Chevalier d'Éon, Chevalière d'Éon, Charles d'Éon de Beaumont, Charlotte d'Éon de Beaumont.
October 5th, 1728.
As all people of a certain mindset can confirm, trans people were invented in 2006 deliberately to annoy those people and those people alone. Probably by George Soros. I mean, sure, there were trans people in medieval times and there were trans people in Roman times, but they were still invented in 2006, along with pronouns and … err … being gay.
There is, of course, nothing more trivial to someone who is not affected in any way than another person’s gender identity, and anyone who finds the prospect of what someone else decides to identify as somehow bewildering or terrifying is, in no uncertain terms, a buffoon. You don’t even have to agree that gender fluidity is a thing or understand the nuances of it whatsoever to not be a colossal fuck about it. It’s easier not to be animated about what someone else chooses to identify as than it is to get bothered about it.
These right-wing blowhards like to pose what they think are ‘gotcha’ questions that ‘destroy’ the notion of gender fluidity, and when they pose them, they think they are mining a seam of intellectual gold to rival the greatest minds in history. In reality, their questions are universally stupid. The classic one is - “What is a woman?” And this question is supposed to flummox the unwary into a gibbering silence. But the question is monumentally stupid and easy to answer -
I don’t know. I don’t really think I - a straight as a plumber’s pencil, middle-aged white bloke - am qualified to be giving out answers as to what qualifies someone as a woman or not. There are plenty of other people much better qualified to answer that question than I will ever be, so my answer is just, “I don’t know what a woman is”. Neither, to be honest, do I particularly care. It doesn’t seem much like my business. It’s certainly their business, and it’s lots of other people’s business, but it's not really mine. Perhaps you should ask them instead?
But here’s one thing I do know. It’s not my business to go around telling other people that they are not women. And neither, Charlie Fucking Kirk, you little shit, is it yours. Now shut the fuck up.
Anyway, meet the Chevalier d'Éon, or the Chevalière d'Éon, Charles or Charlotte, who either way, had a superb hat.
Chevalier d’Éon, born on October 5, 1728, in Tonnerre, Burgundy, occupied a singular place in 18th-century European history. Their life intersected with several critical areas of society, including diplomacy, espionage, and military service. What sets d’Éon apart from their contemporaries, however, is not only their work as a soldier and diplomat but also the complex legacy they left surrounding their gender identity. Throughout their life, d’Éon navigated both male and female roles, adopting different gender presentations depending on the social and political circumstances. This made d’Éon not only a central figure in European diplomacy and espionage but also an enduring symbol in the history of gender.
Raised in a family connected to both law and public service, d’Éon’s background provided a strong foundation for the political life they would later pursue. Their father, Louis d'Éon de Beaumont, served as an advocate in the Parliament of Paris, while their mother, Françoise de Charanton, hailed from a wealthy and influential family. The young d’Éon was groomed for public service from an early age. Their education at the Collège Mazarin in Paris, where they studied both civil and canon law, prepared them for the legal and diplomatic arenas they would soon enter. The legal training, in particular, helped d’Éon develop skills in diplomacy, a discipline where precision in language and attention to legal and political details were critical.
Following their academic success, d’Éon was recruited into King Louis XV’s secret diplomatic network known as the Secret du Roi. This organization kept hidden from official French government bodies, was designed to advance the personal ambitions of the king, often involving covert operations in foreign nations. For d’Éon, this recruitment marked the beginning of a career in espionage that would span several decades. One of their earliest missions took place in Russia, where they served as a French diplomat during the reign of Empress Elizabeth. It is reported that d’Éon adopted female attire to gain access to influential court figures, including the Empress herself, though the exact nature of this gender performance remains debated among historians. Whether this was a practical disguise or reflected a deeper aspect of d’Éon’s identity is unclear. However, the incident marked the beginning of the persistent speculation about d’Éon’s gender that would follow them throughout their life.
D’Éon’s success in Russia led to further diplomatic assignments, most notably in Britain. In 1763, they were posted to London as a diplomat following the conclusion of the Seven Years' War. The Treaty of Paris had significantly shifted the balance of power in Europe, and d’Éon’s role in the French embassy was to navigate this new political landscape. Officially serving as the secretary to the French ambassador, the Comte de Guerchy, d’Éon’s responsibilities extended beyond mere bureaucratic duties. Unbeknownst to the British government, they continued to operate as a spy for the Secret du Roi, providing secret intelligence to King Louis XV. During this time, d’Éon’s diplomatic skill came to the forefront, as they played a significant role in drafting sensitive documents and managing complex negotiations.
