Part 16
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,
LA CHEVALIÈRE D’EON.
Tired of d’Eon’s eccentricities, weary of his attacks on Beaumarchais, and informed, moreover, that he had laid aside his female clothes, the ministers took strong measures.
On Saturday, March 20, at an early hour and without any warning, Mademoiselle d’Eon was arrested at her house in the Rue de Noailles, by two officers of police, and invited to enter a coach, which started off at once. While the Sieur Clos, equerry and counsellor of the King, assisted by his clerk, searched his house in vain, d’Eon was being driven, by easy stages, towards Dijon Castle, where, by a royal decree, he remained for a whole month.
X
TONNERRE ONCE MORE
Now that the archives of the Bastille are accessible to historians, prison life in the eighteenth century is no longer enveloped in mystery, and this famous fortress, looked upon as the symbol of despotism, appears rather to have been a sort of hostelry where the best society was temporarily and involuntarily brought together. In spite of the meagre comforts that the abode could offer, the inmates were almost free to keep up their customary style of living. The most favoured, waited upon by their valets, had their regular reception days, entertained at supper, and were at liberty to pass through the prison-gates on merely pledging their word that they would return before sunset. The less important inmates were tolerably well catered for on payment of ten francs a day, visited their neighbours in their respective cells, and found sufficient relaxation in games of _faro_, _bouillotte_ or _biribi_. Those of a more serious turn of mind, who soon tired of such a regimen, whiled away the time in contriving plans of escape, which were often crowned with success.
The prison in the castle of Dijon, though equally formidable in appearance, was not less hospitable, and the recalcitrant Chevalière found herself even better placed than on her first arrival in Burgundy, when, crowned with the aureole of misfortune, she had received the warmest reception. The Abbé Pioret, senior priest at St. John’s, the prisoners’ parish church for the time being, was one of the first to inquire after his old comrade, and to offer her such consolations as were in keeping with her condition and her present circumstances. He reminded her of the days of her childhood and of their intercourse at Versailles, and ended as follows:—
As it is the duty of a pastor to seek his sheep, particularly when they are, like yourself, inclined to wander from the fold, I hope you will allow me to call upon you; kindly let me know the hour which will be most convenient to you.
On the following day visitors streamed into the castle in such numbers that the governor was obliged to give the sentinel “instructions not to admit anybody to the Chevalière’s cell.” So unusual and unexpected an order astonished M. Calon, former councillor of parliament, and M. Buchotte de Vermond, who at once complained to the Chevalière of having been brutally dismissed. In lieu of visitors d’Eon received letters of condolence or of congratulation from all quarters, and his old comrades in the dragoons, who had followed his adventures step by step, sent a fresh token of their affection by Major d’Arras, “begging to be reassured as to the prisoner’s fate.” As a matter of fact, the rigour of his confinement was diminishing every day, and before a week was over d’Eon was not only permitted to receive in his cell the leading citizens of Dijon and the numerous visitors who had solicited an audience out of curiosity, but even to entertain a few friends at dinner. While he was cheerfully resigning himself to his misfortune, and relishing “the trout, crayfish, chickens, woodcocks, and snipe,” washed down with the venerable _Clos-Vougeot_ supplied by the Sieur Gaudelet, innkeeper and purveyor to the castle, his brother-in-law was endeavouring to shorten his detention.
O’Gorman had been the more surprised and disquieted by the Chevalière’s disappearance, as on coming to Versailles on the very day of her arrest, to accompany her to Tonnerre, he had found the door of the house sealed up and the maid still “upset by the shock caused by the arrest.” La Grenade, d’Eon’s valet, having been unable to tell him whither his master had been taken, O’Gorman proceeded at once to the audience-chamber of M. Amelot, where the chief clerk informed him that d’Eon was a prisoner at Dijon. He was assured, however, “that neither the King nor his ministers had any desire to harm the Chevalière, and that her resistance to and disregard of the King’s orders had alone given rise to such violent measures.” She would even be at liberty “to retire to her paternal home,” as soon as she should show a “submissive disposition to live quietly and unostentatiously in her own province.”
Before long d’Eon himself seemed to wish for what was required of him. He did nothing further to foster the disturbance caused by his every movement, and submitted quietly to his punishment. Such a satisfactory frame of mind revived the good-will of his powerful friends. The Marquis de Vergennes advised him to write a humble letter to his brother, the minister, and added thereto “his most urgent recommendation.” But his most able defender was the Bishop of Mâcon, who cleverly pleaded his protégé’s cause by representing to the ministers that “too great a sensation” was being caused at Dijon by the presence of the Chevalière. Lastly, the search made at her house, far from confirming the insinuations of her enemies, who were disposed to accuse her of being a spy in the service of England, had on the contrary proved nothing but “facts redounding to her credit.” Accordingly the ministers granted a pardon after a month’s imprisonment, enjoining her to repair immediately to Tonnerre and not to leave the town without the King’s permission.
D’Eon hastened to obey; but before leaving Dijon he did not omit to give Marlet, the sculptor, an order for several little medallions to commemorate his residence in the capital of Burgundy.
