Part 13

Although Beaumarchais professed himself weary of such sentimentalism, it was not he, but d’Eon, who put an end to it. The flirtation of the new Chevalière did not go so far as to make her despise money matters, and when the question arose of settling the items of the sums appropriated to the payment of debts there was a struggle between d’Eon’s avidity and Beaumarchais’ parsimony. The correspondence of the two lovers soon assumed a bitter tone, and d’Eon was thoroughly incensed by a notice which appeared at this time in _The Morning Post_ to the effect that the insurance policies on his sex had been revived, the bets running seven to four that the Chevalier was a woman, and that a nobleman who had taken part in such transactions had undertaken to elucidate the question within a fortnight. D’Eon did not fail to attribute the notice to Beaumarchais, whom he accused of being associated with Morande in scandalous and indecent speculations on his sex. At the same time he challenged Morande to a duel; but the latter, being well acquainted with d’Eon’s renown as a fencer, was only too glad of the excuse that his honour prevented him from fighting a woman. He did not think it unfair, however, to publish a scurrilous libel against the new Chevalière, which caused some sensation. Annoyed by importunate Englishmen, who had been stimulated by such incidents to revive their bets, d’Eon resolved to write to the Comte de Vergennes to inform him of his approaching arrival in France. The reply which he received was most encouraging:

I have received, Mademoiselle, the letter you did me the honour to write on the 1st of this month. Had you not given way to feelings of mistrust, which, I am persuaded, were not expressive of your real sentiments, you might have been enjoying, for some time past, in your native land, that tranquillity which should now, more than ever, be the object of your desires. If you are thinking seriously of returning, the way is still open to you. You know the conditions imposed: the most absolute reserve regarding the past; every precaution to be taken to avoid meeting those persons whom you regard as being the cause of your misfortunes; and, finally, the resumption of the garments of your sex. You can no longer hesitate, seeing the publicity given to this in England. You are, no doubt, aware that our laws do not tolerate such disguises. I have only to add that if, after a trial, you should not feel at home in France, you will be free to proceed elsewhere to suit your own pleasure.

I have written the above in compliance with the King’s orders. Let me add that the safe conduct with which you have been supplied suffices, so that you may now do as you please. If you decide upon pursuing a wise course, I will congratulate you; otherwise I shall only be able to pity you for not responding to the kind master who offers you a helping hand. Set your mind at rest, because when in France you will be able to communicate with me directly, without the aid of any intermediary.

D’Eon, however, did not wish to leave England without endeavouring to put an end to the wagers which were being transacted on his sex. He brought an action before Lord Mansfield for the annulment of those disgraceful contracts; but being non-suited by a judgment which considered him to be a woman, since the King of France treated him as such, he contented himself with lodging an appeal, and hastened to return to his native land.

IX

RETURN OF A HEROINE

D’Eon left London on August 13, 1777, and embarked for France the same night. However glad he was to return to his native land, and to revisit his home and his fertile, vine-bedecked Burgundy, his meditations cannot have been free from bitterness. Fifteen years had passed since his last journey: at that time he was the Duc de Nivernais’ “little d’Eon,” the Comte de Choiseul’s protégé, and was bringing to Versailles the ratifications of an important treaty. His wallet was not so full of state papers as his heart of dreams and expectations. Fortune smiled upon his ardent youth, bringing him brilliant rewards and giving him glimpses of a promising future. He had been well received at Versailles, honoured with the notice of Madame de Pompadour, and had returned to London wearing the Cross of Saint Louis on his breast. Shortly afterwards he was appointed minister plenipotentiary, and, thanks to a temporary vacancy, had represented his sovereign most pompously for two months at the embassy. He experienced at that time the rapture of triumph, but immediately afterwards all the rancour of a sudden disgrace. First came the harassing proceedings and the disdainful attitude of the Comte de Guerchy; then a struggle full of snares and subtilties; and finally the bold stroke of the action brought against his rival, and his exultation at the scandal caused by the condemnation of the ambassador of France. But it was a perilous victory fraught with danger, which had roused the indignation of Paris and Versailles, and occasioned his desertion by the King and, successively, by all his powerful friends. Struggles and vicissitudes had been his lot, reducing him by degrees to despair, and finally inciting him to that expedient—suggested by the tenacious idea of the public—long contemplated, and more than once rejected before being finally adopted.

