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STUDIES IN
AMERICAN HISTORY
Beaumarchais, and the War of
American Independence. Two vol
umes. Illustrated. By Elizabeth S.
Kite.The Political History of the Pub
lic Lands, from 1840 to 1862. From
Pke-bmption to Homestead. By
Oeorge M. Stephenson.
Georgia as a Proprietary Province
— The Execution of a Trust. By
James Ross McCain.
Lincoln, the Politician. By T.
Aaron Levy.
The Agricultural Papers of
George Washington. Edited by
Walter Edwin Brooke, Ph.B.

RICHARD G. BADGER, PUBLISHER, boston

portrait of BEAUMARCHAIS, BY NATTIER, 1765

BEAUMARCHAIS And the War of
American Independence

BY
ELIZABETH S. KITE
Di-pldme d' instruction Primaire-Supirieure, Paris, 1005
Member of the Staff oJ the Vineland Research Laboratory

WITH A FOREWORD BY
JAMES M. BECK
Author of "The Evidence in the Caae"

TWO VOLUMES
VOLUME ONE

ILLUSTRATED

BOSTON
RICHARD G, BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS

Copyright, 1918, bt Richard G. Badger

AU Rights Reserved

Made in the United States of America

The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.

TO THE MEMORY OF
MY BROTHER

"We have been surprised that no descendant of Beaumarchais
was invited to represent France at the unveiling of that Statue
of Liberty, upon the pedestal of which his name would not be
out of place by the side of that of Lafayette. Since 1870 Mr.
Bigelow has invited his compatriots to ask themselves seriously
if they have done their whole duty towards the memory of
Beaumarchais." E. Lintilhac.
"Beaumarchais et ses ceuvres,"
Paris, 1887,

FOREWORD
IF "good wine needs no bush" and a "good play needs no
epilogue," — and Ave have high authority for both these
maxims, — then it should also be true that a good book needs
no prologue, especially where, as in the case of Beaumar
chais and the War of American Independence, the author
has prefaced a valuable contribution to history by a schol
arly and elFective introduction.
Notwithstanding this, it gives me pleasure to introduce
Miss Elizabeth S. Kite's work to the American public by a
tribute to its value as a timely contribution alike to the truth
of history and the spirit of patriotism. In these "times that
tr}' men's souls," the latter consideration may be the more
important. The historic tie, which binds together the two great Re
publics (France and the United States) in, please God, an
indissoluble alliance, cannot be too constantly emphasized at
this time.
It is difficult for America to play the full part, which it
should play in the present world tragedy of supreme interest,
unless its people have a conscious sense of their vital interest
in the great issues of the titanic struggle. Unfortunately
our century-old policy of isolation has until recent months
given them a somewhat provincial view of world politics.
The balance of power and similar questions, which were
primarily of European origin and interest, but which
vitally afi^ect the whole world in these days, when Civilization
is unified by the centripetal ties of steam and electricity.

10 Foreword
were until recent months only of academic interest to the
average American, who like Gallic, "cared for none of
these things." The result was that at the beginning of the
world war, the average American felt that we were not as a
nation concerned with the causes of the quarrel, and to this
narrow and apathetic attitude is to be justly attributed
America's temporary infidelity to its noblest ideals and vital
interests for a period of nearly three years. Fortunately,
this policy of narrowing isolation is at an end. President
Wilson's epoch-making message of January 9, 1918, dealt
with world-wide problems from a cosmopolitan attitude that
would have been impossible less than twelve months ago.
The transformation of America from a politically hermit
nation to a, if not the, leading world power has been amaz
ing in its swiftness.
Even at the beginning of the world crisis, one circum
stance gave America a partial, although an inadequate, ap
preciation that America had a direct relation to the issues of
the world war. It was the instinctive feeling that the Ameri
can people owed something to its ancient ally, France. It
was not that the average American believed that France's
interests were our interests, but a sub-conscious feeling of
gratitude stirred America's emotions and slowly developed an
ever-growing sentiment that Araerica could not stand idly
by, Avhen its ancient ally was in danger of destruction as
a world power.
The submarine peril gave to America a practical interest
in the war, but as it affected only a small portion of the
nation, the denial of our rights on the high seas
did not have an appeal to the American people, which, of
itself, would have reconciled them to the inevitable sacrifices
of the war. In the soul of America, there was always a
deeper, even if a subconscious feeling, which power-

