“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.
Some, formerly enemies of Choiseul, delighted in contributing to the
success of the Comte de Guerchy’s fiery adversary; but the majority,
impelled by curiosity, chiefly showed perplexity at the sight of this
pathological wonder, who, with all the appearance and the manners of
a man, professed to be a woman. Several contemporaries have described
d’Eon as they saw him on that occasion, and it must be admitted that
their portraits are far from flattering. “She looks more than ever like
a man now that she is a woman,” asserted a newspaper of the time, with
reference to the Chevalier. “Indeed, it is impossible to believe that
a person who shaves and has a beard; whose proportions and muscular
development are herculean; who jumps in and out of a carriage without
assistance and goes upstairs four steps at a time, belongs to the
female sex.... She dresses in black. Her hair is cut in a circle, like
a priest’s, and is plastered with pomade, powdered, and surmounted by a
black cap, such as pious ladies wear. She still wears flat, round heels,
being unaccustomed to the high, narrow ones worn by women.” D’Eon, in
whom the elegant and fashionable paper recognises none of the charms
of the fair sex, had not wished to carry his masquerade too far; but if
he abstained from using rouge, which was still in vogue, he does not
appear to have been entirely free from feminine coquetry, sometimes
wearing “black dresses _en raz de Saint Maur_,” more often “sky-blue
skirts with narrow, puce-coloured stripes,” or even, “reddish-brown
figured twill skirts,” as we gather from the accounts of Mademoiselle
Maillot, his dressmaker. But in spite of his efforts to attain elegancy,
d’Eon remained supremely ridiculous. “The long train of his gown and
his triple row of ruffles” contrasted so unhappily with “his deportment
and behaviour, which were those of a grenadier, that he had an air of
unmistakable vulgarity.” Such are the unkind terms in which Madame Campan
expresses herself in her _Mémoires_, which she wrote after d’Eon’s death,
at a time when, enlightened as to the Chevalier’s real sex, she could not
entirely conceal her vexation at having been hoaxed by one whom she and
her family had befriended.
The opinion of d’Eon’s contemporaries on his appearance, his attire and
his manner is, moreover, as unanimous as it is unflattering. “However
plain, however prudish her large black head-dress may be,” says Grimm in
his _Correspondance Littéraire_, under date of October 25, 1777, “it is
difficult to conceive anything more extraordinary, and, if it must be
said, more indecent, than Mademoiselle d’Eon in petticoats.” The Abbé
Georgel, secretary to the famous Cardinal de Rohan, who was introduced
to the Chevalière, sketches her portrait in his _Mémoires_ with a few
touches of the pen. “Her garments, to which she could not accustom
herself,” he writes, “gave her so awkward and embarrassed an appearance,
that she only made one forget that defect by her flashes of wit and her
very humorous account of her adventures.”
The transformation naturally created great astonishment; but, apart from
a few inhabitants of Tonnerre, who had excellent reasons for not changing
their first opinion, did not meet with obstinate incredulity. The sex
henceforth official of the Chevalière d’Eon was accepted and respected.
The person most interested lent himself, moreover, to corroborating it,
and the very embarrassment which he affected, as well as his reluctance
to adapt himself to his new life, were but masterly artifices for further
concealing his subterfuge. Besides ensuring his safety in France and the
payment of a pension which was now his only resource, his masquerade
obtained for him a revival of that popularity of which he had always
been passionately fond. From the day of his presentation at court his
popularity steadily increased, growing to that extraordinary celebrity
which, at the present day, still preserves his name from oblivion.
He became at this time the subject of every conversation, exciting
universal curiosity. The most inflated letters of congratulation and
the most extravagant tokens of admiration reached him from strangers,
wonder-struck by his amazing adventure, while his old friends assailed
him with extremely humorous notes. One of them, the Duc de Chaulnes, who
had known him in London in the heat of his contentions with Guerchy,
wrote to him, with reference to the latest events:
I do not know if the Chevalière d’Eon recollects having seen
the Chevalier d’Eon, surrounded by grenadiers, giving, in 1764,
a page of the _Guerchiade_ to the Duc de Picquigny; but I _do_
know that the Duc de Chaulnes remembers it full well, and
likewise his or her—for I no longer know where I am—handsome
behaviour towards him. I am very much inclined to think, for
instance, that your mutual friend will find much more of the
Chevalier in the Chevalière than he desires. As for me, who am
only a good-natured man, and your neighbour, I would fain know
at what hour I may come and talk with Mademoiselle for a few
moments, as I was wont to talk with Monsieur. As you have quite
recently retired from politics, perhaps you will prefer to come
to my house, which is only a few steps distant from yours. But
I would rather spare you the trouble, provided, however, it be
neither to-morrow, Saturday, nor Monday. I hope you will excuse
these ifs and buts, which are quite out of place in a letter
destined to express my profound gratitude for all the kindness
you have shown me and for the friendship of the late Chevalier.
I trust, Mademoiselle, you will do justice to my respect.
D’Eon’s friends did not, indeed, know “where they were,” nor what style
to assume. In a gracious letter of invitation to supper, the Marquise Le
Camus, deeming his “society unquestionably desirable,” began as follows:—
Brave Being, had I your facility for writing, I should not
be in difficulties at the first word. I have, therefore,
sought for the epithet which I think most suitable to what you
deserve. I hope you will approve of my attributing to you no
precise sex, by placing you above both, for fear of making a
mistake.
Those who had known d’Eon from his early childhood, and had never lost
sight of him during his adventurous career, were still more embarrassed.
Such was the case of Madame Campan’s father, M. Genêt, chief clerk at the
Ministry for Foreign Affairs, who confessed with kindly irony that the
French language was wanting in epithets adapted to the condition of his
strange correspondent. “In order to avoid styling cardinals _Monseigneur_
as they demand,” he says, “dukes write to them in Italian; and I, unique
being, whose model I find only among the gods of the ancients, will make
use of the English tongue, the appellatives of which have no precise
gender, and which scarcely acknowledges any female besides a cat and a
ship, to address you in a manner worthy of you and the sublime mysteries
of which you are the emblem. I will therefore call you: _My Dear Friend_,
meaning thereby: _mon cher ou ma chère amie, ad libitum_.”