He was now returning vanquished. The “little d’Eon,” once so petted by the Marquis de L’Hospital, whom the Duc de Choiseul had introduced to the Duc de Nivernais as a “very good-looking fellow,” on account of his blue eyes with their bold and intelligent look and his slender but supple and well-proportioned figure, was now a man of fifty, with an awkward gait and a harsh voice; his firm chin displayed the stubbly growth of an ill-shaven black beard. He had kept the manners and style of a dragoon as well as the uniform; that beloved grey uniform, with red cuffs and facings, which he never consented to lay aside during his residence in London, and which made him a figure familiar alike to ministers of state and to the man in the street. He was naturally as reluctant to assume feminine attire as he was to resign himself to the manner of life conformable to his new sex. Notwithstanding the strange document in which he had formally acknowledged his womanhood, he desired to remain a man at least in so far as dress was concerned, and endeavoured to induce the Comte de Broglie to relent on that point. He averred that his fondest hope was to continue his military career in the army, where, thanks to his good conduct, he had never offered a bad example to anybody; but at the same time he expressed his readiness to comply with all the King’s orders, whether his Majesty commanded him to live in the world dressed in mob-cap and petticoats, or even to “retire into a convent and cover his dragoon’s head with the sacred veil.”

How much sincerity was there in these bombastic declarations? Did he realise, in a last lucid interval, that the loss of his dragoon’s uniform involved the ruin of all the noble aspirations of his youth, wantonly sacrificed to an inordinate, and henceforward vain, ambition? Does this unwavering attachment to the symbol of discipline and a regular career betoken a last regret for the secure and honourable existence that would have been his had he but bridled his desires? Perhaps; but possibly it was merely another pretence, an indirect means of prolonging an ambiguous situation and of imposing on the world at large. The decision of the English courts and the command of the King of France had made a woman of him; but the reluctance he showed to assuming the garments of his new sex tended to confirm the opinion of those who still considered him a man. By declaring so openly that he was being compelled to wear female apparel d’Eon evidently intended to convey the impression that the sex was as distasteful to him as the garb, and that the King’s will, to which he must perforce submit, could in no degree modify nature. He thus averted the difficulties of the moment, while preparing the way for a reappearance in male attire at some future date. Voltaire alone, among his contemporaries, appears to have seen through the pretence, to which he does justice by a somewhat unkind comparison: “I cannot believe,” he writes from Ferney to the Comte d’Argental, “that the Chevalier or the Chevalière d’Eon, whose chin is adorned with a very thick and very prickly black beard, is a woman. I am inclined to think that he has carried the eccentricity of his adventures to the point of aspiring to change his sex in order to escape the vengeance of the House of Guerchy, just as Pourceaungnac disguised himself as a woman to escape from justice and the apothecaries.”

Moreover, while protesting loudly against the King’s command, by which his helmet was converted into a mob-cap, d’Eon strove to turn his new condition to account, and to attain fresh and still greater notoriety by his metamorphosis. He relates himself how, passing through Saint Denis, on his way to Versailles, he made Dom Boudier lead him to the mother-superior of the Carmelite convent, no less a person than Madame Louise de France. Before drawing the curtains of the parlour the daughter of Louis XV. asked, it is said, how Mademoiselle d’Eon was dressed, and on being told that she was still in riding-boots and uniform, having only just arrived from London, “Madame Louise exhorted her invisible interlocutor to assume the attire and to lead the life of a Christian woman.” However, notwithstanding the wise counsel of the venerable princess, and in spite of the formal condition imposed by Vergennes in his letter of July 12, it was only at Versailles, where he arrived equipped as a dragoon, that d’Eon finally yielded, and complied with an order which was renewed in the following terms:—

IN THE KING’S NAME

“Charles-Geneviève-Louise-Auguste-Andrée-Timothée d’Eon de Beaumont is hereby commanded to lay aside the uniform of a dragoon, which she is in the habit of wearing, and resume the garments of her sex, and is forbidden to appear in any part of the kingdom in other garments than those suitable to women.

“Given at Versailles, August 27, 1777.

“(Signed) LOUIS GRAVIER DE VERGENNES.”

When the Chevalier, at his wits’ end, again objected to the Minister for Foreign Affairs that his modest means did not enable him to procure a suitable outfit, Marie Antoinette, affected by the misfortunes of so intrepid a woman, gave orders (if we are to believe d’Eon and his biographers) for the outfit to be made up at her own expense. It is certain, at all events, that Mademoiselle Bertin, the celebrated milliner and dressmaker to the Queen, was the first to have the singular honour of enveloping the fiery captain of dragoons in the austere and decorous petticoats of an elderly spinster of quality. For the rest of his wardrobe d’Eon had recourse to Mademoiselle Maillot, a humbler milliner, and to Madame Barmant, “manufacturer of flexible and elastic corsets.” The Sieur Brunet, wigmaker, Rue de la Paroisse, received an order for a “headdress composed of three tiers.”

While so many nimble fingers were arranging ribbons and laces or stiffening with whalebone the stays destined to cause d’Eon so much discomfort, the Chevalier took advantage of the few days during which he was still at liberty to wear his uniform, and hastened to take the coach which was to bear him to his old mother.