foreword 11
fully moved her emotions and sympathies ; and that feeling
was one of deep solicitude for the great nation, which, in our
hour of peril, had come to our relief and whose destruction
as a beneficent world force would have been an irreparable
disaster to Civilization. This feeling of gratitude — and re
publics are not always ungrateful — was powerfully stimu
lated by the admiration with which we witnessed the heroism
of France in beating back a more powerful invader on the
Marne, and later in the titanic struggle at Verdun, and on
the Somme.
This factor in America's epoch-making departure from its
traditional policy of isolation would have been even greater
had the average American known sufficient of his own his
tory to realize the full measure of his country's obligation to
France. It is an extraordinary fact that the average Amer
ican has scant knowledge of his own history, with the ex
ception of the few basic and elementary facts which are
taught in the schools. As a very practical people we are
more interested in*the living present and the future, and
are too little concerned with our past. If the American
reads history at all, he is more apt to study the Napoleonic
wars, which always have ha.d a fascinating interest for Amer
icans because of the dramatic features of Napoleon's career,
and because in his earlier career he represented the demo
cratic principle of the "career open to talent."
If this lack of knowledge of American history were not
so, this book would not be as much of a revelation to the
average American, as I am confident it will be. I venture
to say that not one in a hundred Americans ever heard of
Beaumarchais as one of the earliest and most effective friends
of the Colonies in their epic struggle for independence.
The writer of this foreword studied the facts, which are
so effectively and attractively narrated in this volume, some

12 Foreword
years ago ; and although he always had been from early boy
hood a student of history, the facts were then new to him and
came with the force of a revelation. Since then, I have taken
occasion to make many inquiries among educated Americans,
and found few who had any adequate knowledge of the facts
narrated in this book.
I have made a number of addresses on the same subject,
which Miss Kite has so fully and ably treated, and I have
found few in any audience, even of educated Americans, to
whom the story of Beaumarchais did not come as a new and
almost incredible chapter in history.
In my book, The War and Humanity, in discussing
America's lack of vision and the failure of its colleges and
universities to teach adequately to the American youth their
own history, I took occasion to say that if the ten most
brilliant students of the senior classes of the ten leading
universities were asked the simple question, "How did aid
first come to America from France" that not five per cent
could answer the question correctly. I referred to the secret
aid which Beaumarchais secured for the armies of Wash
ington, without which the American Revolution might have
ended in a fiasco before Dr. Franklin reached Paris in his
quest for such aid.
The great diplomat's serAaces in France in securing the
formal alliance of 1778, and the immense prestige which he
there enjoyed, have served to obscure the inestimable serv
ices of his predecessors in the great work, like Beaumar
chais and Silas Deane, For it is true beyond question that
before Dr, Franklin ever left America on his great mission,
France was secretly aiding the Colonies, and that no one
was more responsible for that aid than the distinguished
author of The Barber of Seville and The Marriage of Figaro.
All that the average American knows of the subject is that

Foreword 13
Dr. Franklin was well received in France, and that after the
battle of Saratoga, the French Government decided to enter
into a formal alliance with America ; and sent to Washington
its armies and navies under Rochambeau and De Grasse,
and that among the bhivalrous volunteers was Lafayette, a
household name in every American home. Without depre
ciating the chivalrous services of the knightly Marquis, his
contribution to the foundation of the American nation from
a practical standpoint was less than that of Beaumarchais ;
but while Lafayette's name is lisped with affectionate grati
tude by every American child, the names of America's earlier
friends in France, like Beaumarchais and the great foreign
Minister, Vergennes, are almost unknown.
Had Beaumarchais's services in sending arms and muni
tions to Washington's army, when they were so imperatively
needed, been better known, there might have been a less dan
gerous agitation in the American Congress for an embargo
on the shipment of arms and munitions to France in those
earlier days of the present Avar, when France stood at a
great disadvantage with its powerful adversary by reason of
its comparative lack of equipment.
It is this circumstance that makes Miss Kite's book a
valuable contribution to the cause of patriotism. Every
American who reads it will have a deeper sense of obligation
to France; and in the trying days that are coming to Amer
ica, this inestimable debt to France requires restatement,
and this book thus renders a timely and patriotic service.
Apart from this consideration, Miss Kite's book is a very
interesting contribution to the portrait gallery of biography.
It tells us of one of the most fascinating personalities that
history has ever known. It reads like a romance of
Dumas. Indeed, I always think of Beaumarchais as a
D'Artagnan in the flesh. If the facts were not so well

