D'Eon de Beaumont, his life and times

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:

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:

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.

Such indifference on the part of the King continually exposed the secret correspondence, formerly guarded so jealously, to the danger of discovery. Moreover, the ministers had not been long in suspecting its existence. The Duc d’Aiguillon, who had guessed the part played by the Comte de Broglie, was now watching for an opportunity for detecting the intrigue, and also for revenging himself on a hidden rival whose arrogance had exasperated him. The still somewhat mysterious excursion of two agents of the secret service, Favier and Dumouriez, who appear to have attempted at that time to enter into a negotiation with Prussia to the prejudice of Austria, supplied the long-sought means of putting the Comte de Broglie in a false position. The duke caused a report to be spread at Versailles that a conspiracy had lately been discovered, and gave orders for the imprisonment in the Bastille of Favier and Dumouriez, who had just been arrested—the former in Paris, and the latter at The Hague, on his way to Germany. Failing to discover anything sufficiently compromising on the persons of these two subordinate agents, he made bold to suggest to the King that the Comte de Broglie’s papers should be seized.

Louis XV. replied, with feigned indifference, that he saw no reason for doing so; that the count, it was true, submitted to him, from time to time, reports relating to foreign affairs; but that these were historical matters, without any political tendency. D’Aiguillon was obliged to content himself with this explanation, and knew how to make the best of his ill success. Favier and Dumouriez appeared alone before three commissioners, one of whom the King had taken the precaution of seeing should be M. de Sartine, duly apprised as on a former occasion; they were sentenced to a few months’ imprisonment, Favier being sent to the fortress of Doullens, and Dumouriez to the castle of Caen.

As for the Comte de Broglie, whom the King had screened, guided by selfish motives rather than by a sense of justice, he only escaped imprisonment to be exiled. His arrogant character made it impossible for him to endure the mistrust in which he was held at court since the discovery of the intrigue. Conjecturing that the Duc d’Aiguillon was responsible for his disgrace, he wrote to him so imprudent a letter that, on its being communicated to the King, he was forthwith exiled to Ruffec. Louis XV. was not sorry to find a pretext for ridding himself of a devoted, but at times indiscreet, servant, whose zeal had become more and more importunate. Consequently, he paid no heed to the submissive and apologetic letters which the count sent to him from Ruffec, to the entreaties of the countess, or even to the appeals of the marshal. Nevertheless, he did not wish, or did not dare, entirely to withdraw his confidence from the secret minister, who, exiled and disgraced officially, continued to correspond clandestinely with the King’s private agents from his remote provincial residence.

The Comte de Broglie’s occupation was not destined to last long. It was now devoid of interest and utility, and was a mystery to nobody. The agents of Austria had made the cabinet of Vienna acquainted with the secret correspondence, and it kept the other courts of Germany punctually informed. In France even the ministers were now aware of the intrigue, and the court had had some inkling of it through the disclosures of the Cardinal de Rohan, to whom a spy in the cabinet noir had confided it.

When Louis XV. died his secret was common property, and the policy on which he had vainly expended so much ingenuity, and sacrificed so much devotion, ended in a scandal which the death of the King himself was alone powerful enough to suppress. France did not lose a sovereign in this worn-out old man, become the plaything of a worthless woman, and even the agents of the secret service had no cause to regret a protector who had never made demands on their devotion without sacrificing them afterwards to his peace of mind. Consequently, they were not far from joining in the general rejoicings. By way of funeral oration, d’Eon wrote to the Comte de Broglie, only a few months after the King’s death:

D’Eon, whose estimation of his services, and the functions which had been entrusted to him, was far from modest, then recapitulated his claims and grievances, compared himself with La Chalotais and expressed his hopes of a similar reinstatement, concluding as follows:—

Louis XV.’s secret minister had not waited for that letter before attempting to regain favour with the new monarch. He was obliged to present his defence in writing, being still in exile at Ruffec, and feeling the burden of the suspicions aroused by Louis XV.’s obstinacy in keeping so compromising a collaborator at a distance. He had to contend with all those who had formerly envied him; and Marie Antoinette’s influence on her husband, and her intention of participating in the administration of public affairs, did not improve the case of the man who had secretly attacked the Austrian alliance.

He therefore sent, on May 13, 1774, a memorandum to Louis XVI., in which he informed him of the various negotiations of the secret correspondence, and also of the places where the late King might have concealed his papers and letters, but which showed above all his anxiety to clear himself and to explain the part he had played personally. A fortnight later he wrote again to the King; but this time it was chiefly d’Eon’s conduct which he strove to explain and justify. In defending d’Eon, the Comte de Broglie was serving his own ends, and the very terms of his letter prove that he was aware of that fatal joint responsibility. “I conceive it to be possible,” he wrote, “that your Majesty has heard him unfavourably spoken of, and that you will therefore be astonished to find him included among the number of those persons honoured with the confidence of the late King.” He admitted that d’Eon’s excessive hastiness had given rise to “unseemly incidents,” but did not conceal the fact that the Chevalier was first provoked by the Comte de Guerchy’s want of tact. He concluded: “This curious person (since the Sieur d’Eon is a woman) is, even more than most others, a mixture of good and bad qualities, and he carries both to extremes.” The Comte de Broglie therefore urged upon the King that it would be wise to continue to pay to Mademoiselle d’Eon the pension conferred upon the Chevalier by Louis XV. For himself he asked more, and intimated that he would not deliver the secret papers until he should have been able to justify himself completely before a special commission. Louis XVI., who had bethought himself for a moment of continuing the secret policy of his predecessor, soon abandoned this project under the influence of Marie Antoinette herself, urged by her mother. His immediate care then was to pay off the staff of the secret service. In order to put an end to the Comte de Broglie’s claims, he gave him an opportunity of justifying his conduct before three commissioners—De Muy, Vergennes and Sartine—who did justice unreservedly to the discretion, penetration and ability which Louis XV.’s secret minister had shown during the course of extremely delicate negotiations. Such striking testimony might satisfy the count’s conscience, but it did not restore him to royal favour. Louis XVI. obstinately refused to confer a peerage, or even the least reward, upon his grandfather’s faithful and unfortunate servant. He confined himself to settling the pensions of the subordinate agents, henceforward deprived of all employment by the abolition of the secret service.

