Louis XV., as his correspondence shows, was unaware of the secret of his
former agent’s real sex or, more probably, indifferent to the question.
As for d’Eon, he had only just decided finally to adopt the expedient,
beginning to realise that his career was at an end, and that the only
asylum he could hope for in France was at Tonnerre, or, as was even more
likely, in the Bastille. He had not much more to lose as a man, and was
seriously considering the advantages he should obtain from assuming
the sex which the public attributed to him so persistently. Sensation,
popularity, notoriety and fresh pecuniary resources were the stakes of a
hazardous game, but one in which, in d’Eon’s opinion, the gain outweighed
the risk, and he therefore decided to take his chance as soon as a
favourable opportunity offered.
Meanwhile he had not thought fit to make the Comte de Broglie directly
acquainted with the change. The latter pretended to ignore it, and
continued to employ his services as formerly, an urgent and particularly
delicate affair just then needing his co-operation. The fact was a
report had just been spread in Madame du Barry’s set to the effect that
a scandalous work against herself, in which even the person of the King
was not spared, was about to be published in London, and thence to be
circulated on the continent.
The author of this pamphlet was a certain Théveneau de Morande, who,
having incurred the displeasure of the King’s tribunals, had sought in
England the refuge of which all people like himself availed themselves
at the time. A clever adventurer, and an intriguer of the worst type,
he openly trafficked in London in scandal and slander. In a little
blackmailing newspaper, which he edited himself, he disseminated the
most odious calumnies to the prejudice of ministers and people about
the court, which he interlarded with scandalous anecdotes current at
Versailles, and “notices on several opera dancers, the whole”—Bachaumont
concludes—“forming a most pernicious composition.”
This publication, in the style of the Paris _Colporteur_, was called _Le
Gazetier Cuirassé_, and displayed on the title-page a print “representing
the gazetteer in the uniform of a hussar, with a little pointed cap on
his head, and a face expressive of sardonic laughter, aiming to right
and left the cannons, bombshells, and all the artillery which surround
him.” This dishonest livelihood, however, did not satisfy Morande, who,
not content with demanding sums of money directly from the persons whom
it was his intention to blackmail, produced more voluminous works of an
equally depraved nature.
Well and promptly informed by needy correspondents whom he employed in
France, he imparted the latest news from Versailles to his acquaintances
in London. “Madame du Barry,” he wrote in one of his bulletins, “has
given balls to the high nobility during the carnival, and bodyguards have
been posted in all the avenues, just as at the residence of Madame la
Dauphine. Neither the young Prince nor the Princesses were present, but
the Duc de Chartres and the Comte de la Marche made their appearance for
a moment with the King. Mimi opened the ball with the Prince de Chimay.
Madame du B—— was mightily disappointed to see so few guests. As for
me, they are hanging me, burning me, erecting altars to me in Paris; in
short, they are as eager to buy my book as I am to sell it.” Indeed, M.
des Cars was actively engaged in suppressing the scandal, and he had
induced the Comte de Broglie to write to d’Eon instructing him to make
terms with the blackmailer. D’Eon’s reply was not long in coming:
You could not have recourse to anybody more able to assist
and bring to a satisfactory conclusion the affair you have
mentioned to me, M. Morande being a countryman of mine,
who boasts of being connected with a branch of my family
in Burgundy. As soon as he arrived in London, three years
ago, he wrote to me that he was a countryman of mine, and
that he wished to see me and make my acquaintance. For two
years I refused for very good reasons. He has so frequently
called since, that I have occasionally received him rather
than be annoyed by a young man of an exceedingly turbulent
and impetuous disposition.... He has married his landlady’s
daughter, who was in the habit of attending to his room.
(They have two children, and live on good terms together.)
He is a man who blackmailed several rich people in Paris by
means of his pen, and has libelled the Comte de Laraguais in
the grossest possible manner. The King of England (himself
so frequently attacked in the papers) asked the Count, with
reference to this affair, what he thought of the liberty of
the English press. “I have nothing to complain of, Sire,” he
replied, “it treats me like a king.”
I am not informed that Morande is engaged on a scandalous
account of the du Barry family; but I have very strong
suspicions that such is the case. If it should be so, there is
nobody in a better position than myself to negotiate for its
suppression. He is very fond of his wife, and I undertake to
persuade her to do anything I wish. I might even induce her to
carry off the manuscript, but that might make a quarrel between
them; in which case I should be compromised, and another, and
more annoying affair would ensue. I believe that if Morande
were offered eight hundred guineas he would be quite satisfied.
I know that he is in want of money just now, and I will do my
best to arrange for a smaller sum. But, sir, to tell you the
truth, I should be delighted if the money were given to him by
some other person, so that nobody will imagine that I have made
a single guinea by such a transaction.