14 Foreword
authenticated they would be regarded as the wildest romance.
Beaumarchais was a true child of the Renaissance. I
sometimes think that in the lengthening vista of the centuries
to come, the Renaissance — that indeterminate period — will
be regarded as having ended with the coming of the steam
ship and the railroad. Until the dawn of the present indus
trial era, men still differed but slightly from the wonderful
children of the golden Renaissance. Leonardo da Vinci was
reincarnated in Benjamin Franklin. The stupendous genius
of such men as Da Vinci and Michael Angelo can have no
parallel in present times, for the industrial era is the age of
specialization. Similarly Beaumarchais was an Eighteenth Century re
incarnation of Benvenuto Cellini, and like him, was a strange
mixture of genius and adventurer. Unlike Cellini, Beau
marchais with all his failings had a certain nobility of char
acter, which will endear him to all, who follow in this
notable biography his extraordinary career.
In some respects a camoufleur, he yet played the part of
a hero throughout his trying and arduous career, and ren
dered a great service to the coming of the democratic era.
As a litterateur, he was as brilliant as Richard Brinsley
Sheridan ; as a publicist, he was another Junius ; as a finan
cier, something of a Harriman ; as a secret emissary of the
French Government, something of a Sherlock Holmes ; as a
diplomat, as clever as Talleyrand.
A farseeing statesman, he was one of the extraordinary
characters of an extraordinary era. His influence in pre
cipitating the French Revolution was recognized by Na
poleon himself, when he said that the memorials of Beaumar
chais in his great struggle against the corrupt judiciary of
France, which in their destructive force are nothing under
valued to the polemics of Junius, was "the Revolution in

i< orewora 16
action." There is no need to commend Miss Kite's book to the
reader, for even though she had not treated an exceptionally
interesting subject with literary skill, yet the subject mat
ter is of such fascinating interest that the story tells itself.
The only limitation will be that the average reader, be
cause of the intensely dramatic character of the story, will
wonder whether the book is romance or fiction. It is only
necessary to refer such doubters to the French archives
where it will be found that all that Miss Kite has told is as
well authenticated as any biography, and thus again the
ancient adage is vindicated that "truth is stranger than
fiction."
James M. Beck.

PREFACE
T N 1905 while in London I availed myself of the oppor-
-¦¦ tunity to attend the courses in general history given by
the late Dr. Emil Reich at various educational centers —
Gresham College, the Polytechnique, the University of Lon
don, etc. The originality and force of his method of teach
ing attracted me strongly, though the desire to be able to
reply to his attacks upon the people of my own country was
the most powerful incentive that led me to follow him to every
corner of London where his courses were given.
The most frequently reiterated accusation made against
Americans Avas that of ingratitude, as shown by our utterly
ignoring the services of Beaumarchais in the cause of Amer
ican Independence. This made me indignant.
Having studied United States history since my childhood
and being familiar with almost everything written on the
subject, I naturally asked myself if it were possible that this
man, whose name I knew only in connection with French
literature, had any conspicuous part to play in the securing
of our independence. The idea seemed to me as absurd and
impossible as it was novel.
For nine months I listened to these accusations without
the slightest change in my attitude and without even a dawn
ing of real interest in the subject so frequently referred to.
Then I Avent to Paris to complete a three months' course of
study. On my return I again took up general history under
17

18 Preface
Dr. Reich. It so fell out, that his first lecture was upon
the American Revolution. It was most illuminating. This
time he approached the subject directly and without any re
marks offensive to American pride. Before he had finished,
I found myself wondering where I could learn more in regard
to a matter which seemed to be very interesting. The next
day, following his advice, I went to the British Museum,
where to my amazement I found so many volumes in French,
German, and Italian, and also some English translations,
all dealing with this subject, that I was compelled to admit
that America did seem to be alone in her ignorance of all
that France had done for her. Moreover, as I turned and
returned the pages of that monumental work of H. Doniol's,
La Participation de la France dans L'etablissement des
Etats-Unis, and read or glanced over the memoii-s of Beau
marchais to the king and to his ministers, and their replies,
I realized that Dr. Reich had known very well Avhat he was
saying and that what he said was true.
Under his direction then, this book was compiled — for it
claims to be very little else than a bringing together of the
documentary material bearing upon the subject, and so ar
ranged as to make a continuous story. But this "bringing
together" soon came to be a labor of love, for I found like
Gudin, that it was impossible to know Beaumarchais inti
mately and to appreciate him only moderately.
But in 1906, when I left London, the time was not ripe for
the production of the work, because the attitude of the
American pubhc was very much like my own during those
few months when the subject was first brought to my atten
tion. It was laid aside, and I waited. In the twelve years
that have intervened, I occasionally have drawn forth a few
chapters to read to a group of friends, whose interest has
always assured me that some day the American Public