However, d’Éon’s tenure in London was not without conflict. A bitter dispute erupted between d’Éon and the Comte de Guerchy, which culminated in a public scandal. D’Éon accused the ambassador of attempting to poison them, a claim that, while never substantiated, caused a sensation in both French and British political circles. In retaliation, d’Éon published a series of confidential diplomatic letters, exposing secret details of French foreign policy. This act of defiance made d’Éon a fugitive in France, but it also garnered them public sympathy and fame in Britain, where they became something of a celebrity. The publication of these letters was a calculated risk that demonstrated d’Éon’s political acumen, using public opinion to secure their safety in England.
As d’Éon remained in London, rumours began to circulate about their gender. The controversy surrounding their presentation as male in earlier diplomatic and military roles, coupled with the widespread suspicion that they might be female, led to significant public interest. This speculation reached such heights that a wager was placed on d’Éon’s gender on the London Stock Exchange. D’Éon eventually addressed the rumours in 1777 by publicly declaring that they were, in fact, a woman. This declaration was met with both fascination and scepticism, as d’Éon had lived the first half of their life presenting as male. Nevertheless, from that point forward, they adopted female attire in public and engaged in social life as a woman.
The decision to present as female may not have been entirely voluntary. Some historians argue that it was a political and economic necessity rather than a personal choice. Following their declaration, d’Éon entered into a financial agreement with the French crown, securing a pension in exchange for adopting female dress permanently. It is possible that d’Éon, who was facing financial difficulties at the time, agreed to this arrangement out of necessity. This period of d’Éon’s life reflects the complex interplay between personal identity and the external pressures of society and politics.
Despite adopting female attire, d’Éon did not retreat from public life. They continued to maintain their presence in European society, engaging in one of the few arenas where women were allowed a degree of public prominence—fencing. D’Éon was a skilled fencer, and even in their later years, they participated in public duels, often competing against men. These exhibitions allowed d’Éon to sustain themselves financially after losing their pension during the French Revolution and maintained their status as a public figure.
The French Revolution brought significant upheaval to d’Éon’s life. The revolutionary government cut off the pension that d’Éon had been receiving from the French monarchy, leaving them in dire financial straits. D’Éon attempted to return to France during this tumultuous period, but their efforts were unsuccessful. As a former royal spy and diplomat, they were viewed with suspicion by the revolutionary authorities. Ultimately, d’Éon spent their final years in London, living in relative poverty. Despite these hardships, they continued to attract attention from both the public and the press, remaining a figure of intrigue until their death in 1810.
The mystery surrounding d’Éon’s life persisted even after their death. A post-mortem examination revealed that d’Éon had been assigned male at birth, a fact that surprised many who had known them in their later years as a woman. This revelation added yet another layer to the already complex legacy of the Chevalier d’Éon. For historians, d’Éon’s life presents a fascinating case study of the fluidity of gender identity in a time when societal norms were rigidly enforced.
The legacy of the Chevalier d’Éon is multifaceted. As a diplomat, soldier, and spy, they were intimately involved in some of the most significant events of 18th-century European history. Their role in the Seven Years' War, their diplomatic missions to Russia and Britain, and their involvement in King Louis XV’s secret intelligence network placed them at the heart of the political machinations of the period. These achievements alone would have secured d’Éon a place in history. However, it is their gender identity and the public fascination with it that has continued to captivate scholars and the public alike.
Today, d’Éon’s life is often viewed through the lens of gender studies, with many interpreting their experiences as those of an early transgender individual. However, others caution against applying modern concepts of gender identity to historical figures, arguing that d’Éon’s presentation as both male and female was shaped by the unique political and social circumstances they faced. What is clear is that d’Éon’s life challenges conventional understandings of gender and identity in the 18th century, illustrating the complexities of navigating social roles in a rigidly hierarchical society.
D’Éon’s story has inspired numerous works of biography, literature, and art, and they continue to be a figure of enduring interest. Their life serves as a reminder of the fluid and often contested nature of identity, particularly within the realms of gender and politics. In a period when the roles of men and women were clearly delineated, d’Éon defied categorization, carving out a unique and memorable place in European history. Their legacy, though complex, is a testament to the ability of individuals to navigate and challenge the boundaries of their time, offering a lasting contribution to our understanding of both history and identity.
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