Part 10

D’Eon travelled in the north of England under an assumed name and, after spending a few weeks in Scotland, was preparing to proceed to Ireland when news reached him through the papers which obliged him to alter his plans. His friends, alarmed at his disappearance and fearing that he had fallen a victim to some attempt on the part of those interested in the wagers, were causing inquiries to be made in London and had published his description. His creditors, no less concerned, had just demanded that the doors of his lodging should be sealed; lastly, he was publicly accused of participation in the wagers. Dreading lest the indiscreet zeal of the officers of the law should lead to the discovery of his papers, d’Eon hastily returned to London. Upon his arrival he at once repaired to the Mansion House, and delivered to the Lord Mayor a deposition under oath to the effect that he was “not interested to the value of one shilling, directly or indirectly, in the policies of insurance” made on his sex. _The Public Advertiser_ published this affidavit the same evening, and d’Eon, anxious to clear himself from such an imputation in the sight of his chief, sent him an extract from the newspaper, not without accompanying it by fresh protestations. “It is not my fault,” he wrote, “if the rage for betting on all matters is a national failing among Englishmen. I have given proof, and will again do so to their hearts’ content, that I am not only a man, but a captain of dragoons with sword in hand.”

It is strange to find d’Eon claiming, in July 1771, so energetically (for it was the last time that he did so without ambiguity) his real sex. From that moment he began to entertain the idea of the audacious farce which he only decided to enact some time later, and the plot of which was suggested by his contemporaries themselves. His resolution to transform himself into a woman was formed between the months of July 1771 and April 1772. If he still abstained for over a year from avowing his supposed sex to his protectors, if he still hesitated to make his transformation public, he proved more communicative with a friend, who informed the secret minister, and so indirectly the King. D’Eon first confided in Drouet, secretary to the Comte de Broglie, who happened to be in London at the time. The latter had not omitted to rally d’Eon on the subject of the sex which was already being ascribed to him in Paris also, whereupon d’Eon exclaimed, and, to his interlocutor’s profound astonishment, asserted that he really was a woman. His parents, he said, misled at his birth by doubtful appearances, and being particularly anxious, as in every noble family, to have a male heir, had compelled him to assume a sex other than that which nature had bestowed upon him. His disposition and education had enabled him to play his part in public, and his talents to achieve a brilliant career. D’Eon exerted in support of this theory all the eloquence of which he was capable, and as Drouet remained incredulous he indulged in an unseemly comedy, which he revived at a later period in the presence of the adventurer Morande, and thereby managed entirely to convince the Comte de Broglie’s secretary. Upon his return Drouet at once reported the unexpected discovery to his master, who wrote to the King, in May 1772:

I must not forget to inform your Majesty that the suspicions entertained on the sex of this extraordinary personage are well founded. The Sieur Drouet, whom I had ordered to do his best to verify them, has assured me, since his return, that he has succeeded, and that he is able to certify ... that the Sieur d’Eon is a woman and nothing but a woman, of whom he has all the attributes.... He begged the Sieur Drouet to keep the secret, justly observing that if discovered his occupation was gone.... May I entreat your Majesty to be pleased to permit that the confidence he has reposed in his friend be not betrayed, and that he will have no cause to regret what he has done....

It is difficult to believe that this letter can have sufficed to convince so shrewd a monarch, who had long since taken d’Eon’s measure. Like Voltaire, Louis XV. must have regarded all this as an absurd sham, the first news of which had, some months previously, left him sceptical. The very astonishment he had then shown disproves the assertion that the sovereign was the Chevalier’s secret accomplice. But that is the theory which Casanova has ventured to sustain in his _Mémoires_:

The King alone knew, and always had known, that d’Eon was a woman, and the entire quarrel between the sham Chevalier and the Foreign Office was a farce which the King allowed to be played out for his own amusement.... Nobody ever possessed in a more marked degree the great royal virtue called dissimulation. Faithful guardian of a secret, he was delighted when he felt certain that none but he was aware of it.

VII

THE MORANDE CASE

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,

THE CHEVALIER D’EON.

Louis XV., who had once more sacrificed his minister to his favourite, no longer even bethought himself of making up, as formerly, for his disgraceful surrenders by clandestine intrigues. The secret correspondence, at which he had laboured every day for fifteen years, did not interest him any more. The letters published by Boutaric testify to the fact, barely including a few notes from the King for the years 1773 and 1774.