D’Eon was busy paying off his last creditors, and preparing for his
return to France, when grave news reached London. The Revolution was
beginning, that at least was the general opinion in England, for in
France many of those destined to fall victims of the emancipation of
the people were still under the greatest illusions about it. A curious
letter addressed to d’Eon, July 2, 1789, by M. de Tanlay, parliamentary
councillor, supplies proof of it.
So you would make war on us again in England? It would be very
ill-advised. I think the English people need peace as much as
we do, and we are taking measures which will give France more
national energy than she has ever had, for we shall manage our
affairs and those of the King for ourselves. I can understand
that others may base their hopes upon a momentary revolution of
our system of government, but when the nation has everything to
gain by it, when it is seen to be animated by patriotism such
as is guiding us at the present moment, when a monarch makes so
many sacrifices of his glory for the welfare of his people, it
is in no wise the time to think of obtaining an advantage over
us. I trust that this temporary effervescence will subside, and
that we shall be permitted peacefully to establish a form of
government which will for ever ensure the happiness of France,
provided the work of reform be well directed, as there is good
reason to believe it will be.
M. de Tanlay’s idyllic dreams were not realised: the Bastille was taken,
the Tuileries invaded, and war declared. His correspondent did not fail,
however, to applaud “the victories of liberty.” The Chevalière d’Eon
became the Citoyenne Geneviève, and—whether from conviction or, perhaps,
too, with a view to increasing her fame by this new means of courting
popularity—posed on every occasion as the most ardent Jacobin.
At her instigation a great number of Frenchmen living in London
assembled at Turnham Green, on July 14, 1790, “to celebrate publicly the
anniversary of the glorious Revolution, and to take the civic oath.”
D’Eon read a speech written in the declamatory and sentimental style of
the time, and his harangue was so highly appreciated that all the English
papers reproduced it immediately.
At the same time as the French gathering over six hundred Englishmen met
under the auspices and presidency of Lord Stanhope, to celebrate the
glorious anniversary and to express “their desire for an eternal alliance
between the English and French nations, which would for ever ensure
peace, liberty, and happiness throughout the whole world.”
D’Eon was unable to attend the English meeting, being detained among
his countrymen, but he sent a present, the arrival of which excited the
greatest enthusiasm. It consisted of “a stone taken from the arch of one
of the principal gates of the Bastille, which has endured the musketry
volleys of our brave Parisians.”
The very next day he received a most grateful acknowledgment from Lord
Stanhope.
I have to return you many thanks for your valuable gift and the
kind letter which you have done me the honour of writing to
me. We held a meeting yesterday of six hundred and fifty-two
friends of the indefeasible rights of man, to celebrate the
brilliant victory which liberty has lately won in France over
despotism and tyranny. By a unanimous resolution we expressed
the desire which has animated us, ever since your glorious
Revolution, to ally ourselves with France. Nothing was wanting
yesterday but a stone from the Bastille; we became aware of our
need only when we had the pleasure of receiving it from you,
and our satisfaction was all the greater in that it was sent
from one so famous in history.
By such striking proofs of civism d’Eon felt sure of concentrating upon
himself the attention of French patriots. He had also sent his nephew
to offer his services to the Legislative Assembly, and had entrusted
him with the presentation of a petition. The “Citoyenne d’Eon” stated
that although she had worn the dress of a woman for fifteen years, she
had never forgotten that she was formerly a soldier; that since the
Revolution she felt her military ardour revive and that, ready to abandon
her cap and petticoats, she demanded her helmet, her sword, her horse,
and her rank in the army.
In my eager impatience (she wrote) I have sold everything
but my uniform, and the sword which I wore during my first
campaign. My library is reduced to manuscripts by Vauban, which
I have preserved as an offering to the National Assembly, for
the glory of my country, and the instruction of the brave
generals employed in her defence.
The reading of the above was interrupted several times by bursts of
applause, and, mention having been made of it in the minutes, the
petition was referred to the War Committee, where it has remained buried
for ever.
