truth,” the ambassador and the
ex-minister plenipotentiary of France being easily recognised under these
pseudonyms. In Paris it was thought his bitter style was discernible
in a work in six parts entitled: _L’espion chinois ou l’envoyé secret
de la cour de Pékin pour examiner l’état present de l’Europe._ This
was attributing to d’Eon many more books than he could possibly have
produced. Engrossed by the judicial proceedings he had instituted against
his ambassador, he had, with the assistance of his secretary and his
lawyers, collected and often suggested the depositions of his witnesses.
The grand jury of the Old Bailey met on March 1, 1765, and found a true
bill against the Comte de Guerchy for conspiracy against the life of
the Chevalier d’Eon. The case caused an extraordinary sensation. M. de
Guerchy was expecting to be arrested at any moment; his butler, Chazal,
who was accused of having administered the poison, had just taken flight,
and also one of the secretaries who had written some of the libels. The
cabinets of London and Paris were exasperated; Louis XV. and the Comte de
Broglie thought it inconceivable that an ambassador could be delivered
up to foreign tribunals. De Guerchy’s situation was all the more serious
because the English law was founded on a number of intricate and not very
well-known precedents. The case in point had been provided for by an
extremely old statute, which jurisprudence had had no occasion to revoke.
Only one case could be cited as an exact parallel, a trial which had led
to the execution of the Portuguese Ambassador in the time of Cromwell.
De Guerchy could not believe that a similar fate awaited him; but the
spirit of the English people had so frequently afforded him surprise
that uncertainty increased his dejection, and drove him on to the most
incautious measures. He was deeply humiliated, and his pitiful attitude
was a source of infinite joy to d’Eon, who, triumphant, arrogant and
full of threats, gave free rein to his malicious banter. “Considering
the actual state of affairs,” he wrote to the Comte de Broglie, “it is
absolutely necessary that the arrangement proposed by you should be at
once concluded, and that you should be here without loss of time, say
by the 20th of this month.... This is the last letter I shall have the
honour of writing to you on the subject of the poisoner, that scoundrel
de Guerchy, who would be broken alive on the wheel in France, did he meet
with his deserts. But, by the grace of God, he will only be hanged in
England.... I give you my word of honour that ere long de Guerchy will
be arrested as he leaves the court, and taken to prison in the city of
London. His friend Praslin will try to set him free if he can; but it is
more likely that the friend to deliver him will be the executioner.”
The above ironical predictions were not fulfilled. So strange a finding
could not justify the application of an expired law. The English cabinet
would have dreaded the consequences, had they not already realised the
injustice, and the absurdity even, of such a course. They at once began
to search for a means of avoiding the danger of their immutable laws, and
found one in the very arcana of their statutes. The suit was removed by
writ of _certiorari_ into the Court of King’s Bench. This new tribunal
declared the indictment suspended, and, without settling the main point
at issue, granted a _nolle prosequi_ in favour of the ambassador.
The case was definitely withdrawn. The Comte de Guerchy was obliged
to content himself with the paltry expedient which he had urgently
demanded, but which did not efface in public opinion the disgrace of
this scandalous trial. He retained the esteem of the ministers and of
all discerning persons, but the general feeling in England was hostile
to him. The King’s interference in a purely judicial matter was much
criticised, and Lord Chesterfield, writing to his son, Philip Stanhope,
questioned its legality. Among the people there was an outburst of
indignation which threatened the person of the ambassador himself. The
mob did not spare Guerchy their hisses, and one day they even stopped
his coach. He had to hide his Cross of the Order of the Holy Spirit and
declare that he was not the French ambassador but merely his secretary.
Nevertheless, the threatening crowd followed him to the embassy, where
the lacqueys hastily closed the gates, thus giving the police time to
arrive and put an end to a disturbance which might have had extremely
serious consequences.
De Guerchy’s position in London was becoming so intolerable that he took
leave of absence and spent several months in France. In 1776 he made
another short stay in England, and never afterwards returned. Durand was
appointed his successor as minister plenipotentiary. He was one of the
most faithful agents of the secret service, and had already represented
the King in Poland.
D’Eon did not wait for the arrival of the new envoy, with whom he had
been long acquainted, before attempting, by entreaties and intimidations,
to resume his negotiations with the Comte de Broglie. The latter, still
indulgent towards him, consented, deeming the opportunity favourable. The
Chevalier made no further difficulty about delivering the royal warrants
for his mission (but these only) to the new minister plenipotentiary,
and, as is stated in the report drawn up at the time, he presented them
“in good condition, folded in a parchment cover addressed to the King,
and enclosed and cemented within a brick adapted for the purpose, removed
from the walls of the cellar.”
In exchange for these papers, Louis XV. earnestly solicited by de Broglie
and Tercier, and above all dreading d’Eon’s indiscretions and disputes,
granted him a favour of which he deigned to inform him by his own hand:
As a reward for the services rendered to me by M. d’Eon in
Russia, in my army, and in the execution of other commissions
entrusted to him, I am pleased to bestow upon him a yearly
allowance of twelve thousand livres, which I shall cause to be
paid to him punctually at the expiration of every three months,
wherever he may be, except in a country with which I am at war;
and this until such time as I may think proper to nominate him
to some post, the emoluments of which will greatly exceed the
present allowance.