Preface 19
would be ready to meet "their friend" — as Beaumarchais
always styled himself in regard to them.
Finally in the fall of 1916 I received, through Miss Ade
laide Fitch of the Hannah Arnett Chapter of the D. R.'s of
Vineland, New Jersey, an invitation to speak upon this sub
ject before that body. Without doubt a very real interest
was awakened among my hearers and as a result of such en
couragement I confided to Miss Fitch my entire manuscript,
which I had not read myself in ten years, and with her I
continued, during the winter that followed, to live over again
the joys of my first discovery of America's "Friend." When
the French Commission arrived in the United States in April,
1917, public interest began rapidly to center in France.
Her aid to America was no longer a matter of indifference.
The time seemed ripe and so the work was prepared for
publication. My thanks are here tendered to the many friends who have
aided me by their interest or by their practical help — first,
to Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Fels in whose hospitable London
home the work was begun ; to Fi-aulein Hedwig Appell, whose
sympathetic interest brightened many a dark hour in those
far off London days ; to Miss Mary Starbuck of Nantucket,
Massachusetts, whose intelligent criticisms often have been
of great value ;. to my nephews Joshua A. Cope and St.
Alban Kite, to Miss Adelaide Fitch, Miss Eleanor Gray,
Miss Jane GriflSths, Miss Flora Otis, Mrs. H. S. Wood — all
of whose friendly reassurances haA^e kept the embers glowing
under the ashes of deferred hope. Among the many others
who have aided directly or indirectly in the preparation of
the book I would thank Mr. Joseph P. Byers, Madame
Schwaar and Mademoiselle Schwaar of Philadelphia ; Dr.
Henry H. Goddard, Dr. C. T. Jones of Vineland, New Jer
sey ; and the Religious of the Cenacle, New York, and of the

20 Preface
Sacred Heart and of the Holy Child Jesus, Philadelphia,
whose interest and prayers have constantly followed the
work. Morton, Pa., Elizabeth S. Kite.
May 1, 1918.

CONTENTS
PAGB
Foreword  9
By Hon. James M. Beck.
Preface  .17
Historical Introduction  .27
CHAPTER I
Early life — Trained by his Father to the Trade of Watchmaiter —
Invents an Escapement for AVatches — First Lawsuit — Horloger
du Eoi — Enters the Court of Versailles as Contrdleur clerc
d'office — First Marriage — Assumes the name oT'Eeamnarchais —
Death of his AVife — Becomes Music Master to the Princesses
of France — Attracts the Attention of Paris du Verney . . 43
CHAPTER II
Induces the Princesses to Visit the Ecole MUitaire Establislied by
du Verney — First Financial Successes — Certain Great Lords
mis hors du combat — "The Frbre Charmant" — the Devoted Son
— Preparations for Trip to Spain  69
CHAPTER III
Adventure with Clavico — Business Negotiations in Spain — Life of
Pleasure at the Spanish Capital — Home Interests and Letters 85
CHAPTER IV
The Beautiful Creole, Pauline — Beaumarchais the Judge, the
Lover, the Friend — Mademoiselle de Boisgarnier Marries Janot
de Miron — The Pfere Caron's Second Marriage .... 105
CHAPTER V
New study of Beaumarchais by Lintilhac — Beaumarchais's Re
turn from Madrid — The Lover~of Julie Carries off Pauline —
21