But if d’Eon appealed in vain to the Republic to accept his services, he
was, on the other hand, urgently invited to side with the King and to
join at Coblentz the army of those emigrants among whom the ungrateful
Convention had included him. He received from one of the faithful
royalists who had followed the princes beyond the frontiers the following
curious letter:—
Is it possible, my dear heroine, that you still hesitate to
join the French nobility who are gathering together from
Coblentz to Houdenarde? At the moment of writing there is
nobody left in France but infirm old nobles and children. What
will all the others say if they do not see you arrive either
at Mons, Ath, Brussells, or Coblentz? If you wait much longer
you will not come in time to reap much glory, and then all the
brave knights of France will say to you what Henri IV. said to
Crillon: “Go hang yourself, brave Crillon!” Many are surprised
not to see you where true honour leads, and among those who do
not know you some call you a demagogue. Upon hearing such an
odious accusation I laid my hand on the sword which you had
made for me, and told them that I answered for it on the said
weapon which you gave me, that they would see you ere long,
and if not, the same weapon would be sent to you together with
a spindle. I do not tell you that, my dear heroine, in order
to excite your enthusiasm, for I believe you to be too well
disposed to require it, but really to assure you that I am and
wish ever to be your valiant knight.
On reaching Coblentz, where I am going, call upon my friend,
M. de Preaurot, to whom the princes have confided the duty of
receiving all new arrivals. Before long no honest folks will
stay in France except those who cannot do otherwise, whether
on account of their infirmities or their want of means. Many
are helped by those who are in a position to do so. I think we
have reached the time when you can outshine the Maid of Orléans
herself: what a distinction for our good town of Tonnerre,
whence I have heard that knowing your sound principles they
rely upon your not abandoning the cause of honour.
And lower down, in another hand, we learn:
The old-fashioned baroness can add nothing to the style of the
brave knight who writes this letter, except the wish to see her
heroine arrive soon. She begs her to direct her reply to M.
Mazorel, post-office, Tournay, who will take charge of it.
D’Eon wrote in the margin of this letter that he did not answer it. But
it was in vain that he avoided compromising himself with royalists and
aristocrats; the loyalism of his republican sentiments did not obtain for
him from the Convention the recovery of the pension which royalty had
conferred upon him, and which had not been paid to him since 1790.
In order to procure the bare necessaries of life he was obliged to
resort to the sword which he was no longer permitted to use in the
service of his country, and was reduced to taking part in public fencing
competitions. In default of glory on the field of battle, he attained,
at all events, real fame in the schools. He had as adversaries the best
fencers in England, the Chevalier St. George himself, and beat them
all on more than one occasion. D’Eon was far from being a novice in
the art, having distinguished himself therein as far back as the year
1750, when he was a young advocate, and was writing learned historical
treatises and essays on political economy, in order to attract notice.
His adventurous life and his military career had led him to develop
the science of fencing, and consequently his already advanced age did
not prevent his justifying a reputation which his adopted sex rendered
piquant and unusual. Although d’Eon generally wore his old uniform of
the dragoons when fencing in public, yet at several matches he appeared
in a semi-feminine costume. In this odd accoutrement he took part, in
September 1793, in a tournament at which the Prince of Wales presided
in person; he gained a brilliant victory over an English officer. Some
prints, which are now much sought after, perpetuated the memory of this
curious match. So profitable did he find these exhibitions of his rare
skill that he resolved to undertake a series of tours in the provinces.
The English papers report his victories at Dover, Canterbury and Oxford.
In the course of one of these journeys there occurred, at Southampton, on
August 26, 1796, the unlucky accident which brought a sudden end to the
fencing-matches in which the Chevalière d’Eon still distinguished herself
at the age of sixty-nine. Her adversary’s foil broke off, wounding her
severely. D’Eon published in the papers the certificate of the physicians
who attended him, together with an address in which, after thanking
the public for the interest they had taken in him, he declared with
bitterness that henceforth he would be reduced “to cut his bread with his
sword.”
His wound kept him confined to his bed for four months. As soon as he
could be moved, he was taken back to London, where he had still to go
through a long convalescence. An old English lady, Mrs. Mary Cole, a
friend of his, received him into her house, and tended him to the end of
his life with the most touching devotion. D’Eon’s sensational career was
now at an end, and his life terminated in the quietest way possible. He
himself remarks, with a touch of melancholy: “My life is spent in eating,
drinking, and sleeping; praying, writing, and working with Mrs. Cole,
repairing linen, gowns, and headdresses.”
