Part 9

In an affair that occurred at the same time, and caused a great stir in London, d’Eon played a more active part, which, thanks to his great ability, obtained for him the approbation of the two courts and of the whole of English society. At this time the Liberal party, which had been increasing from day to day under the leadership of Wilkes, made a last effort to overthrow the cabinet. Dr. Musgrave, one of the leaders of the party, had just issued a virulent _Address to the Gentlemen, Clergy, and Freeholders of the County of Devon_. In this document he renewed the insinuations against which d’Eon had already protested in the papers as early as the year 1764, and which represented that the Princess of Wales, Lord Bute, the Duke of Richmond, Lord Egremont, and Lord Halifax had received money from France at the time of the conclusion of the treaties. Dr. Musgrave further stated that he was prepared to support his charge by fresh evidence, which he had obtained during a recent stay in Paris, and asserted that the overtures had been made through the medium of the Chevalier d’Eon, in whose possession the papers relating to that affair had assuredly remained. Finally, in a direct attack on Lord Halifax, he reproached him for having refused from personal motives to prosecute a public inquiry with regard to d’Eon’s papers, or to examine the Chevalier himself. He invited that nobleman to justify his acts before Parliament. The Secretary of State did not hesitate to accept Dr. Musgrave’s challenge, and triumphantly refuted his accusations in an eloquent speech. Parliament declared them to be groundless, and severely reprimanded the orator who had formulated them. D’Eon, besides, contributed in some measure to Lord Halifax’s success, protesting before the debate against the pamphlet by “depositions and publications.” At an early stage of the affair he addressed the following letter to Dr. Musgrave, which was reproduced by the periodicals of the day:

You will permit me to believe that you never knew any more of me than I have the honour of knowing of you, and if in your letter of August 12 you had not made a wrong use of my name, I should not now find myself obliged to enter into a correspondence with you. You pretend that in the summer of 1764 overtures were made in my name to several members of Parliament, purporting that I was ready to impeach three persons (two of whom were peers and members of the Privy Council), of having sold the Peace to the French, and you seem to found thereupon the evidence of a charge which you yourself made against Lord Halifax. Therefore, I hereby declare that I never made, or caused to be made, any such overture, either in the winter or the summer of 1764, nor at any other time.... I now call upon you to make public the name of the audacious person who has made use of mine to cover up his own odious offers.... I swear to you, on my word of honour, and before the public, that I never entered into any negotiation for the sale of papers, and never either by myself, or any agent authorised by me, offered to disclose that the Peace had been sold to France. If Lord Halifax had caused me to be cited, he might have known by my answers what my thoughts were, that England rather gave money to France than France to England, to conclude the last Peace, and that the happiness I had in concurring in the work of making peace has inspired me with sentiments of the justest veneration for the English commissioners who were employed in it.... In order to enable you to be as prudent as patriotic, I sign this letter and therein give you my address, that to maintain your own sense of justice you may furnish me with the means of publicly confounding those slanderers who have dared to make use of my name, in a manner still more opposed to real facts than to the dignity of my character.

This reply was received with equal satisfaction by the two governments, who, having no interest in throwing too searching a light on the facts of the case, did not fail to add their approbation to that which public opinion had already bestowed upon the Chevalier.

However, if he had had no intercourse with Dr. Musgrave, d’Eon had been able to secure the attachment of another popular member of Parliament, the celebrated John Wilkes. He had even proposed, for a moment, that the cabinet of Versailles should assist the great agitator in conspiring against the house of Hanover. The Comte de Broglie almost suffered himself to be persuaded; but the King refused to engage in so rash an undertaking; and Drouet, the count’s secretary, was despatched to London to put a stop to the enterprise. D’Eon, nevertheless, had not broken with Wilkes; and, thinking that he might make use of him in another way, he wrote to the Count de Broglie:

Do you desire a riot at the opening of Parliament after the next election? If so, I must have so much for Wilkes and so much for the others.... Wilkes costs us very dearly, but the English have the Corsican Paoli, whom they lodge and feed on our account. He is a bomb which they keep loaded to throw in our midst at the first conflagration. Let us keep bomb for bomb.