Those who had met “little d’Eon” at the Prince de Conti’s, in the fine
reception rooms of the Temple, when he was seeking his fortune and
his fate, reminded the illustrious Chevalière of their acquaintance
in begging to be received. He himself, still imperturbable, continued
to play his part of fashionable phenomenon, and felt a supercilious
satisfaction in duping his contemporaries, or, at least, in exciting
their astonishment. Some he beguiled by his account of the dramatic
events in which he had been implicated; others he captivated by racy
stories told with inexhaustible animation. His odd manners never became
tiresome, and he was ever in request, his friends finding it difficult to
tear themselves away.
I am leaving with the regret of not having been able to offer
you my tribute of admiration (wrote the Chevalier de Bonnard,
tutor to the Duc de Chartres’ children). I enclose a letter
from my aunt, your cousin. I shall tell her, in three days’
time, that I have seen you, and that you surpass your great
reputation. She will congratulate herself, no doubt, and will
be distressed on my account that I have not availed myself
longer and more often of a piece of good fortune which I fully
appreciate.
The interest and curiosity which d’Eon had aroused had not won for him
merely success at court. The report of his adventure had carried his name
far beyond the frontiers. In England, where he had particularly attracted
attention, the public were curious to know every detail. Miss Wilkes,
who, in an interesting note which has already been reproduced, had asked
d’Eon from the first to let her know the truth, inquired of the Baron de
Castille what sort of reception the celebrated Chevalière had met with
at Versailles, and the baron in sending “extremely tender messages” to
d’Eon, from the Lord Mayor’s daughter, added: “I have replied to Miss
Wilkes, my dear heroine; I interpreted your sentiments and, as a witness
of your success at court, I told her many things about you.”
The echoes of the affair coming from London and Paris had aroused the
sceptical curiosity “of the old valetudinarian of Ferney,” who anxiously
questioned his faithful friend, the Comte d’Argental, concerning the true
condition of a guest who had very indiscreetly announced his intention of
paying a visit to the famous patriarch of French literature.
I absolutely must speak to you about the amphibious creature
who is neither male nor female, and is at the present moment, I
am told, dressed as a woman, wearing the order of Saint Louis
on her bodice, and enjoying, like yourself, a pension of 12,000
francs. Is all that quite true? I do not think you are likely
to be one of his friends if he be of your own sex, nor one of
his lovers if he be of the other. You are better able than
anybody else to explain this mystery to me. He or she has sent
me word by an Englishman of my acquaintance, that he or she is
coming to Ferney, and I am much embarrassed in consequence. I
entreat you to solve this enigma for me.
D’Eon’s old comrades in the dragoons had not shown any particular
incredulity, though he had led their life in the army, and they heartily
welcomed the new heroine. The Baron de Bréget, at one time captain in
d’Autichamp’s regiment, who had campaigned with him on the Rhine, asked
him, a few months after the change, if he might “flatter himself that he
still lived in the remembrance of his former brother-in-arms.”
I only returned from the seat of war a week ago (he wrote), and
I hasten to beg my good friend to allow me to call and pay my
renewed homage. I most respectfully entreat Mademoiselle d’Eon
to permit me frankly and heartily to embrace my old comrade in
the regiment.
In a letter written at the same time, the Comte de Chambry, another
captain in the same regiment, bitterly reproached d’Eon for not having
informed him of his return.
I hope (he added) to find in the Chevalière d’Eon the same
feelings of friendship as in the captain of dragoons.... As for
me, in whatever form he appears, I shall always take the same
interest in him, and am eager to assure him myself of the fact.
The Marquis d’Autichamp, colonel and owner of the regiment in which d’Eon
had served, had been one of the first to be apprised by the latter of his
metamorphosis.
It is but too true, my dear and gallant Colonel (the Chevalier
had written), that, compelled to obey the command of the King
and of the law, I have resumed my gown, for the edification of
weak-minded persons who were scandalised by the great liberty
taken by a young girl who, from prudence, had hidden and
entrenched her virtue in your regiment of dragoons, in order
that it might be better protected. My stratagem having been
discovered, proved, and made public in a Court of Justice,
people were surprised to find that I am still a woman.
Consequently, the Court, as a reward or punishment, forces me
to end my days as I began them, _en cornette_ (mob-cap).
Whereupon the gallant colonel at once answered:
I was much attached to you when you were a captain of dragoons.
The new form you have assumed has never prejudiced you in my
estimation, and although it forces me to respect you all the
more, it does not deprive me of the pleasure of loving you, and
I hasten to assure you of both these sentiments.
The same feeling of kindly credulity, the same affectionate expressions
are found in the letters of all d’Eon’s old brother officers, and bear
witness to the pleasant impression he had made on them. The case, though
extraordinary, had seemed to them credible; moreover, it was not without
a precedent, as the Baron de Castille hastened to inform the Chevalière
in the following letter:
Madame de Laubespin will tell you of the girl-dragoon of
the regiment of Belzunce, who has again been to see me this
morning. He is most anxious to be introduced to you, and
I am convinced that you will find him interesting. He is
twenty-seven years old, is nearly five foot five, and has a
pleasant face and a beautiful, well-dressed head of hair. He
is a junior officer at the Invalides, and wears the insignia
of a veteran. The Duc d’Aiguillon gave him the two crossed
swords when he was discovered upon receiving a sword-thrust
in his hip. He was presented by the Prince de Beauvau to the
late King, when hunting at Fontainebleau, and he asked him many
questions.
It seems, too, that the adventure of the famous Chevalière had turned the
heads of several ladies. Among his papers d’Eon left a whole bundle of
letters written to him by “young women of exceptional height,” desirous
“of changing their sex as far as appearance was concerned,” in order to
be able to enlist and serve in the army. The bundle also included the
epistles addressed to him by a few madmen, disturbed, as often happens,
by the revelation of a curious personality.