He reached the little Burgundian town on September 2. If it is true that towns have, as it were, faces in which we are pleased to recognise the characteristics of their most famous men, Tonnerre seems wonderfully to symbolise d’Eon’s disposition and to illuminate his memory. Rocky and mountainous, it has at first sight a bold and animated air. In a brisk, determined manner the streets scale, as though to storm, the rock whence the church of Saint Pierre commands the town, surrounded by the double zone of the river and a range of pleasantly wooded hills. One might fancy that the little town, shut up in its natural prison, had put on that bluff and rebellious look, that somewhat disorderly and straggling appearance, as a protest against its pleasing but restricted site.

The evening that d’Eon arrived, crossing the bridge over the rushing Armençon, Tonnerre was illuminated, all the inhabitants rejoicing, as though for the return of a prodigal son, or rather of a prodigal daughter. “More than twelve hundred persons,” writes d’Eon (probably not without exaggeration), “came to meet me, with cannon, guns, and pistols. My mother, although informed so long ago of my positive return to France, could not believe it, and fainted away in my arms, while my nurse burst into tears. The next day the whole town came in a body to my house before I was out of bed. There I was, encamped in a room without any curtains, mirrors, hangings, or chairs. Such a reminder of my former campaigns pleases me more than a palace.” The jovial humour displayed by the Chevalier does not appear to have made him forget the distressful tone it is wise to adopt towards a correspondent from whom a favour is expected, and he goes on in his exaggerated way, writing to Vergennes: “I found my patrimonial estate, consisting chiefly of vineyards, in a sadly dilapidated state. One would think that a company of hussars had taken possession of it as well as my house, and the river Armençon has flooded my gardens. But if anything can make my life worth living,” he says in conclusion, “it is my enjoyment of the pure friendships which my countrymen, both of the town and of the neighbouring villages, from the greatest to the humblest, have so kindly shown; they have of their own accord paid me the honours which would be due only to you and to Mgr. the Comte de Maurepas if you were to pass through Tonnerre on your way to your country house, and he to his estate of Saint Florentin.”

In spite of the great pleasure he undoubtedly felt at being in the midst of his family and of his countrymen, wonder-struck at his adventures and escapades, d’Eon was not the man to content himself long with provincial celebrity. Experience had probably taught him that nobody is a prophet in his own country, and that the comedy which he was about to act required a larger and more magnificent stage, as well as a more intelligent audience. The Minister for Foreign Affairs was growing impatient at his delay in executing the King’s orders, and Mademoiselle Bertin averred that his presence was necessary for the last trying-on of his costume.

He at once left Tonnerre and proceeded to Versailles, whence he hastened to inform the Comte de Vergennes of his return, of his tardy obedience, and the mortification it caused him. “It is about ten days since I returned,” he wrote to the minister, “and a week since I complied with your injunctions, as Mademoiselle Bertin must have assured you at Fontainebleau. I am doing my utmost to adapt myself to my sad lot in the privacy of my apartments. Now that I have laid aside my sabre and my uniform, I am as embarrassed as a fox which has lost its tail. I try to walk in pointed shoes with high heels, but I have more than once nearly broken my neck; and instead of making a courtesy I frequently remove my wig and my three-tiered headdress, mistaking them for my hat or my helmet. I am not unlike Catherine Petrovna, whom Peter the Great carried away by force from a guard-house at the siege of Derpt, and exhibited at his court before she had been taught to walk on her two hind legs.”

D’Eon, to judge by his contemporaries, did not exaggerate the ridiculous aspect of his new accoutrements, and if, as he himself said, it is difficult to change in a day one’s “garments, resolutions, opinions, language, complexion, fashion, tone, and behaviour,” he at least found consolation in eccentricity and affectation for the physical discomfort he experienced. Nevertheless, he led a retired life in the Rue de Conti, at Versailles, having politely declined the invitation of the Sieur Jamin, a priest of Fontainebleau, who, “without having the honour of his acquaintance,” offered him, “in the event of his coming to court at Fontainebleau, extremely agreeable lodgings, not for gaiety but for walks in the forest,” and assured his guest “that his incognito would be respected there, and that he would be at liberty to dress as he thought fit.” The kind invitation of this “pious person” did not tempt d’Eon, who was not yet prepared to brave the curiosity of the court. He was anxious, moreover, to make that event as dramatic as possible, and set his wits to work to insure its success. A few months before his arrival in France, he had asked M. de la Chèvre to act as “his herald,” and the latter boasted of having “prepared the way with the greatest possible enthusiasm and with indefatigable zeal.” There was also a certain Sieur Dupré, formerly tutor to two English noblemen, who “had opened the eyes of a large number of people, at the Chevalier Lambert’s and the Vicomte de Choiseul’s.” “They have not yet recovered from their surprise,” he wrote to d’Eon, “and come to me for an explanation of this political phenomenon; if I were not so well informed I should frequently be at a loss for an answer.” D’Eon, who was now quite enjoying this masquerade, was everywhere, countenancing all reports, discreetly receiving some of his old acquaintances, and informing his influential friends of his return to France.