These numerous intrigues testify to the ingenuity and activity which d’Eon did not cease to display at every turn. He was ever on the watch, ever ready to follow the first trail which chance or even his imagination supplied. Though wounded in his self-love and disappointed in his ambition, d’Eon did not resign himself to becoming useless, to being forgotten. Elated by too rapid a success, he was attacked with a malady rarer at that time than at the present day—the passion for advertisement. He must attract attention, even at the risk of incurring blame, preferring the questionable reputation of an adventurer to the obscurity of an honest servant of the King. Besides, he thought that by rendering the King new services, even should they be unsolicited, he would be strengthening his claim to a pension which was paid to him with no regularity. The privy purse was indeed often empty, as most of the private letters reveal. The Chevalier was in consequence sadly in want of money; he petitioned the Duc de Choiseul, renewed his complaints to the Duc d’Aiguillon, who, thanks to Madame du Barry’s protection, had just succeeded the Duc de Praslin as Minister for Foreign Affairs; and he entreated the Comte de Broglie. “I am dying of starvation,” he wrote to the count, “between the two pensions you have granted me, like Buridan’s ass between the two bundles neither of which he could reach with his mouth.” He was in despair, and although he had always refused the offer of the English Cabinet, which promised him an equal, but more punctually remunerated, post if he applied for letters of naturalisation, he would willingly have quitted the service of France, provided it was for the benefit of a friendly nation.

Indeed, he was seriously thinking of transferring his allegiance to Poland, where the nobles had just chosen Stanislas Poniatowsky, the favourite of Catherine II., as their king. During his residence in Russia d’Eon had been at great pains to ingratiate himself with that brilliant prince, and his efforts had been crowned with success. On the election of Stanislas, he therefore hastened to present his respectful congratulations to the new king, and informed him that he should be extremely happy to enter his service. Stanislas having answered him kindly and having even invited him to join him at Warsaw as soon as he could, d’Eon at once wrote to him a grateful and effusive letter, of which he kept a copy, and in which he dwelt complacently upon his capabilities, with a view, no doubt, to obtaining a more advantageous offer.

Even if I had not the good fortune of being bound to you by affection from my youth, I could not fail to be deeply moved by the reply of February 26, with which your Majesty has deigned to honour me. Were I to follow the first impulse of my heart, I should set out immediately in order to enjoy the inestimable privilege of paying my court to you in Poland; but my duty compels me first to crave your permission.

Time and again have I been tempted to offer my services to your Majesty, both in the army and in diplomacy; but my misfortunes have always made me fear that your Majesty might look upon my offer as interested, and as coming solely from my want of employment.

I will take the liberty of stating that I have an income of fifteen thousand livres and a library of three thousand volumes, consisting in large part of rare books and of ancient and modern manuscripts. With these and a little circle of English noblemen who are friendlily disposed towards me I live the quiet life of an exiled philosopher in a free country. But your greatest misfortune and your happiness and your extreme kindness remind me, Sire, that as I am only forty and enjoy good health, and as I still possess my courage, my sword, and some experience of war and politics, I might be able to serve and avenge the cause of a king who knows me personally, a king whose goodness is his glory, and who, like Socrates, loves truth, and like Titus loves men.

If my poor talents can be of use to your Majesty you have but to command, and I will wing my flight with the remains of my small fortune, in order to devote them to your Majesty’s service.

_P.S._—On my return from Lord Ferrers’ seat I went immediately to pay my court to his Highness the young Prince Poniatowski, who has been entirely successful in London. He has done me the honour of accepting my invitation to a philosophical dinner with M. de Lind, his worthy mentor, and of promising me to forward this letter to your Majesty. Should you vouchsafe to cause an answer to be sent, I beg you will not transmit it through France but through the medium of his Highness the Prince, your nephew, or of your envoy in London.

D’Eon, still worried by the recollection of his scandalous dispute, did not omit to send with his letter a copy of the “literary productions which he had,” he said, “been compelled to publish during his past unhappy dissension with the deceased ambassador of France, M. de Guerchy.”

D’Eon’s papers do not admit of the belief that he received an answer to that letter, but if so, it was by word of mouth and by the interposition of a chamberlain of the King of Poland who happened to be in London. At all events, d’Eon must certainly have hesitated to follow up that attractive design, for M. de Broglie, of whom he had asked permission to enter the service of Poland, replied that it was “the wish of the King” that he should not leave London without his Majesty’s orders, that “there was no other place where he could be in greater safety from the malice of his enemies or where he could serve the King more usefully.” He advised him to keep up a correspondence with the King of Poland, overwhelmed him with compliments, and mentioned in conclusion that his Majesty was convinced “of his attachment and loyalty.” If d’Eon’s object in confiding his design to the secret minister was merely to raise the price of his work and to sound the King’s intentions concerning him, he might have realised that the services he had rendered in voluntary exile had not sufficed to blot out from the King’s mind the recollection of his follies. He sincerely considered himself a political victim, and thought he had much in common with the unfortunate Cato, to whom an eminent doctor of divinity of Oxford had once compared him.