Quieted by his long series of adventures, and dreading no doubt the bitterness of his enemies, who wished for nothing better than to see him “confined in a convent for the rest of his days,” d’Eon made up his mind to lead, in Burgundy, the quiet life of a maiden lady of quality—a life “he had so often envied,” he said, with more resignation than sincerity. The small pension from the King enabled him to put his house at Tonnerre in repair; he added a wing to it, embellished his park, through which the river Armençon ran, with “terraces and flower-beds,” and even managed to have a chapel pulled down which intercepted the view from his windows, “without falling out with Holy Mother Church.” He exchanged “a box-tree for a marjoram” with the prior of Saint Martin, planted new vines, and superintended the gathering of the grapes, the wine from which reached the capital in due course and graced the board of M. Amelot and of the Marquis de Vergennes. He kept his best vintages for his old protectors, who were both touched by the attention and appreciative of the gift.
I have received, Mademoiselle, the sixty-five bottles of wine from Tonnerre, which you mentioned in your letter. I would rather you had not deprived yourself of them, for I did not need this token of your sentiments to be convinced of your attachment to M. de Broglie. The proofs which you have never ceased to give him, persuade me that they will never change. I accept the assurance with the deepest gratitude.
This note seems to have been the last that d’Eon received from this influential family, whose dependant he had been in his youth, and whose zealous champion he had afterwards become. The Broglies were by this time so completely neglected that their state was worse than disgrace, and the death of the count, whose health had been undermined by injustice and disappointments, dealt a blow to his house from which it was slow to recover. It was this painful moment that d’Eon had chosen for proving that he had not forgotten the minister’s patronage during a career so sadly and prematurely brought to a close. His new life left him time for reflecting on his past errors, and although he endeavoured to appear content with his lot, he could not conceal his regrets or convince his correspondents. On the same day, January 1, 1780, General de Monet, who knew all his adventures, wrote to him:
I envy the tranquillity you must enjoy with your Penates. I trust that you look upon it with your habitual philosophy, of which your life has given you so many opportunities of making good use. Your leisure hours are probably well employed for the benefit of posterity, and the thoughts which fortunate or unfortunate circumstances (it is difficult to say which) give you time to leave in writing, will be a great boon for instruction, and also a means of adding new lustre to the interesting history of your life. But be that as it may, to tell you the truth, I would rather you were in Paris than at Tonnerre, although you would only see there many people agitated by the reforms which our ministers have wisely deemed necessary and just for procuring funds to continue the war without the imposition of new taxes. It is preferable at such critical moments to be far from the tumult.
D’Eon was indeed thinking of following the advice of his correspondent, and leaving to posterity a detailed account of his exploits. The short sketch which he had written of his life on his return to France seemed to him insufficient, for it contained no reference to the chief event in his career, his contentions with de Guerchy, and also his secret mission in England; but the moment would have been ill-chosen, and might have furnished his enemies with fresh grounds for complaint. He therefore occupied himself with less dangerous works, planning a book on agriculture, and continually corresponding on this subject with M. de Buffon, who sent his works to him, discussed with him the merits of new treatises, and even consented to provide him with the documents that he lacked. The Marquis de Poncins submitted to him his new book on “agriculture and war,” saying that his glory would be complete “if to the approbation of the greatest of kings, were added that of the most illustrious woman who had ever figured in the annals of the world.” De Lalande and Cassini kept him informed of their discoveries. But such interesting correspondence being insufficient, in d’Eon’s opinion, “to dispel the stupefying fumes which one inhales in the country,” he worked assiduously at drawing up, with the help of M. de Palmus, the d’Eon family tree. He set about this with the smallest display of modesty, or rather with the fertile imagination of which he had already given so many proofs. After having exhausted the lineage of his immediate ancestors, who during the two preceding centuries had done little to prove their nobility in Burgundy, he unearthed far more remote forebears in Brittany, and even claimed alliance with the greatest houses of that province. Among those families a few had survived who did not seem very flattered at the relationship claimed by the illustrious Chevalière, and, indeed, declined his offer somewhat insistently. D’Eon consequently found himself engaged in a lengthy law-suit against M. de Kergado, on which occasion he distributed, as was his wont, a great many notes and pamphlets; but the case went against him. No sooner was this affair ended than d’Eon again began to feel, with increasing intensity, the burden of his idleness, of which he could not rid himself, and he was once more seized with the nostalgia of adventure. He tried to escape from the province to which he was confined by order of the King, as in a prison, and renewed his entreaties for permission to place at the disposal of America a sword which, though rusty, could still render useful service. As before, he met with the same unqualified refusal, and although his petition obtained for him the liberty of returning to Paris and Versailles, when he should desire to do so, he was much depressed by his failure. But he was not the man to own himself beaten, and though he was prevented fighting in person he was determined, nevertheless, to find means of distinguishing himself in the coming campaign. He could not go to the war, but he would send a representative, and his scheme for fighting by proxy consisted in equipping a frigate which was to bear the name of the _Chevalière d’Eon_.