This odd collection, together with notes from his friends, his old
comrades, and even strangers who wrote to him directly after his return,
leaves no doubt whatever as to the astonishment which the affair
excited, and the amazing credulity with which it was generally accepted.
While d’Eon’s unbounded vanity found endless satisfaction in this
unhoped-for welcome, the ministers who had flattered themselves that
the avowal of his sex and his compulsory change of attire would be
accompanied by the resumption of all needful propriety and consideration,
were obliged to acknowledge that they had been strangely mistaken. Not
only did d’Eon, in his new costume, attract everybody’s attention; but,
unable to accustom himself to headdresses, stays and petticoats, he
began, notwithstanding the King’s prohibition, to dress frequently as a
man again. To prevent a fresh scandal, M. de Vergennes decided to give to
the extravagant Chevalière a vigilant guardian. M. Genêt, chief clerk at
the Foreign Office, a friend of d’Eon’s and also a Burgundian, seemed the
very person for this difficult task. On his estate at Petit-Montreuil,
in the immediate neighbourhood of the Comte de Polignac and of M. de
Vergennes, he happened to have a pretty cottage, where the petulant
Chevalière might be able to resign herself to the quiet existence which
she was expected to lead. It was thought that she would find the society
of Madame Genêt and her daughters, all attached to the service of the
Queen, less austere than that of the Ursuline, Bernardine or Augustine
sisters, into one of whose convents she had offered to retire in the
first joy of her return. Genêt, therefore, urged her to join his family,
and had the quarters of his “illustrious heroine” repaired in great
haste. There being prospects of a severe winter, he tried to tempt her
by the promise of “very warm rooms” in her little house. “How I dislike
to see you,” he said, “boxed up as you are!” Such tender pressure did
not easily overcome d’Eon’s reluctance to submit to a guardianship in
which he recognised the will of the minister. Consequently he hesitated
a long time, and only decided towards the middle of December to accept
the hospitality of the kindly Burgundian family, in whose midst he was
received with cordiality.
From that day the relations between d’Eon and the Genêts and Campans
naturally became more intimate, and led to a daily exchange of kind
offices, which we find mentioned in d’Eon’s papers. One day M. Campan
thanked him very pompously for an essay on natural history, which he
considered “pleasantly conceived, but rather long”; d’Eon, it is true,
was not addicted to brevity. Another time, Madame Campan asked d’Eon,
in a most affected style, for a simple remedy against deafness for
the princes. The Queen’s woman of the bedchamber, who had not yet the
grievance against d’Eon of having been duped by him, overwhelmed him with
invitations. “On April 24, 1778, the whole Genêt family,” she writes,
“are coming to spend the evening at M. Campan’s. She would be overjoyed
if Mademoiselle d’Eon would do them the honour of accompanying them; she
would only meet her old friends at supper, and Madame Campan begs that
she will come without the least ceremony.”
D’Eon was present at all the parties arranged by the Queen’s women of
the bedchamber. If, perchance, he refused to accompany them, Sophie
Genêt would despatch a note to him, in her schoolgirlish hand, to
entreat him to reconsider his decision; at the same time she dreaded
being importunate, “for that would mean sadness to her hosts.” When they
went on a visit to their Uncle Genêt de Charmontaut at his charming seat
at Mainville, near Melun, word was at once sent to d’Eon, who allowed
himself to be persuaded by such pressing invitations. So entirely did he
captivate the modest lord of the manor, that the latter could not find
words flattering enough to thank him for coming, nor terms humble enough
to excuse his frugal hospitality.
D’Eon always showed gratitude to the family which had received him so
cordially. Very faithful in his friendships, he was equally generous,
notwithstanding his small means. He was constantly sending to them
various Burgundian produce from Tonnerre; truffles, at that time highly
prized and not much known; venison, and especially wine from his own
vineyards, which M. Amelot, the Comte de Vergennes, and the Duc de
Chaulnes, as they themselves admitted, liked particularly.
I have received, my dear friend (wrote Genêt), two delicious
presents from you in one week, both calculated to rejoice the
heart—namely, your portrait as a dragoon, which M. Bradel has
sent to me, and with which I am much pleased, and a cask of
your excellent wine. We shall place the portrait on the table
while drinking your health. You are aware of our devotion to
you, and we rely on your friendship, knowing, as we do, the
kindness of your heart.
But d’Eon was able to prove his attachment better than by these small
attentions; for with the prudence and authority of a dowager, who takes
pleasure in the part she is acting, he succeeded in bringing about the
happiness of one of his young friends, Adelaide Genêt, if we may rely
on a letter which she wrote to him the day after her marriage with M.
Auguié. According to M. Genêt, it was “a successful piece of work, which
was crowned beyond all expectation” by the Queen herself.
D’Eon must have found his patriarchal life very monotonous, and after a
few weeks “the charm of Petit-Montreuil covered with snow” vanished. He
could think of nothing but fame, success and publicity, and avoided with
difficulty the attention of these unimportant people who wished to meet
this strange prodigy. His fame was then universal, and everywhere people
were courting a heroine who was as modest as she was brave, and whom her
contemporaries could only compare to Joan of Arc or Jeanne Hachette.
D’Eon had so ardently wished for and so cleverly planned this apotheosis
that, of course, he meant to play a part in it. So he never missed an
opportunity of escaping from his retreat; and, as Genêt said of him, “he
was as fond of Paris as any dandy.” Among his old acquaintances, the
Comtesse de Boufflers, the witty mistress of the Prince de Conti, “the
idol of the Temple,” as Madame du Deffand called her, had been one of the
first to express a wish to meet again the former minister plenipotentiary
by whose side she had done the honours of the embassy in London:
M. d’Usson has told me, Mademoiselle, that you have not
forgotten that we had the pleasure of meeting you in England,
and that you seemed anxious to renew the acquaintance then
begun. I, too, am most anxious to see again one who will be for
ever famous on account of the remarkable events of her life as
well as her many great qualities, and I shall be delighted if
you will come and dine with me at the Temple next Friday.