If d’Eon despised this intriguer as much as he said he did, he had
nevertheless always kept him on good terms, and was far more intimate
with him than he wished it to appear. Morande was continually offering
his services, whether to assist him in “some literary productions upon
which he was engaged,” or to write, “with true Burgundian zeal, the
biography of the enigmatical Chevalier.” D’Eon did not long remain
indifferent to his incessant flattery and respectful assurances of
devotion; he even entertained him, and supplied him with money.
Morande, his insolvent debtor, and now his guest, soon confided to him
his blackmailing projects. These d’Eon often urged him to give up, and
if unsuccessfully, he was still in a position where money arrangements
for that end could be easily made. The Comte de Broglie’s orders were
in consequence promptly executed. Morande entered readily into terms
of composition with “his countryman and companion in exile,” as he was
pleased to call him. In a few days the bargain was made, d’Eon obtaining
a promise written and signed by the hand of the Sieur Morande whereby
the latter pledged himself “not to confide this negotiation to a single
creature.” He promised besides “not only to refrain from printing his
work against the family of the Marquis and the Comtesse du Barry, but
also to sacrifice it entirely, and to deliver faithfully to the Chevalier
d’Eon all the memoranda and copies, according to the stipulations of the
agreement.”
The negotiation had been conducted by d’Eon with great rapidity and
genuine skill; the terms were relatively moderate; and there was every
indication that the King’s ratification and that of the interested family
would not be long in forthcoming. Such, however, was far from being
the case—either because Madame du Barry did not desire to employ the
services of the Comte de Broglie, whom she particularly disliked, and
whose assistance had been sought without her consent; or, more probably
perhaps, because she scorned to think her reputation at the mercy of
these scandalous disclosures. Less anxious about public opinion than
were her own courtiers, “she appeared to be easy about a matter which
should have concerned her so much,” and when the conditions obtained by
d’Eon were submitted to her she replied somewhat evasively, “that they
must be considered.” The matter was never “discussed more thoroughly.”
The King shared the favourite’s indifference to that which concerned
himself personally, and deemed, with like good sense, that it was best
not to trouble oneself about slanders which threatened to increase in
proportion to the importance attached to them by the people concerned.
Accordingly he wrote to the Comte de Broglie: “This is not the first
time I have been abused in like fashion; they are the masters, I do not
hide that from myself. Surely, they can only repeat what has been said
about the du Barry family. It is for them to do as they choose, and I
will fall in with their views.” This note throws no new light on Louis
XV.’s character; but it is not one of the least striking testimonies of
the innate unconscientiousness and the complete lack of moral feeling in
a monarch otherwise full of shrewdness and good sense. A few days later,
the Comte de Broglie received a letter from the King ordering him to
suspend the negotiations begun by d’Eon.
M. du Barry had at last thought it advisable to look to the honour of
his house. He had sent to London an emissary selected from among the
hangers-on of his set, assisted by the police. This adventurer was as
ill-noted as Morande himself, but less cunning, and he regarded his
mission chiefly as an opportunity for a pleasant, well-remunerated
journey. As soon as he arrived in London he had an interview with
Morande, during the course of which he astounded him by his influential
acquaintances, his fictitious post in the household of the Comte
d’Artois, and dazzled him by the brilliancy of his promises. Morande
raised his price proportionately, at once broke with d’Eon, and
introduced everywhere in London the emissary who had been sent to him.
But after a few weeks the Sieur de Lormoy, having squandered the sum
of money with which he had been provided, and being unable to persuade
Morande to moderate his new demands, left London surreptitiously, without
having done anything but incur debts to the amount of a thousand pounds.
Morande, disappointed and extremely irritated, was on the point of
publishing his work, when the du Barry family sent another negotiator,
chosen this time by M. de Sartine himself—Caron de Beaumarchais, the
pamphleteer, who was not yet the successful author of the _Mariage de
Figaro_, but merely the boisterous and litigious antagonist of President
Goëzman.
D’Eon has left another version of that mission which is neither likely
nor in good taste, and appears to have been inspired by the bitter hatred
he entertained against Beaumarchais to the end of his days.
“The Sieur Caron de Beaumarchais,” he says, “under censure of the
Parliament of Paris, and on the point of being arrested in accordance
with the judgment, takes refuge in the King’s wardrobe, an asylum
worthy of such a personage. M. de Laborde, the King’s valet, confides
to Beaumarchais, in the gloom of the wardrobe, that the King’s heart is
saddened by a scurrilous libel on the love affairs of the charming du
Barry, which is being written in London by the scoundrel Morande.
“Forthwith, the romantic and gigantic heart of the Sieur Caron swells
with idle fancies; his ambition rises to the height of the waves of the
sea which he will have to cross.... He communicates to Laborde his idea
of going to London, and secretly bribing with gold the corrupt Morande.
