Chevalière D’Eon

History can make myths, provide heroes, take control of our collective memories. History has a powerful hold on the stories we tell. And just as importantly, the stories we don’t or can’t tell. History is a memory, a shared past, made concrete in the words of books. And books can be burned. Burning a book is an attempt to cover the footpath that got us to here. It is a way of shutting down lives that appear out of context, peculiar, not like “us”. It leaves some lives, nameless.

Trying to find a way to write this story in a way that pays tribute to the talents and flaws of a singular, remarkable human, has been difficult within the confines of current vocabulary and story structures. This is a story that demonstrates that humanity is complex, messy, playful and not easily categorised.

I have chosen to use the pronouns of they/their/them when discussing my subject, Chevalièr(e) Charles/Charlotte d’Eon. But it should be noted that this was not an available option for them at the time, and while it feels the most respectful choice, it may not have been the choice of the subject.

Mrs Mary Cole, a French widow, had been living with Charlotte, her elderly lodger for the past 14 years in a small apartment in London. For the last four of those years, Charlotte had been restricted to bed, following a short period in a debtors jail and a serious fall that left them permanently disabled.

On the 21st May 1810, Mary was unable to wake her housemate and began the business of preparing the corpse to receive visitors, aiming to provide some dignity for Charlotte in death. As she changed the deceased clothes, Mary made the startling discovery that Charlotte’s body was very obviously male.

You might think you know where this story is going. I know I did. We are living in a period of the attempted erasure of Trans lives. Trans people have always existed. But the knowledge of their lives and history is confounded by the attempts to categorise and then erase them.

This is all true.

Trans erasure is a real contemporary evil, compounded by the lack of access to trans histories.

I assumed I was about to read about a suppressed Trans life. But the story of Chevalière Charlotte d’Eon is more convoluted than that, and points to the difficulties of tracing histories of gender-fluidity across different contexts and vocabularies. And unravelling truth across different versions and times.

Truth is more complex. It needs time and space to grow – not a bonfire.

Mrs Cole’s friend, the person she knew as Charlotte, had been a political writer, diplomat, spy and soldier. For the first 49 years of their life, they had appeared publicly as a man and pursued occupations only open to men.

And Charlotte told a convincing tale that they had been born female, but raised as a boy to please their father’s ambitions and to combat the social restrictions of the time. As an adult, they continued their masculine life and had fought as a soldier. They had been free to revert to their original sex only after retiring from public life.

But the findings of the post-mortem disupted this version of events by stating that the Chevalière had “male organs in every respect perfectly formed”.

Charles/Charlotte’s life covers the wide sweep of 18th and 19th century French history. A country that transformed itself from monarchy to republic. It was a frenzy of political activity, insecurity, border-crossing and pragmatic side-switching for many involved in the chaos. It was also a period of propaganda, fake news and reinvention.

It is possible to read the life of Charles/Charlotte as an example of a proto-trans biography, or as a shrewd political strategy of gender-switching from an intelligent, diplomatic pragmatist. Or possibly something in between? Or even better, could the story be all the things? A uncovered history for the trans community and a life to be celebrated and critiqued for all of us who feel hemmed in by a strict gender-binary?

There are some things we do know, but they are mixed in with gossip, speculation and evasion.

Charles D’Eon was born in October 1728 to minor French nobility. They excelled at school and qualified in law in 1749 at the age of 21. Their career began as a political writer. But by 1756 they had joined King Louis XV spy service. This was a network which was never formally acknowledged and operated outside the government’s rules. Truth became a murky concept. History becomes difficult to excavate.

According to d’Eon’s memoirs, it was whilst working for the king that they first disguised themselves in female garb, as the Lady Lia de Beaumont, to gain access to the Russian Empress Elizabeth. This service was rewarded with a pension of 2,000 livres. In 1761, d’Eon became a captain in the Seven Years War and, dressed as a solider, was wounded in battle.