In truth the audacious adventurer had become the favourite guest, the
“lion” for whose presence at their receptions hostesses contended. On
the little invitation-cards, which d’Eon religiously kept, appear the
names of the cleverest women and the most distinguished people. The most
inaccessible drawing-rooms opened their doors to this phenomenon, and not
one of the least curious signs of the levity of the eighteenth century
may be found in this childish credulity of a society which openly paraded
its scepticism. The decadent and exhausted intellects of that period,
divorced from all serious ideas and indifferent to both the advancement
of science and to the beauty of art, concerned themselves with nothing
but the bizarre. At a time when they were unable to read the signs of the
tremendous social upheaval which was germinating around them, idlers at
the court and unattached officers made _bon-mots_ and told highly spiced
stories for the amusement of the ladies who held what was known as a
_bureau d’esprit_.
D’Eon excelled in this kind of thing; his imagination, his inexhaustible
spirits, his unexpected sallies made his audience forget the occasional
coarseness of his oft-told tales. He attracted, in short, by a carefully
guarded and mysterious eccentricity. He was even liked for the admirably
feigned modesty which made him appear only at small social gatherings;
for he prided himself on avoiding inquisitive people, and on being so
indifferent to the attention he attracted that his friends found it
necessary to press him to keep his engagements.
“The Duc de Luynes is longing to see you, and so is his father-in-law, M.
de Laval,” wrote his friend Reine. “He told me he had asked you to dine
with him; since you are in Paris, do go to see the Duchess, and be so
good as to present our respects to her.”
If it seems strange that he should have received invitations, couched in
most courteous terms, from the Comte de la Rochefoucauld, M. de Villaine,
the Marquis de Chaponay, the Vicomtesse de Breteuil; that he should have
become the assiduous guest of the Duchesse de Montmorency and the Vicomte
de la Ferté, is it not stranger still that this extraordinary person had
the entry of the drawing-rooms of the upper middle classes and of the
legal notabilities, who formed at that time a very cultured and exclusive
society? He excited the same curiosity among these people; and Talon,
Fraguier, Tascher, Tanlay, Nicolaï, d’Agnesseau were all anxious to
entertain him and sent their coaches to fetch him.
One day the Comte de Polignac “begs him to come to his garret in
the Tuileries and share an informal meal in military fashion. The
Chevalière,” he adds, “will find there some good coffee preceded by
cutlets, also a man of her acquaintance whom she will be glad to see.
Everything will be served to the minute and without any fuss.” Another
time the Baron de Castille tells him of the famous Cardinal de Rohan’s
desire to know the Chevalière.
“I have given your address to Prince Louis,” he informs him; “he will
either call on you while you are at Versailles, or request you to call
on him; the short time he had at his disposal in Paris did not allow of
his going to see you.” On Wednesday, March 11, 1778, as he carefully
enters in a diary most scrupulously kept from day to day, d’Eon lunched
with Voltaire. The day which he began with such a curious interview
was strangely crowded with engagements, for he dined with the Comtesse
de Béarn, and then proceeded to Madame de Marchais for supper. At this
time he had already left Petit-Montreuil and settled down in the Rue de
Conti, where he found it easier to lead the life which he neither could
nor wished to avoid. His reception at court was as flattering as his
reception in town. He attended the gala performances, which he watched
from the box of Madame de Marchais, whose husband had been formerly
gentleman of the bedchamber to Louis XV. Judging by the portrait he has
left, d’Eon particularly admired her:
“She is an amiable little woman,” he says, “very witty, extremely pretty,
and well made, with fair hair that reaches down to her heels, large blue
eyes, and teeth as white as ivory. She was,” he goes on to say, “the
friend of the late Marquise de Pompadour. She is a candlelight beauty
who spends her days in the bath, in reading or writing, in her boudoir
or at her toilet. She is only to be seen at night, or after the play at
Court is over, when company meets at her house to partake of a delicious
supper.”
D’Eon seems, in fact, as his little diary shows, to have admired the
charming hostess no less than he appreciated her suppers. He spent most
of his evenings at her house, and when, occasionally, he did not make
his appearance, the little coterie which he enlivened by his gaiety was
quite anxious about his health. If news reached them that he was ill,
all the ladies hastened to his house. “Princess Sapieha, inquiring after
him, sends to him the calabash syrup which she has recommended to him,
and she sincerely hopes it will help to cure him.” On another occasion
the Marquis de Comeiras, major-general of the King’s armies, acted as
spokesman for d’Eon’s intimate friends, and expressed their anxiety in
the following terms:—
I was more grieved than astonished, dear comrade, to hear,
yesterday, that your throat was bad, that you had asked to
be excused from going to Madame de Brige’s, and that she had
sent you some broth. I told all that to Madame de Marchais
last night: she at once wanted to send you some soup, another
lady some beef-tea.... The Princesse de Montbarrey is very
anxious to see you at her house; I have promised to mention
this to you. They flatter me very much, my dear old comrade, by
thinking that you are at my disposal. The fair sex, wishing to
see their heroine, is constantly speaking to me of her.
Indeed d’Eon’s popularity was at its height, and he did his best to
sustain it. Conceiving the idea of handing down to posterity the record
of his exploits, he set about composing a series of fantastic accounts of
his resumption of feminine dress, and also some important notes relating
to the negotiations in which he had taken part. These various projects
were not published, and are contained in the voluminous collection of his
papers, d’Eon contenting himself with offering to the admiration of his
contemporaries _The Military, Political, and Private Life of Mademoiselle
d’Eon, known until 1777 by the Name of Chevalier d’Eon_. He himself
edited the greater part, which appeared in the _Fastes Militaires_; but
the signature of M. de la Fortelle, which figures on the title-page of
the work, enabled the Chevalier to sing his own praises—praises to which
he considered himself honestly entitled—without infringing the laws of
modesty. Three thousand copies were specially printed off and sold in
England, or distributed among friends, to whom the donor also sent his
portrait, either engraved or etched.