22 CONTENTS
PAG
the Bdglement de compte which Terminated this Romantic Chap
ter of the Life of Beaumarchais  13i
CHAPTER VI
"Eugenie" — "Les deux Amis" — Second Marriage of Beaumarchais
— The Forest of Chinon — Death of Madame de Beaumarchais 14!
CHAPTER VII
The Death of Paris du A^erney — The Lawsuit La Blache — Judg
ment Rendered in Favor of Beaumarchais — The Comte de La
Blache — Appeals to the New Parliament — Pj-ivate Life ^f
Beaucaafebais— at-~^is Period  16'
« CHAPTER A'lII
Beaumarchais and the Due de Chaulnes — Attempt Upon the Life
of Beaumarchais — Same Evening Gives the Promised Reading
of Le Barbier de Seville. — Victim of a Lettre de Cachet . . 17f
CHAPTER IX
Beaumarchais at For-l'EvSque — Letter to his Little FrienJ—
Second Trial in the Suit Instituted Against Him by the Count
de La Blache — Efforts to secure an Audience with the Reporter
Goezman — Second Judgment Rendered Against Beaumarchais —
He Obtains his Liberty — Loudly Demands the Return of his
Fifteen Louis  19e
CHAPTER X
The Goezman Lawsuit — The Famous Memoirs of Beaumarchais . 215
CHAPTER XI
The Preparation of the Memoirs — Aid Rendered by Family and ,
Friends — The Judgment — Beaumarchais blAme — Enters the
Secret Service of tlie King — Gudin Relates the Circumstances of
the Meeting between the Civilly DegTaded Man and Her AVho
Became His Third AVife— The P^re Caron's Third Marriage . 23i
CHAPTER x/K
Beaumarchais Goes to London in Quality of Secret Agent ot
Louis XV — Theveneau de Morande and His Oazetier Cuirass^ 

CONTENTS 23
1/ PAGE
The King Dies — Beaumarchais's Second Mission Under Louis
XVI — Playing Figaro upon the Stage of Life — Visits the Em- /
press of Austria — Is Imprisoned at Vienna — Addresses Memoir
to the King — Confers with the Ministers upon the Recall of the
Parliaments  248
CHAPTER XIII
The Character of Figaro — The First Performance of Le Barbier
de Seville — Its Success after Failure — Beaumarchais's Innova
tion at the Closing of the Theatre — His First Request for an
Exact Account from the Actors — Barbier de Seville at the Petit-
Trianon  269
CHAPTER XIV
Beaumarchais Undertaltes to Protect the Rights of Dramatic
Authors — Lawsuit with the Comidie Frangaise — Founder of the
First Society of Dramatic Authors — Jealousies Among Them
selves Retard Success — National Assembly Grants Decree 1791
— Final Form Given by Napoleon  286

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING PAQB

Portrait of Beaumarchais, by Nattier, 17G5 . . . Frontispiece
Palace of Versailles  33
Louis XV  56
Marie Leczinsica, AVife of Louis XV  60
Ecole MUitaire  70
Madame de Pompadour  90
Princess de Lamballe  120
Euginie  148
Le Jardin du Petit-Trianon  162
Madame du Barry  176
Title page of the Memoirs of M. Caron de Beaumarchais . . 216
Figaro  236
Louis XVI ...  254
Marie Antoinette  270
Le Petit-Trianon  282
Charles Philippe — Comte d'Artois  292

35

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
rX^HE primary cause of discontent among the American
-¦• colonies, which led to the Declaration of Independence
in 1776, was the proclamation by the King of England after
the evacuation of America by the French in 1763, forbidding
the colonists to extend their settlements west of the
Alleghenies. ^
This proclamation instantly roused the ire of the men of
the New World, for the war waged for so many years in the
wilderness against the French and the Indians had taught the
settlers the incomparable value of their vast "Hinterland,"
and having won at so great cost and by such effort a footing
on the coast, they were by no means willing to be dictated to
in the matter of expansion. Like stalwart sons of a mighty
race, grown to manhood in heroic struggle with the forces of
nature, brought to self-consciousness by the conflict they had
endured, these men of the New World felt within themselves
the power, and therefore believed in their right, to conquer
the great and almost unexplored wilderness lying beyond
them. From the moment they were made to feel a restriction
to their liberty in this direction, there was nothing wanting
but a pretext for breaking with the mother country. Nor
had they long to wait. One petty act of tyranny after an
other showed the determination of the English King still to
treat as a child the son now grown to manhood. At length
the time was ripe and the outbreak came.
Righteous indignation and personal prowess, however, are
' See Bancroft, Vol. Ill, p, 62. 27