The Comte de Broglie’s letter must have confirmed his proud conviction; but at the same time it vexed him greatly, for he was too cautious to be deceived by the count’s handsome promises and to fail to see that what was demanded of him was his self-effacement. No cruder punishment could have been meted out to him.

In the course of his contentions with the ambassador d’Eon had not scrupled to make use of one invective after another; but he had, perforce, exposed himself in his turn to most offensive repartees. A strange insinuation had been made against him which had not remained unnoticed, and which, cleverly turned to account and well circulated, had finally excited the curiosity of a people ever on the watch for eccentricities. One of the pamphleteers in de Guerchy’s pay had raised doubts as to the nature of the Chevalier’s sex, whose “dragoon’s uniform,” he said, “concealed a woman or a hermaphrodite.” D’Eon’s frail appearance, small stature, slender figure, and the delicate features of his almost beardless face lent colour to this idea. He was not known to have had any of those amorous adventures of which it was unusual at that time to make a mystery. D’Eon, who, in the heat of the controversy, had probably attached no importance to that strange insult, had taken no notice of it. Besides, he must have felt it less than anybody else, for he was wont to speak openly “of the singular lack of passion of his temperament,” taking in good part the banter which neither the Marquis de L’Hospital nor the Duc de Nivernais had spared him. His acquaintances in London had often expressed surprise at the discrepancy in such an exuberant personality. John Taylor, a contemporary of d’Eon, relates, in his _Records of My Life_, that “several marriages with ladies of good family, and with large fortunes, had been proposed to him at the country seats he visited; but that upon all such occasions he immediately left the house, whence it was inferred he quitted the place on account of his being really of the female sex.”

The French ambassador (at that time M. du Châtelet) was persuaded that d’Eon was a woman, and had not been slow to inform the King of the public report which was spread upon Princess Daschkow’s arrival in London. The princess, a niece of Woronzow, the Grand Chancellor of Russia, who had so effectually assisted the Empress Catherine II. to rid herself of her royal husband and to ascend the throne, was living in exile by the order of her sovereign. She had taken refuge in England and had not omitted to relate at court and in society that the Chevalier d’Eon, whom she knew well at St. Petersburg, and whose eccentricities were the topic of every conversation, had presented himself at the imperial palace attired as a woman, and that the Empress Elizabeth, deceived by the disguise, had admitted the young officer of dragoons into the circle of her maids of honour. This story, which confirmed the most credulous in their convictions and excited the curiosity of the sceptics, made the question of d’Eon’s sex the topic of the day, and led to a succession of those bets which were then so common in London, and for which the most trifling incident served as a pretext. Insurance policies were effected at Brooks’s and White’s, the quotations being posted up in the coffee-houses; and the memoranda which have been handed down to us show that the stakes frequently reached a thousand pounds.

The news thus spread soon crossed the Channel, causing no less astonishment in Paris, where it was eagerly discussed in fashionable as well as official circles. Bachaumont, the literary and political chronicler of the time, states in his _Mémoires_, under date of September 25, 1771: “The reports which have been countenanced for several months to the effect that the Sieur d’Eon, that fiery person so celebrated for his adventures, is only a woman dressed in man’s clothing, the confidence with which the rumour has been received in England, and the wagers for and against amounting to over a hundred thousand pounds, have revived the attention of Paris about that strange man....” This testimony, which can easily be verified by the newspapers of the day, does not in the least exaggerate the interest with which the French public continued to follow d’Eon in his exploits. It would be difficult to believe such extravagant statements if the portraits of the hero and the most varied caricatures which were published at that time had not come down to us, and if traces of that curiosity were not to be found in the periodicals and magazines of the various capitals. Journalists, artists, song-writers and minor poets exercised their talents in his honour to their hearts’ content. Thus, among so many transient documents, we find in the _Almanach des Muses_ of 1771 the following verses, flattering in their credulity and kind in their irony:—