All the engravers of the time were anxious to reproduce the features
of the heroic Chevalière, who, of course, took good care not to refuse
them such a favour. D’Eon was portrayed as a dragoon, with a helmet or
a cocked hat; half-length, full-length or on horseback; as a woman,
supplied with an elegant bust, bedecked with lace, and wearing a very
fascinating cap; or as a dowager, soberly dressed in a tight-fitting
black bodice, relieved by the Cross of Saint Louis. Other prints
represent him as Minerva, wearing a sort of morion which is anything but
antique, and on which the owl, the goddess’s emblem, has been replaced
by the cock, which figures in the coat-of-arms of the d’Eon family.
But equally interesting are the emblems, the inscriptions and the
mottoes that surround these portraits. D’Eon, who prided himself on his
learning as well as his courage, borrowed from antiquity the most pompous
allusions from the classics, boldly inscribed round his own portrait the
lines that the Latin poets had consecrated to the most redoubtable heroes
and to the most fiery amazons of Greece and Rome. These prints, of which
there were many and various, met with great success and are still much
sought after.
They were to be found at Bradel’s studio, or at the shop of Esnault and
Rapilly; but the hero himself circulated them with the utmost liberality.
He had one engraved for his old comrades: “Dedicated to the Dragoons,”
ran the inscription, and they delighted in studying the features of the
illustrious captain, and in making of his exploits an inspiring example.
At least that is what was asserted by the Abbé Moullet de Monbar,
chaplain of the regiment of Ségur’s dragoons.
I have not the happiness of seeing you, Mademoiselle (he wrote
to d’Eon), but I enjoy seeing your portrait, which attracts
many visitors to my room, where it is the only ornament.
This portrait penetrates my very soul when I gaze upon it. I
see before me a heroine greater than the amazons and all the
celebrated women of antiquity, a soldier full of spirit and
daring, a faithful and patriotic minister plenipotentiary,
who commands respect for his king and himself; I see before
me an illustrious and interesting character, who will prove a
perplexing phenomenon for the ages to come.
The thanks received from persons of high rank, though expressed in a
less pompous style, were not less ardent or less flattering. Chancellor
Maupeon wrote: “This attention from you has given me great pleasure; be
assured, Mademoiselle, that nothing could exceed the esteem and affection
I feel for you.”
The Duc de Guines, former ambassador of France in London, received “with
much gratitude the present” which he had asked of d’Eon through the
medium of the Comtesse de Broglie, his sister-in-law. As for the personal
friends of the Chevalier, they never tired of the prints which he heaped
on them, and praised to the full the charm of Latour’s pastel or the
bold grace of Bradel’s engraving. “Your print is superb,” exclaimed
Genêt, “particularly about the eyes, which are those of Bellona herself.
The look is as haughty as if you were face to face with Beaumarchais.
I defy him to bear it. Truth and honesty shine from it, and it is the
thunderbolt which will annihilate him.”
Since death had delivered him from de Guerchy, d’Eon had found in
Beaumarchais a new and no less determined adversary. Their quarrel had
arisen just as that to which the ambassador had fallen a victim—out of
a question of money. D’Eon did not hesitate to proclaim aloud that he
had been duped by Beaumarchais, and that at the time of their covenant
the latter had appropriated a sum of 60,000 livres, which was to have
been set apart for indemnifying Lord Ferrers. This allegation, to
which d’Eon gave considerable publicity, was welcomed by the enemies
of the author of _The Barber of Seville_, who, naturally enough, were
many. The complacently-told story of the ridiculous romance by which
he allowed himself to be carried away for a time, set court and town
shaking with laughter. For once the celebrated pamphleteer was obliged
to admit that the laughter was not with him, and, after having so
often diverted himself at the expense of his contemporaries, he had to
endure their raillery. Certain impromptu comedies which were performed
at that time in fashionable circles, and some burlesques inspired by
the carnival, which represented him as engaged in making love to the
virile Chevalière, exasperated him beyond measure. The point was all the
more telling as d’Eon amused himself by acting his own part—that of an
artless maiden—with an improvised Beaumarchais. Seeing himself held up
to ridicule in this manner, and accused of such incredible blindness,
Beaumarchais was put out of countenance, and completely lost his temper.
Not knowing how to retaliate, he complained to M. de Vergennes, the
Minister for Foreign Affairs, begging him to vindicate his character from
the calumnies that were being publicly circulated about him:
As long as the Demoiselle d’Eon contented herself with writing
ill of me to you in reference to the services I rendered her
in England, or of sending word to you to the same effect, I
treated her ingratitude with silent contempt, as you are aware,
regretting her folly without complaining. I concealed her
faults and attributed them to the weakness of a sex to which
all is forgiven.... Now she no longer tries to injure me from
a distance, nor in writing; but in Paris, in the best houses,
where she is received out of curiosity, and even at dinner,
before lacqueys, she is base enough to accuse me of having
appropriated 60,000 livres, which sum, she says, was a portion
of the money confided to me for her use.... I do not wish the
Demoiselle d’Eon to be punished, I pardon her; but I entreat
his Majesty to permit me to make my justification as public as
the insult which has been offered to me.
Beaumarchais had no trouble in obtaining the vindication which he
desired. M. de Vergennes wrote to him a most flattering letter, giving
him permission to publish it; making acknowledgments to the great
scrupulousness of the negotiator who “without claiming the reimbursement
of his personal expenses, had, throughout the transaction, shown no other
interest than that of facilitating the Demoiselle d’Eon’s return to her
native land.”
Beaumarchais was too well pleased with this testimony not to hasten
to publish it, adding thereto, by way of postscript, an open letter
addressed to d’Eon, in which he showed himself disdainful if generous:
May this gentle treatment, which you so little deserve, make
you reflect seriously and teach you to govern yourself, since
the many services rendered by me have neither inspired you
with justice nor with gratitude. Such a change of conduct is
necessary to your own peace of mind, believe me, who while
pardoning would rue the day when first I met you, if it were
possible to regret having placed ingratitude personified under
obligation.