28 Historical Introduction
of themselves unable to win battles or to insure victory. To
be effective they must rest upon a material basis, and in the
contest of the colonies with England this material basis was
conspicuously wanting.
Sparingly provided with munitions of war, possessing no
central government, and lacking unity among themselves, the
colonies seemed at the first to be leading a forlorn hope. The
feeling of resentment roused by the arbitrary interference
of England was indeed great, yet the jealousy that existed
between the colonies themselves was, if possible, greater still,^
Nor was this surprising. Up to the time of forming the
determination to break with England there had been no com
mon interest to unite them. Neither habits of life nor uni
formity of opinion bound them together; on the contrary,
the causes which had brought them into being were just so
many forces tending to keep them widely apart. It was this
spirit of jealous fear that made of the Continental Congress
a body so conspicuously devoid of dignity and incapable of
commanding respect either at home or abroad. Composed
of delegates representing the colonies, this improvised body
found itself, when assembled in Philadelphia, practically with
out power. It could advise and suggest, but it had no au
thority to tax the people or even to levy troops.^
The presence of members representing different party fac
tions was a fertile source of discord. More than once the
whole cause was brought to the brink of ruin through the in
judicious actions of this incompetent body.* Once it was
put to flight by a handful of drunken soldiers and during
the entire course of its existence it remained a living demon
stration of the fact that where there is no authority, no
"See John Fiske's American Bevohition, Vol. I, p. 244.
° J. Fiske's American Revolution, Vol. I, p. 243.
*J. Fiske's American Revolution, Vol. II, pp. 27-32.

Historical Introduction 29
respect can be commanded, no law enforced.
In this state of affairs help from outside was imperatively
needed and eagerly sought. The question that presented it
self was, to whom could the Americans turn in their dilemma.
Naturally to no second-rate European power, for in com
bating England, England so lately victorious over all her
enemies, powerful support was necessary; and for powerful
support to whom could she turn but to France.'' (Geo. Ban
croft, Vol. IV, p. 360.) It is not therefore surprising that
Ave find her looking in this direction. Nor was France her
self indifferent to the situation for she was still smarting
under the humiliating treaty of 1763, The blood of every
true-born Frenchman boiled with indignation when he realized
the position to which his proud nation had been brought
through the frivolity and egotism of Louis XV, From her
place among the nations France had been cast down. She
had fallen, not because her own courage or strength had
failed her, but because she had been foully betrayed by those
who placed the satisfaction of their immense egotism before
their country's honor ; she was burning with desire to vin
dicate herself before the nations of the earth, and to recon
quer her place among them. No wonder, then, that she
hailed with joy the first symptoms shown by the Americans
of resistance to British rule.
On the part of the colonists, however, there was no feel
ing of real sympathy uniting them with the French, Eng
lish still at heart, though for the moment fighting against
England, the descendants of the Puritans looked with a half
disdain upon what they considered the light and frivolous
French, More than this, the war terminated by the treaty
of 1763 had left many bitter memories : — Indian massacres,
and midnight atrocities, all laid at the door of England's
historic foe. Moreover, the disinterestedness of her offers

30 Historical Introduction
of help seemed to the colonists at the beginning to be open to
question. Had France for a moment shown signs of a de
sire to regain her footing upon the western continent, there
was not an American but would have scorned her proffered
services. Upon this point, indeed, they were one — their
"Hinterland." For this they would fight, and in regard to
this they would make no compromises.
Perhaps even better than they themselves, France under
stood the instinctive attitude of the Americans towards their
own continent, and her first care was to assure the colonists
that in case she should decide to come to their assistance it
would be Avith no intention of laying claim to any part of the
New World. (See Recommendations to Bonvouloir, by the
Comte de Vergennes — "Canada," he says, "is with them le
point jaloux; they must be made to understand that we do
not think of it in the least.") ^
But however 'great her interest in the struggle, however
enthusiastic her admiration of the heroic part played by the
colonists, she was yet far from desiring to enter prematurely
into the contest by openly espousing their cause at the mo
ment. As a people, she might give them her moral support,
but as a body politic she was forced to act with extreme cau
tion, for not only was the treasury exhausted, the army and
navy demoralized," but above all the irresolute character of
the young Monarch, his settled aversion to war, his abhor
rence of insurrection, were almost insurmountable obstacles
Avhich had to be overcome before the French Government
could attempt to send aid to the insurgent colonies.
The interests of France were, however, too deeply involved
to permit the ministry to look on as idle spectators, and early
in 1775 Bonvouloir had been sent to Philadelphia with secret
"H. Doniol, Vol. I, p. 129.
'See Turgot's Address to the King; Bancroft, Vol. IV, p. 369.