This project is imparted by Laborde to Louis XV., who deigns to give his
approval. Accordingly, the Sieur Caron de Beaumarchais arrives in London
_incognito_, escorted by the Comte de Lauraguais _in publico_.”
The day of their arrival Morande called on d’Eon, if we may believe the
latter, and informed him of the advantageous offers he had just received.
He did not wish to accept them without consulting the Chevalier, who was
the first to open up negotiations, and mentioned that “two gentlemen
desired to confer with the Chevalier d’Eon,” and were awaiting him “in
their coach at the corner of the street.” D’Eon, extremely dignified,
refused to see strangers who had brought no letters of introduction “from
official persons, and might be emissaries of police.” He then dismissed
Morande, observing “that the love affairs of kings being very delicate
matters for anybody to meddle in, he was exposing himself to the dangers
associated with the occupation of a highwayman; that such being the case
he was justified in exacting the largest sum out of the richest gilt
coach he might meet, and that his own only contained eight hundred pounds
sterling.”
A few days later, the Chevalier “learned that the two gentlemen were the
unknown Caron de Beaumarchais and the most illustrious and well-known
Louis François de Brancas, Comte de Lauraguais.” They had concluded,
almost without discussion, an extremely liberal agreement with Charles
Théveneau de Morande, whereby an annuity of 4000 livres was settled on
that adventurer, and one of 2000 livres on his wife, after his death. In
addition to that, Morande gained a sum of 32,000 livres, which was handed
to him in exchange for the manuscripts.
D’Eon, after casting up the items of the bargain and adding the expenses
and emoluments of the “ambassadors extraordinary,” asserts that the libel
cost the court the respectable sum of 154,000 livres, and expresses great
indignation at such deplorable extravagance. He was, moreover, all the
more inclined to be critical as he had been excluded from a negotiation
which he had all but concluded with greater skill and moderation, and had
been counting on his success to regain the King’s favour.
Beaumarchais, who, as we shall see presently, had a lively private
interview with his opponent a little later, hastily returned to France to
turn his advantage to account, while d’Eon consoled himself by publishing
a work which was the fruit of his long years of inactivity, and which he
entitled philosophically, _Les Loisirs du Chevalier d’Eon_. Studiously
and patiently did he beguile his leisure. In his shady retreat in Petty
France, the garden of which bordered on the park, he indulged in the
gravest meditations, to judge by the subjects discussed in these thirteen
octavo volumes. War, administration, general politics, foreign affairs,
one after another, are studied at length; even finance is not neglected,
and suggests to the author such judicious observations, such prudent
measures of reform, that the King of Prussia took care, it is said, to
point them out to his ministers. He is, at any rate, reported to have
done so in a London newspaper! Very favourably received in Berlin, the
work owed its success in London chiefly to a daring dedication, which, on
the other hand, prevented its sale in the Paris booksellers’ shops, and,
particularly, in that of Antoine Boudet, in the Rue Saint Jacques. The
most eloquent petitions, the most influential recommendations failed to
appease M. de Sartine’s wrath against a book published under the auspices
of the Duc de Choiseul, whose signal disgrace had just created so great
a sensation and aroused so much indignation. D’Eon had placed himself of
his own accord under the duke’s patronage in the following terms:—
“In dedicating this work to you, Monsieur le Duc, I was not seeking
a protector, for I am sufficiently protected by my liberty and my
innocence. I sought a great man, and I have found him in his retreat at
Chanteloup.”
If history has not ratified d’Eon’s judgment of Choiseul, it must be
remembered how ungrateful and difficult was the task of a minister
whose foreign policy was almost continually counteracted by the secret
action of the sovereign, and whose initiative, often very happy, in
home politics was well-nigh paralysed by the hostile caprices of the
favourite. A victim of Madame du Barry’s resentment, whom his mordant
wit had not spared, Choiseul bore serenely and proudly an exile during
which the court, and even the royal princes, visited him. Such a fine
attitude attracted d’Eon, and all the more because vanity made him
compare the lot of the exile with his own, and regard the fallen minister
as another victim of the same intrigues and the same favourites. Pride
or, to be more correct, bravado had similarly prompted him to write to
the duke, at the time of his disgrace, a letter evidently inspired by a
desire of impressing the world by his noble sentiments:
MONSIEUR LE DUC,—You have long honoured me by your good-will
and your undisguised protection. The latter you withdrew from
me only out of consideration for the Duc de Praslin, my enemy
and your relative and colleague.
I have always been glad of your good-will and have never
complained of your desertion.
Now that your fair-weather friends are about to disown and
forsake you in the hour of your disgrace, I draw nearer to you
and lay at your feet the homage of my devotion and gratitude,
which will endure to the end of my days.
Pray accept them, and believe me your very humble and devoted
servant,