À MADEMOISELLE * * * QUI S’ETAIT DÉGUISÉE EN HOMME

Bonjour, fripon de Chevalier, Qui savait si bien l’art de plaire Que par un bonheur singulier De nos beautés la plus sévère, En faveur d’un tel écolier, Déposant son ton minaudier Et sa sagesse grimacière, Pourrait peut-être s’oublier, Ou plutôt moins se contrefaire. Mon cher, nous le savons trop bien, (Le ciel en tout est bon et sage), Pour un si hardi personnage Dans le fond vous ne valez rien. Croyez moi: reprenez un rôle Que vous jouez plus sûrement. Que votre sexe se console, Du mien vous faites le tourment Et le vôtre, sur ma parole, Vous doit son plus bel ornement. Hélas, malheureux que nous sommes! Vous avez tout pour nous charmer; C’est bien être au-dessus des hommes Que de savoir s’en faire aimer!

D’ARNAUD.

This revival of popularity was anything but displeasing to the vain Chevalier, whom the ambassador’s death had reduced to a state of comparative oblivion. He did not hesitate to brave ridicule, having furnished sufficient proofs of virility, sword, sabre or pen in hand, and took delight in being talked about. Ladies, especially, showed curiosity, and seemed almost anxious to reckon the dashing Chevalier as one of themselves. Their curiosity encouraged them to ask him point blank for the answer to the enigma, as the daughter of Wilkes, the member of Parliament, did, with audacious ingenuousness:

Miss Wilkes presents her compliments to Monsieur the Chevalier d’Eon, and is very anxious to know if he is really a woman, as everybody asserts, or a man. It would be extremely kind of the Chevalier to impart the truth to Miss Wilkes, who earnestly entreats to be informed of it. It would be kinder still of him if he would come and dine with her and her papa, to-day or to-morrow, or, in fact, as soon as he is able to do so.

If curiosity expressed so candidly was quite charming, the much more practical interest which the uncertainty had awakened in the gambling world was manifested with greater boldness and impatience. It was also harder to baffle, and d’Eon soon experienced again the disadvantages of celebrity. Not only did the papers report the wagers day by day, but extremely satirical caricatures began to appear. Anxious to drive d’Eon to extremities, those who had laid wagers became more and more impertinent, and at last went so far as to assert that the Chevalier shared in the insurance policies made on his sex. This insinuation decided d’Eon to break the silence he had preserved until then, by making an energetic protest. On March 20, he proceeded to the Exchange, and to several neighbouring coffee-houses, and there, in uniform, walking-stick in hand, he compelled “the money-broker Bird, who was the first to start one of these impudent insurances, to beg his pardon.” Bird assured him, in the face of his apologies, that, following an Act of Parliament, he and other bankers besides had the right to effect the most extraordinary wagers, even with regard to the royal family, except so far as concerned the life of the King, the Queen and their children. D’Eon, who relates this incident in a letter to the Comte de Broglie, adds: “Yielding the choice of weapons, I challenged the most incredulous and the most insolent of the entire assembly (which numbered several thousands) to fight; but not one of those male adversaries in this great city dared either to cross sticks or to fight me, although I stayed among them from noon until two o’clock.” This swaggering tirade had not exactly the desired effect; for although his antagonists, intimidated by so expert a swordsman, did not accept the challenge, their curiosity was still as intense as ever, and became so aggressive that the Chevalier was obliged, a few days later, to furnish more obvious proofs “of a sex which he stamped in a most virile fashion on the faces of two insolent fellows.” Incessantly exposed to such impertinences, and informed that several wealthy gamblers were determined to kidnap him, by stratagem or by force, d’Eon realised that he could not hope to avoid so great a humiliation by hiding himself in London, as he had formerly succeeded in doing, or even by shutting himself up in his house in Brewer Street. Accordingly, he resolved to follow the advice of his friend, Earl Ferrers, and to accept that nobleman’s hospitality at his seat at Staunton Harold. Thence he intended to repair to Ireland, to spend several months there, and not to return until the disturbance had subsided. He therefore set out without taking leave of any of his friends, and apprised only the Comte de Broglie of his flight. In his letter he protested emphatically against the reports accusing him of having an interest in the policies of insurance, and concluded by this evidently sincere confession, which fully explains many acts of his adventurous life: “I am terribly mortified at being what nature has made me, and that the natural lack of passion in my temperament, which has prevented my engaging in amorous intrigues, should induce my friends in France, in Russia, and in England to imagine, in their innocence, that I am of the female sex; and the malice of my enemies has strengthened all this.”