The author of _The Barber of Seville_ had only sought to justify himself
before the public by issuing those documents, for he knew his adversary
too well to entertain the hope of reducing him so easily to silence.
Brought before the tribunal of public opinion, whose approval he had
ever courted, stung to the quick by Beaumarchais’ disdain, humiliated by
the minister’s offensive language, d’Eon replied at once with malicious
irony. His letter to the Comte de Vergennes is too long to be cited here
in full; but a few passages will be sufficient to indicate the tone:
Now that I have obeyed the King’s commands by resuming female
attire on the feast day of St. Ursula; now that I am living
in tranquillity and peace in the habit of a vestal, and that
I have completely forgotten Caron and his boat, judge of my
surprise in receiving an epistle from the said Caron, enclosing
copies, duly certified, of a letter he addressed to you, and of
your reply.
Although I know my Beaumarchais by heart, I must admit,
Monseigneur, that his imposture and the way he sets about
causing its acceptance have nevertheless astonished me.
Was it not M. de Beaumarchais who, unable to persuade me to
be dishonest and to support him in his speculations on my
sex, spread the report all over Paris that he was to marry me
after I had spent seven months at the Abbey of the Ladies of
St. Anthony, when, as a fact, he was within an inch of being
espoused to my cane, while in London? But his name alone is a
remedy against nuptial love; the acheronic ring about it would
frighten any _dragonne_, however resolute she might be.
I must warn you, Monseigneur, that fictitious Demoiselles
d’Eon, wearing the order of Saint Louis, have made their
appearance in more than one fashionable house in Paris. They
were jesters who said the most absurd things about all the
acquaintances of the real Chevalière d’Eon, but chiefly
with reference to the agreeable, honourable, and courageous
Pierre-Augustin-Caron de Beaumarchais.... This scene, of which
there have been an infinite number of variations, was repeated,
I am told, last week, while I was quietly working and sleeping
in my retreat at Petit-Montreuil. Does M. de Beaumarchais, so
fond of hoaxing others, desire to have the monopoly of such a
privilege?...
Let me tell you, Monseigneur, that all the integrity of the
four ministers joined to your own, even adding to it that of
the chief clerks, would fail to make an honest man of M. de
Beaumarchais in this business. The searching light which his
past conduct throws on his character has compelled me much to
my regret to class him with those by whom one must be hated in
order to retain any self-respect.
To add further to the irony of this curious epistle, and to win over
to his cause the sex whose heroine he flattered himself he had become,
d’Eon, assuming the tone of an outraged woman, ended the letter with a
most fantastic invocation which he entitled:
_The Appeal of Mademoiselle d’Eon to her Contemporaries_
M. de Beaumarchais has sought to deprive me of that
consideration so conducive to my peaceful existence. I put him
to confusion by ridiculing his impotent rage. He is a Thersites
who should be whipped for having dared to be insolent to his
betters, whom he ought to respect. I denounce and abandon him
to the whole feminine sex of my time, as one who would fain
have exalted himself at the expense of a woman, and avenged his
frustrated hopes by humiliating a woman, who, of all others,
has at heart the glory of her sex.
This appeal to the feelings and pride of her feminine contemporaries
met with a ready response, and d’Eon, who had not failed to scatter
broadcast the newspapers which published this strange polemic, received
the heartiest congratulations from far and near. “The elevation of her
sentiments” were contrasted with “the horror with which her antagonist
fills all thinking and sentient persons.” “Unaware of the motives which
prompt the Minister for Foreign Affairs to employ such an agent,” wrote
a contemporary of d’Eon, “I think it desirable that he should at least
prevent his encouraging imitators. Mankind were too much to be pitied if
Beaumarchais should form others after his own pattern.”
At Caen, “where all the honest folk of the province wished to see him,”
his malicious appeal met with great success. “I received it at the house
of the Comtesse de la Tournelle,” wrote a certain Count d’Ormesson,
“where all the nobility of the neighbourhood were assembled, as there
have been balls and theatrical performances for four successive days.
I cannot describe the effect it produced. Everybody was delighted with
your style and the simple and straightforward way in which you tell your
adversary his faults.”
The bitter enmity which Beaumarchais had brought down on himself in
every quarter had doubtless contributed to d’Eon’s success; yet that
would not of itself entirely explain the interest which attached to the
most insignificant doings of the Chevalière. In spite of his eccentric
behaviour, and the scandal he created, d’Eon had succeeded in pleasing
serious and soberminded people, while at the same time he won over the
populace by his art of self-advertisement. His keen perception had
gauged the power of the press, then still in its infancy, and since
his residence in England he had not ceased to exploit himself in the
newspapers. No doubt he shared with many others the merit of having
bravely done his duty on the field of battle; but such modest deeds,
already made much of when they were known to have been accomplished
by a woman, had become exaggerated, in the flattering brilliancy of
enthusiastic accounts, into veritable triumphs. “The Chevalière was a
unique heroine, whose whole life belonged to her contemporaries.” Such
was certainly d’Eon’s opinion. Accordingly, no sooner had his dispute
with Beaumarchais subsided than he thought it necessary to announce in a
rhodomontade, which now appears absurdly pompous, the verdict of the Lord
Chief Justice, annulling the decision as to the validity of the wagers
regarding his sex. Men of affairs and scholars even did not hesitate to
congratulate the illustrious Chevalière. M. de Lalande, with the gravity
befitting an astronomer and an academician, wrote to her:
I heartily rejoiced when I saw that you had subjected England
to the laws of honour, while at the same time punishing in
France the rashness of the man who would have feared the
Chevalier, but thought he might brave the Chevalière. Your
jests are at once as bitter and amusing as your style is
noble and majestic when you write to a minister. Permit me,
Mademoiselle, to send this letter to you by one of my friends
who has never seen a heroine, and is longing to pay his
respects to you; allow him to present mine also, with this
tribute of admiration, gratitude, and esteem.
Another member of the French Academy, the Comte de Tressan, whom d’Eon
had thanked for a book that had recently appeared by sending two of her
works, replied in the same eulogistic vein, adding:
The letter with which you have honoured me fills me with
gratitude: it is an equal distinction to merit your
approbation, whether as a soldier or as an academician.