Among these d’Eon alone was not included. The ministers thought that the figure of the pension which Louis XV. had conferred upon him was excessive, and hesitated to ensure payment in the same proportions. The motive for such liberality still existed, however, since numerous political papers were still in d’Eon’s possession. The Comte de Vergennes had been able to satisfy himself of this fact, and he wrote to the King on August 22:

The means in question were really suggested by the Comte de Broglie, who interceded on d’Eon’s behalf and undertook to induce him to come to an agreement. It was he who persuaded the King to continue the payment in full of the pension conferred upon the Chevalier by Louis XV. in the year 1766, and to authorise him to return to France.

In return, d’Eon was to surrender the secret papers and give his word of honour that he would desist from provoking or attacking in writing a family which he had already so unjustly persecuted. Such were the offers transmitted to d’Eon by the Comte de Vergennes in a letter approved by the King. It was decided that the Marquis de Prunevaux, captain in the regiment of Burgundian Cavalry, should proceed to London for the express purpose of conducting that negotiation. He was to deliver to the Chevalier a safe conduct, together with a note in which the Comte de Broglie exhorted him to submit readily and gratefully to the King’s will. “For my own part,” wrote the former secret minister in conclusion, “I am delighted to have been able to contribute to your securing a liberal and honourable retiring pension in your own country.”

What the Comte de Broglie regarded as an honourable pension was in d’Eon’s estimation a wretched gratuity, which in no wise indemnified him for the pecuniary losses he had sustained, and the disgrace he had incurred in consequence of his obedience to royal commands. Since the death of Louis XV. he had never ceased to profess himself “ready to submit to anything that might be agreeable to the new King,” but such feigned humility was merely the result of fear. He was afraid of being forgotten in London, and strove by the bait of the secret papers to involve Louis XVI. in a negotiation which he hoped to turn to good account.

Upon the arrival of the negotiator, he promptly forgot the disinterestedness he had displayed, and set about discussing eagerly the terms of the bargain. He did not doubt that this was a final opportunity offered him for deliverance once for all out of the unhappy plight to which his foolish pride had reduced him. An unexpected event revived his hope of reinstatement. Treyssac de Vergy, who had been implicated in his quarrels with the Comte de Guerchy, had just died, and, in a will which d’Eon immediately caused to be published in the papers, certified anew the truth of all the ambassador’s plots and nefarious designs, of which he confessed he had been the unwitting agent. The adventurer’s confession in extremis was credited in London; Sir John Fielding declared d’Eon’s innocence to be “clear as daylight,” and Mr. Charles, tutor to the royal children, sent to the Chevalier the congratulations of Lord Bute, the minister. “The Chevalier’s old friend [Lord Bute],” he wrote, “to whom Charles has shown the enclosed document [a copy of the will], rejoices at the favourable turn affairs appear to be taking.”

So well, indeed, did D’Eon think things were getting on, that he protested strongly when the Marquis de Prunevaux made him acquainted with the Comte de Vergennes’ decision and offers. He declared heatedly that the terms were unacceptable, as they did not take into account “the amends due to his honour and the money owed by the court” to the former minister plenipotentiary. He proved so untractable that de Prunevaux forthwith informed the minister of the Chevalier’s frame of mind, which had completely upset their calculations. De Vergennes, perceiving that d’Eon’s moments of repentance were brief, charged the Comte de Broglie to make a last effort to persuade his former agent, who thereupon received a letter of judicious recommendations and salutary warnings. “Upon my return from Ruffec,” wrote the count, “I was greatly surprised to hear that you had not accepted the Comte de Vergennes’ offers.... I confess I do not see what grounds you have for such a refusal. I trust, therefore, you will listen to reason, consider your duty and your own interests, and redeem your faults, which prolonged resistance would aggravate irretrievably.”

But d’Eon would not listen to advice, urging that a minister plenipotentiary of France and a knight of the Order of Saint Louis could not “run away like so many despicable Frenchmen who had duped the generous English.” “He had promised,” he added, “never to quit the island before he had met his engagements.” The Marquis de Prunevaux concluded that his mission was at an end, and returned to Paris, bringing back nothing but a letter, at once humble and threatening, in which d’Eon permitted himself to state his own terms for returning to the King and the minister. He asked that he should be reinstated, if only temporarily, in the diplomatic rank and title he had held, and that the indemnities included in the enclosed detailed statement should be paid to him in full. It was, as M. de Loménie has justly remarked, the most impertinent compte d’apothicaire (exorbitant bill) conceivable. Not only did d’Eon claim his captain’s pay for a period of fifteen years, as well as the reimbursement of his extravagant expenses during his ostentatious administration ad interim, but even the reimbursement of the “great expenses occasioned by his twelve years’ residence in London,” which amounted to the modest sum of 100,000 livres. His claims became completely farcical when the sum of 6000 livres was demanded for having refused Prince Poniatowsky’s present of a diamond of that value.

When a few other no less imaginary monetary payments are added to the above, the sum total amounted to between 200,000 and 250,000 livres.