Historicat Introduction 31
instructions to sound the attitude of Congress in regard to
France, but bearing positive orders to compromise the Gov
ernment in no wise by rousing in the colonies hope of
assistance. As soon, however, as it became known that a kindly inter
est was felt for them by France, the secret committee of
Congress began to investigate how far this interest could be
relied upon for the benefit of their cause. ^
Early in the summer of 1776, Silas Deane was sent to
Paris with a commission to secure the urgently needed mili
tary supplies and also to enlist foreign officers, especially
engineers, for the war. He was received at Versailles in a
friendly manner, and though no open support was given him,
a secret agent of the Government was pointed out, and Deane
was made to understand that there would be no interference
with any proceedings that might go on between them. The
direct result of these negotiations was thawfeuring the spring
of 1777, ammunition, guns, and the complete military equip
ment for twenty-five thousand men, amounting in value to
no less than five million French livres, were landed on the
American coast. The joy of the colonists knew no bounds,
for by this time they were not only practically destitute of
all munitions of war, but they were quite without means of
securing them. The timely arrival of these immense cargoes
permitted the vigorous carrying on of the campaign of 1777
which ended in the decisive victory of Saratogalj This proved
the turning-point of the war. Emboldened by the success of
our arms. Congress began forming plans for urging upon the
French Government the open espousal of our cause. The
delicate mission of securing this recognition was entrusted
to Franklin, while the entire hope of our ultimate victory
* See Durand's New Material for the History of the American Revolve
tkm, p. 6.

32 Historical Introduction
over the British rested with the success of his endeavors.
Notwithstanding the victory which terminated the cam
paign of 1777, the winter that followed was in reality the
darkest period of the war. While the fate of the new nation
hung in the balance at the court of Versailles, the forlorn
remnant of the American Army, half-clothed and half-fed,
was wintering under the command of Washington at Valley
Forge, and the incompetent Congress, unable to supply men
or money to the pubhc cause, was exerting what influence
it possessed in undermining the authority of Washington, the
one man who in this time of general depression, by his quiet
strength and unwavering faith, was able to infuse hope and
courage into the hearts of the forlorn upholders of the cause
of independence. Had Congress possessed the power, it
would have supplanted him in command by the mock hero of
Saratoga, the scheming Gates, who had succeeded in having
himself named to the command of the forces of the north, at
the moment when the scattered divisions of the army under
Herkimer, Schuyler, and Arnold, had been able to unite their
forces and entrap Burgoyne at Saratoga. The subsequent
career of Gates in the South showed him to have been a man
of unprincipled character and devoid of real ability, so that
the danger to the country was very great. Fortunately Con
gress did not possess this power and Washington remained
Commander-in-Chief of the American Army.*
With the spring, however, fresh hope came to the budding
nation. The winter passed so painfully at Valley Forge had
not been spent in vain ; the men had grown used to camp life,
and under the excellent discipline of Baron von Steuben, they
had become the nucleus of a formidable army that was ready
to take the field. With the spring, too, came news of the
'For an account of the cabal formed for replacing AVashington in
his command, see Fiske's American Revolution,. Vol, II, p. 32.

PALACE OF VERSAILLE

Historical Introduction 33
alliance which Franklin had been able to consummate at the
Court of Versailles. Already victory seemed assured for the
cause of independence. Not only had the colonies become
more united in interest and better trained in the art of war,
but England found herself confronted by a new and formid
able enemy which gave to the war a different aspect. Mil
lions of money at once began to pour into the treasury of the
new nation, while armies and fleets were sent to help fight
her battles and to guard her coasts. From this time forward,
the aid rendered by France was openly avowed; no more
mystery was necessary, and the results are too generally
known to need dwelling upon here. It is sufficient to recall
that after two more years of fighting, came the brilliant vic
tory of De Grasse over the English fleet off Cape Henry,
at the moment when Cornwallis had taken up his position on
the peninsula of Yorktown, confidently relying upon the Eng
lish supremacy of the seas ; that later through the masterful
tactics of Washington, aided by the genius of Rochambeau,
the combined American and French forces were rapidly
moved southward, cutting off the retreat of Cornwallis ; and
two years later, that peace was declared which deprived Eng
land of her American Colonies.
The very important role played by France in this gigantic
drama never has received due recognition even in her own
annals. Its significance was dwarfed by the stupendous
events which followed so soon after, known as the French
Revolution. Naturally England has taken little public notice of French
achievement in this war; like all nations, she dwells upon her
victories more than upon her defeats, so that the entire sub
ject of the War of American Independence has received scant
attention from her historians.
The conspicuous lack of recognition among Americans of