D’Eon was then appointed as a diplomat and sent to London. This earned them the title Chevalier (similar to a knighthood in British nobility). But the changing face of French politics left the Chevalier vulnerable. Suggestions of a possible assassination attempt meant that they found themselves unable to return to France, and they lived in exile in London.

Whilst living in London, rumours circulated that d’Eon was actually a woman, with a betting pool started on the London Stock Exchange about their true gender (showing that an obsession with the genitals of the sexually ambiguous is not new). There are some suggestions that d’Eon started the rumours themselves. With a background in espionage, they were not above manipulation or propaganda.

There is something murky about their time spent in London. The Chevalièr(e) made public their ambition to return to France, whilst also attempting to avoid the Bastille prison for fraud and debt, due in part to their flamboyant, expensive tastes. During this period of exile, D’Eon published a scandalous book with details of their diplomatic correspondence. It made them money, earned them notoriety and sabotaged any attempts to return to France.

When their patron Louis XV died and was succeeded by the ill-fated Louis XVI, the Chevalière was permitted to return to France, with debts written off and a small pension with the proviso that they did so as a woman, dressed appropriately and presented to the court as Charlotte.

To prepare for court, they were handed over to Rose Bertin, the clothing director of Marie Antoinette. On 21 November 1777, Mademoiselle la Chevalière d’Eon was formally presented at Versailles complete with powdered hair, an elaborate dress and full make-up.

Along with the dress came the restrictions. When France joined the American War of Independence, d’Eon petitioned the government to be allowed to dress as a solider once again. This offer was refused and they were told that as a woman the only potential for influence would be through marriage. Their demands to fight resulted in arrest.

Seeking freedom from the French monarchy, in 1785, d’Eon moved back to England to be welcomed as a heroine. However, the French revolution, beginning in 1789, meant that they lost their pension which plunged them into poverty. Thus began their boarding with the widow, Mary Cole, a stint in debtor's prison and a fall resulting in life-limiting injuries.

It’s a complicated life.

Whilst it is not a well-known part of the French revolution, Charles/Charlotte appears in popular culture through the ages, like a footnote to the big events.

• Le Chevalier D’Eon is a comic opera of 1908
• Le Secret du Chevalier d’Eon is a 1959 French-Italian film that portrays a Chevalier as a woman masquerading as a man.
• There is a 2006 anime series loosely based on D’Eon’s life
• There is a 2017 episode of a Doctor Who audio series which features the Chevalier meeting the Tenth doctor

It is certainly a life that suggests entertainment and bio-pic material.

It would be easy to try and smooth the narrative, to make a more palatable, straight-forward story. But Charles/Charlotte was not a reliable narrator. To be honest, I’m not sure they would even be a likeable narrator.

I can see how the many versions of me could attempt to produce many versions of Charles/Charlotte.

My 1940s imaginary screenwriter persona could have a field day with the elements of camp and courage.

Rachel, the short story writer, would love to delve deeper into Mary Cole’s life and imagine how she might feel having been deceived, but loyal to her friend.

My stand-up comic knows that there are plenty of comedians on the circuit who would mine the story for cheap laughs with punchlines about pronouns and toilets. The sort who look around the room to see if there are any of “them” in and then claim it was only banter.

My academic past might attempt to coin a new word to describe the pragmatic strategy of code and gender switching. They would write something clever about how context defines gender and gender defines context. And all the glamour, fun and excitement would be dulled into a conversation about social constructionism.

I already feel that I have lived many lives in relation to the rights of people to love and live as they want. My experiences have mainly felt progressive, but are now characterised by backlash and demonisation. Our language of acceptance and celebration is being dulled by a language of exclusion, denial and erasure. The book burners are back.

Language fails all of the versions of Rachel in her attempts to capture Charlotte’s courage, irascibility and playfulness. No matter how beautiful and boundless language can appear, not all words have yet been invented that can explain the poetry of hidden lives.

So, I leave it to the poet, Audre Lorde to comment:

“Poetry is not a luxury… Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought.”