Your letter, Mademoiselle, having been forwarded on Tuesday
last to Paris, I would have hastened to call on you, to thank
you in person; but being seized that day with a sort of
catarrh accompanied by fever, I wrapped myself up well and
returned at once to my hermitage. Feeling better, I seize the
first opportunity of telling you how extremely touched I am
by the kindness of the one person in the world whom I have
always admired, whether wielding the sword or the pen. You
have realised in your person the valour of both Morphiso and
Bradamante, so nobly sung by Ariosto. But you have done more,
you have parried the attacks of the spoiled child to whom
everybody yields, and you set an example to the world of a mind
which is proof against every form of weakness. You were born,
Mademoiselle, to vanquish the warrior, the diplomat, and love
itself, and deserve the worship of the friends who have the
honour of living with you and of enjoying the charm as well as
the advantage of listening to you. There is no one of either
sex who does not feel some emulation when listening to you,
no one who is not moved by your speech and encouraged by your
example to become still braver or more virtuous. As soon as
I am able to return to Paris, Mademoiselle, I will hasten to
assure you of the regard, the attachment, and the admiration
which I have for you.
While welcoming these polite speeches with all the sensibility of a
woman of his time, d’Eon had already thought of an excellent way of
“vanquishing love,” and was forming projects for retiring into a convent
for a few months. Full of his part, and taking a malicious pleasure in
the comedy, he chose the most equivocal situations, and amused himself in
playing the cynical dilettante. Having obtained permission, through M. de
Reine, to retire to the convent of Saint Louis, at Saint Cyr, he had been
obliged to give up the idea, “as the Bishop of Chartres, who was then
in Rome, could alone grant so rare a favour.” On being acquainted with
the Chevalière’s desire, the nuns had, without the slightest hesitation,
admitted her to their parlour for want of the coveted cell, and d’Eon,
short as had been his visit, had left among the venerable dames a
pleasant impression which is expressed in the following note:—
Our Mother-Superior, Madame de Montchevreuil, has given me a
most agreeable commission, Mademoiselle, in charging me to
assure you once more of the pleasure which your visit has
afforded us, and also to express the esteem with which you
have inspired all the inhabitants of our house. She wishes to
convince you of the sincerity of these sentiments, and she
suggests Monday or Tuesday next as the day for the second visit
with which you propose to honour us. But, Mademoiselle, as it
is always well to hasten the enjoyment of that which affords
us legitimate pleasure, we trust that your choice will fall
on Monday.... I remind you of your promise, which you cannot
fail to fulfil without being untrue to yourself. As for myself,
who had the honour of being in attendance on you and of seeing
you more frequently, I beg to assure you that to my esteem
and admiration for the Chevalier d’Eon I add my attachment to
Mademoiselle....
On reading this letter d’Eon was full of gratitude to these saintly
women and of humility towards himself. He remembered that in his youth
his knowledge of Holy Writ had won for him the degree of Doctor of Canon
Law, and his answer to the invitation he had received was couched in the
language of an earnest, devout and repentant person. In a few pages, the
writing of which must have afforded him the keenest enjoyment (he kept
three copies of this letter), d’Eon succeeded in judging himself with an
impartiality that would have been meritorious in any other circumstance.
... I purpose going alone (he wrote), so that nothing shall
divert my attention whilst on my way to the house of the Lord’s
elect, and that I may be the better able to benefit by the
holiness of your discourse, which is the living expression of
the purity of your lives, and of the peace that reigns in your
hearts.
When I compare the happiness of the solitude you enjoy, which
I have ever delighted in without being able to experience its
pleasure, with my terribly restless life in the world and in
the various armies and courts of Europe during the last forty
years, I feel how far I have been removed from the God of
humility and consolation by the demon of glory. Like a foolish
virgin I have been running after the shadows of things, while
you, wise virgins, possess the substance through steadfastly
abiding in the house of the Lord, and in the path of virtue.
_Erravi a viâ justitiae et sol intelligentiae non luxit in
me._ I pray that God may preserve all our sex from the passion
of vainglory. I alone know what it has cost me to rise above
myself! Alas! what restless nights I have passed for the sake
of a few brilliant and happy days! It is better to admire from
afar the example I have set than to imitate it....
Together with this lengthy homily, and as if to counter-balance the
effect produced by such humble declarations, d’Eon was careful to
send his own portrait and his pamphlets. He also promised to read to
his correspondent a few letters addressed to his uncle “by Madame de
Maintenon and her bosom friend, the Comtesse de Caylus,” of which he
possessed the originals. Sister de Durfort replied immediately:
You are to be admired in everything, Mademoiselle, whether
wielding the pen or the sword; your letter is delightful, and
I shall keep it as carefully as a miser keeps his hoard. It
reveals the treasures of your inner life, which are still more
precious than your well-known moral, political, and martial
virtues, to which I pay the homage they deserve. Our Mother
Superior and all the ladies here thank you, Mademoiselle, for
the engraving you have sent. Your features cannot be too often
portrayed in an age when heroic deeds are few and when heroines
would be unknown but for you.
Two days later the mother-superior invited d’Eon to witness a taking of
the veil at the convent. Hearing that d’Eon was unwell she expressed the
hope that the illustrious patient’s fever would soon abate, and, with a
view to her recovery, she sent some leverets and partridges “from the
preserves of the community.”
Such delicate attentions, and above all the fervent admiration of these
saintly ladies, embarrassed d’Eon, who sank under the burden of his
remorse in this onset of courtesy and humility.
I am leaving, Madame, the Abbey of Haute-Bruyère, where
Mademoiselle de Torigny, after having refused a most
advantageous marriage, from a worldly point of view, has
left all in order to espouse the poverty and sufferings of
the cross of Jesus Christ, and lead the life of the holy
women who, by the purity and sweetness of their lives, render
their solitude and their religion as attractive as their
society. This spectacle, almost incredible, which I had never
before witnessed, has saddened me and stirred my soul more
than anything, however marvellous, that I ever beheld in my
campaigns.