Still, in spite of age and sickness, d’Eon never quite resigned himself
to his sad lot, and remained to the end as indomitable in his energy as
he was tenacious in his hope of better days to come, renewing his appeals
for permission to return to France and preparing for his departure. He
succeeded in interesting in his cause the Citoyen Otto, the Commissioner
of the Republic in London, through whom he sent, on June 18, 1800, to
Talleyrand, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, a lengthy petition in which
he recapitulated his services and enumerated his misfortunes.
I have fought the good fight; I am seventy-three years of
age; I have a sabre-cut on my head, a broken leg and two
bayonet-thrusts. In 1756 I contributed largely to the reunion
of France and Russia. In 1762 and 1763 I laboured night and day
to establish peace between France and England. I was in direct
and secret correspondence with Louis XV. from 1756 to the year
of his death. My head belongs to the war department, my heart
to France, and my gratitude to Citizen Charles Max Talleyrand,
the worthy minister for foreign affairs, who will do me
justice, and will not leave me to die of despair and starvation.
Despair was not a salient feature in d’Eon’s character, for at the moment
he sent this doleful letter he was engaged in preparing an edition of
Horace, and an Englishman offered him, with a view to this work, a
collection of all the old editions of the Latin poet from 1476 to 1789.
His poverty was such, however, that he was reduced to pawning his Cross
of Saint Louis and his jewels; but at the same time he obtained from
Citizen Otto a passport to Paris and Tonnerre. His friends in France did
not fail to encourage him in his projects, and promised him their support.
Barthélemy, formerly chargé d’affaires in London during the Revolution
and now a senator highly esteemed by Bonaparte, offered to present to
the all-powerful First Consul the Chevalière, famous of yore, who had
assisted him more than once to do the honours of the French embassy. This
is what his friend Falconnet wrote to him, on September 13, 1802:
But you, my illustrious friend, what will you do? I still
advise you to set out. The longer you wait the harder you will
find it. Remember the man in Horace:
Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis; at ille
Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis ævum.
Make a bundle of your valuables, and take them with you.
Arrange for the other things to follow you as you require
them. Mrs. Cole will see that they are sent, and you will
receive everything. Senator Barthélemy will only be too happy
to present you to the First Consul, and I have no doubt but
that you will obtain, if not the whole, at least part of your
pension. When you are here everything will go well. At a
distance nothing goes as it should. Come, and to begin with
take furnished lodgings; even this circumstance may not be
indifferent to your success. The world will be more ready to
pity the lot of a heroine whom no party can reproach, when she
is seen, at her age, deprived of all resources.
But whether old age and sickness prevented his departure, or whether
he was discouraged by so many vain efforts and expected nothing from
the change, d’Eon remained in London. He went through a time of great
need, although several of his old friends, and even some members of the
English aristocracy, continued to take an interest in him and to help
him until the end of his days. The Marchioness of Townshend, the Duke of
Queensberry, and Mrs. Crawford regularly provided him with money. His
infirmities compelled him to keep his bed during the last two years of
his life, and throughout that sad time he was tended affectionately by
Mrs. Cole, the friend whose house he shared. Several months before his
death he sent for a French physician, Dr. Élisée—formerly attached to the
“Pères de la Charité” at Grenoble. When, on May 21, 1810, d’Eon breathed
his last, the doctor was not less surprised than Mrs. Cole on discovering
the real sex of this extraordinary individual, who, notwithstanding old
age, want and sickness, had taken a pride in playing his part to the
bitter end. A certificate of the post-mortem examination made it possible
to record officially the answer to this singular problem, which for forty
years had excited so much curiosity and given rise to so many disputes.
But, published at a time when public attention was being claimed by so
many great contemporary events, this document, which definitely settled
a point of dispute in the annals of the eighteenth century, was scarcely
noticed. It is only in our time that patient scholars have unearthed
it from the depths of English archives. Mystery no longer enshrouds
the enigma that baffled even the perspicacity of a Voltaire or of a
Beaumarchais.
Freed from the disguise which she had assumed, and to which tradition
still faithfully adheres, the legendary Chevalière d’Eon resumes his true
aspect in the form of the daring and brilliant adventurer, ruined by
his inordinate pride, whose life will remain for all time as one of the
strangest challenges that history has ever offered to fiction.