I am delighted to hear, sir, that you are back in France (wrote the Duc de Broglie in reply), and that you are able to enjoy, in the bosom of your family, the tranquillity of which you have been so long deprived.

The Dowager Countess d’Ons-en-Bray, wife of President Legendre, who had known d’Eon from his early childhood, and was naturally one of the first to be informed of his return, could not help smiling when she pictured the man whom she had known as a law student, an expert fencer and a gallant secretary of the embassy in the petticoats of the Chevalière. She consequently received the new adventure, of which the hero gave her an amusing account, with the utmost incredulity.

Your letter (she replied) made me laugh—at your sallies until I cried, and for joy because you had not forgotten me, Mademoiselle or Monsieur—I am afraid of telling a lie. I admit I am still sceptical on the subject of your metamorphosis, and yet I will not take the liberty of clearing my doubts by following the example of the good apostle Thomas. Mademoiselle, be it so; it makes it easier for me to tell you how eagerly I look forward to seeing you again on your return from Versailles. I am sending these proofs of my gratitude for your remembrance to that town, as I do not know where your feminine charms are residing in Paris. Are they adorned with feathers? In my opinion the only headdress suitable to you is that of Mars, whom you resemble as far as courage and disposition are concerned. The two rivals whose acquaintance you desire to renew are with me at present. They are more than ever anxious to see you, as you may imagine, and one of them, a big boy who occupies your old apartment, would certainly be pleased to share it with you; but as a mother of a family who must look after her household I should have to be quite sure you were a dragoon before inviting you to associate day and night with my children. As it is, they will restrict themselves to the attentions due to the fair sex, and are keeping some sugar-sticks for you, to cure your lungs which are affected at present by atmospheric influences. Take good care of your health, Mademoiselle, and in whatever shape you may make your reappearance in our midst, rest assured that we shall always be greatly interested in your welfare in memory of past proofs of your attachment, which will ever be an earnest of mine.

As incredulous as Madame d’Ons-en-Bray with regard to the change of sex, Madame Tercier, widow of Louis XV.’s former secret minister who had so long corresponded with d’Eon, was surprised not to have seen the Chevalier again since his return, and reproached him sharply for not having yet called on the Comte de Broglie, while apparently guessing the cause of his hesitation.

I am not astonished to hear (she wrote) that you find it so difficult to accustom yourself to the new disguise which you are about to assume, and which inconveniences and embarrasses you, as well it may. In the estimation of your friends you will ever be a brave man and a faithful subject; they will love you equally well, and will value your friendship, no matter how you dress. I beg you will put me at the head of your most devoted friends, and likewise all the members of my family, who send many kind regards.

Madame Tercier’s friendly reproaches and affectionate messages had not the desired effect, d’Eon remaining in his lair, as he said, “like a fox without a tail.” Nor did Madame d’Ons-en-Bray’s barley-sugar succeed in curing the cold which kept him so opportunely confined to his room. Embarrassed in his petticoats, he remained invisible. Meanwhile, the report of his arrival, his adventures, and his strange transformation rapidly spread beyond the somewhat restricted circle of his intimate friends and soon reached the ears of the Queen, who was immediately seized with a desire to see this modern Amazon. “She sent a footman,” relates Madame Campan, “to tell my father to bring the Chevalier to her apartments. My father thought it his duty first to inform the minister of her Majesty’s desire. The Comte de Vergennes expressed his approval of this prudent course and bade him accompany him. The minister conferred with the Queen for a few minutes, after which her Majesty left her apartment with him, and, seeing my father in the adjoining room, was good enough to express her regret for having disturbed him to no purpose. She added, with a smile, that a few words which the Comte de Vergennes had just said to her had cured her completely of her curiosity.” If, in spite of the King’s official recognition of his new sex, d’Eon was not received in private audience by the Queen, he did not hesitate to show his new garments at Versailles, and chanced on several occasions to be in the galleries of the palace when their Majesties passed through. On October 21, 1777, the Feast of St. Ursula, as he takes care devoutly to record, the Chevalier d’Eon, late captain of dragoons and minister plenipotentiary from France to London, “resumed his first robe of innocence to make his appearance at Versailles, in conformity with the injunctions of the King and his ministers.” The entry of this “political phenomenon,” or of this “amphibian,” as Voltaire most contemptuously called him, created a sensation at court. Everybody wished to see the extraordinary woman, who was plainly dressed and adorned merely with a Cross of Saint Louis, won on the battlefield as well as in embassies.