It is no doubt to humble my pride, and to confound my worldly
courage, that you wish me to witness again, on Monday next, the
touching sacrifice of the two royal victims of your convent,
who, like two innocent white doves, are to be plucked and
immolated before my eyes on the altar of the King of Kings.
Notwithstanding the martial spirit with which men and soldiers
credit me, I cannot but feel from the bottom of my heart that
I am a coward, when I behold the greatness and extent of the
sacrifice you offer up to God. Until now I have only sacrificed
my body in serving my King and my country, that is in serving
my own ends; the horse I mounted in the combats and battles in
which I have fought has done as much as I, while you, Mesdames,
have offered to God and to your community the entire sacrifice
of yourselves, body and soul; you have kept back nothing save
your innocence and submission.
It is very kind of Madame de Montchevreuil to send me
leverets and partridges for my dinner; one dish and some
salad constitute a good meal in my opinion. Happily I am not
addicted to sensual pleasures. I can sleep on straw on the
ground, and can live on bread and water. Our Lord said that man
does not live by bread alone, but by the word of God; I will
therefore strive to feed my soul with His word while listening
attentively to the excellent sermon that will be preached in
your church, on Monday next, at the holy sacrifice of your two
victims.
After reading d’Eon’s works “with dragoon-like voracity,” Sister de
Durfort began to realise that the remorse of the author of _Lettres,
Mémoires et Negociations_ was far from being groundless. Without
deceiving herself as to the difficulty of transforming this “hero in
the eyes of the world” into a “heroine of religion,” she strove, with
touching simplicity, to bring him to repentance. “You are right,” she
wrote, “in saying that I should have more trouble in bringing you back to
a state of grace than Madame d’Eon had in bringing you into the world.
However, I do not despair: with so much courage, firmness, constancy,
valour, and intrepidity—in short, great as you are—it needs but one
effort to make a saint of you....”
D’Eon appears soon to have realised how ungenerous it was of him
to take advantage of her credulity, for he put a stop to the pious
correspondence. Far from entertaining the idea of taking the veil, as
his venerable correspondent had hoped, the Chevalière had no more ardent
desire than to doff the mob-cap and resume the soldier’s helmet. Too
active for the part which he was reduced to play, for the life of the
court, the visits and entertainments, the tedium of which he tried to
forget by writing incessantly; tired, also, of the perpetual mystery
of which he was at once the author and the victim, d’Eon regretted his
old life of adventure. The American War appeared to him a favourable
opportunity for resuming it, and no sooner had hostilities begun with
England than he solicited de Sartine and de Vergennes for permission to
re-enter the army. But he met with a positive and quite comprehensible
refusal on the part of the two ministers, who desired nothing better than
to hear the last of him.
He entreated the Comte de Broglie to support his petition, which the
count declined to do, rather ungratefully reproaching d’Eon—who had
never ceased to be faithful to him and had defended him in awkward
situations—for having referred to him.
I have received, Mademoiselle (he replied), the letter you have
taken the trouble of writing to me, together with the copy of
M. de Sartine’s letter. I must point out to you with regard
to the latter that, although I fully appreciate the motives
which have actuated you in so far as I am concerned, it would
undoubtedly have been better had you abstained from mentioning
my name.
I hope that you may obtain the permission which you require,
but I think it extremely unlikely. In that case I trust you
will never do anything that may be construed into the least
resistance to the King’s will.
Embittered by such fresh disappointments, and irritated by his
sedentary life, which was beginning to tell upon his health, d’Eon
resolved—notwithstanding the refusal he had already met with—to write a
letter to M. de Maurepas, which he was foolish enough to publish, and
also an open letter to several great ladies at court. The two documents
brought down upon the author prompt retribution which, it must be
admitted, their extravagant tone fully justified.
I would not for an instant encroach on the valuable time
that you devote to the glory and welfare of France; but,
animated by the desire to contribute to both myself, in so far
as my humble position allows, I must represent to you most
firmly and respectfully that the year of my female novitiate
having expired, it is impossible for me to pass on to a full
profession. The expenses are beyond my means, and my income is
too limited. Such being the case, I can neither be of use to
the King, nor to myself, nor to my family, and my sedentary
life is ruining the buoyancy of my body and mind. From my youth
up I have always led a most active life and, whether in the
army or in diplomacy, inaction is fatal to me.
I renew, Monsieur, my entreaties that you will obtain the
King’s permission for me to re-enter his service, and, as
there is no fighting on land, that I be allowed to serve as
a volunteer in the fleet of the Comte d’Orvilliers. I have
managed to live in petticoats in time of peace, from a desire
to obey the orders of the King and of his ministers, but I find
it impossible to do so in time of war. I am sick with vexation,
and ashamed to be in such a position when I might be serving my
King and country with the zeal, the courage, and the experience
that God and my own efforts have granted me. I am ashamed and
distressed to be quietly living in Paris on the pension which
the late King deigned to give me, when there is fighting to be
done elsewhere. I am always ready to sacrifice both my pension
and my life to his august grandson. I returned to France under
your auspices, Monseigneur, I therefore confidently commend my
present and future fate to your generous protection.
_An Open Letter addressed by the Chevalière d’Eon to several Great Ladies
at Court_
MADAME LA DUCHESSE,—Foreseeing that there will be less fighting
on land this year than last, I earnestly entreat you to use
your influence with the ministers, in favour of my petition
(as stated in the enclosed copy of my letter to the Comte de
Maurepas) to serve as a volunteer in the fleet of the Comte
d’Orvilliers. Your name, Madame, is one to which military glory
is familiar, and, as a woman, you must love the glory of our
sex. I have striven to sustain that throughout the late war
with Germany, and in negotiating at European courts during the
last twenty-five years. There is nothing left for me to do but
to fight at sea in the Royal Navy. I hope to acquit myself in
such a way that you will not regret having fostered the good
intention of one who has the honour to be, with profoundest
respect, faithfully yours,