34 Historical Intro:duction
the value of French aid is certainly less pardonable. Real
gratitude is so rare and fine a quality that it is hardly to be
expected from aggregates of mankind, yet from America,
indeed, we have the right to expect it, for she is a country
preeminently based upon high ideals. Her children always
have been taught to sound the praises of her national heroes,
especially those of '76 who won for us liberty and independ
ence. But shall America stop here and refuse to tell them
the whole truth about our national existence? There can
be no danger to the patriotism of our children in giving them
a correct idea of what we as a nation owe to France, for the
actions of our own heroes can lose none of their lustre by a
generous recognition of what we owe others.
In giving the rising generation a true understanding of
what we as Americans owe the nation that stood by us in our
time of trial, we shall be training them to an ideal higher
than that of mere patriotism, namely, that of justice.
A decided step in this direction was taken a few years ago,
when Theodore Roosevelt, then President of the United
States, caused a statue of the French General Rochambeau
to be erected at Washington and in so doing opened the way
to a more general recognition of a great historical truth.
In 1917, the arrival upon our shores of the Allied Mis
sions has struck a new note in our national consciousness.
Resentment toAvards England has died away long ago and
warm friendship has taken its place. For France nothing
but the most enthusiastic admiration exists, and men's minds
everywhere are opening to a new realization of the part that
that country has always played in the grand epic of human
emancipation. But America's debt of gratitude to France never can be
fully repaid until she has been brought to consider the claims
of the one Frenchman who was the first of all Europeans

Historical Introduction 35
to recognize the importance of the uprising among the colon
ists. This is no other than Caron de Beaumarchais, the
secret agent to whom Silas Deane had been directed by the
French Ministers in 1776. That his claim to the gratitude of
Americans has so long been neglected is due to a complexity
of causes, chief of which is the fact that not until 1886 were
the archives of the French Government touching this period,
given to the public* Among these archives may be found
the complete outline of the help given by France to America
during the period which elapsed between the arrival of
Deane in 1776 and the open recognition by France of Ameri
can Independence in 1778, all of which aid passed through
the hands of Beaumarchais. After a careful study of these
documents it must be conceded that to him belongs the credit
of having roused the French Government to a realization of
the honorable part it might play in the great conflict. Long
before the historic dinner at Metz, where Lafayette conceived
his chivalrous design, before even the Signing of the Declara
tion of Independence, Beaumarchais had planned and worked
out the details of the aid to be rendered by France and then
literally had forced the cautious and conservative government
of France into acquiescence with his plans.
The earliest authentic biography of this remarkable man
was from the pen of his ardent admirer and lifelong friend,
Gudin de la Brenellerie. It was intended to be prefixed to
the first edition of the works of Beaumarchais which ap
peared in 1809, This biography was suppressed, however, '
for Gudin, it would seem, was an old philosopher of the
eighteenth century who had outlived his time. In writing the
life of his friend, the spirit of freedom revived in his breast.
The Declaration of Independence called from him imprudent
° H. Doniol, La Participation de la France dans I'dtablissement de9
Etati-Unis, Paris, '86-'93, in five folio volupies,

36 Historical Introduction
outbursts of enthusiasm. Almost every page gave expression
to the ideas that filled men's minds in the days before the
' Revolution, In 1809 such expressions were not only out of
¦ place : they were dangerous, Madame de Beaumarchais felt
that it was wiser to suppress the work, dreading lest it should
bring upon her family the hostile attention of the emperor.
It was therefore set aside. Although many of its pages after
wards appeared in the remarkable life of Beaumarchais by
Monsieur de Lomenie, it was not until many years later that
Gudin's work as a whole was given to the public.-'''
By fai- the most important of the many lives of Beaumar-
; chais, which have appeared, is the Study by Louis de Lo-
' menie, from unedited letters and documents preserved in the
family, which was published in 1855. In this work Beaumar
chais's participation in the cause of American independence
was first made known to the French public. It is incomplete,
however, because in 1855 the Secret Archives of the French
Government relative to this period, were not accessible. The
German biography by Bettleheim published in 1886, lays
more emphasis upon the importance of Beaumarchais's aid
in the War of American Independence than has come from
any other recent writer. But it, too, is only fragmentary.
In 1887 came the master work by E. Lintilhac — ^which is
chiefly, however, a critical analysis of Beaumarchais's liter
ary productions, barely touching upon his other activi
ties, and making no attempt to penetrate his political career.
This is natural; recognition of the services rendered by
Beaumarchais in the War of Independence rightly should
come first from America, since it was primarily America that
was benefited by those services.
But until recently the Hon. John Bigelow is the only
^"Histoire de Beaumarchais, by Paul Philippe Gudin de la BreneUerie.
Edited by Maurice Tourneux, Paris, 1888,

Historical Introduction 37
American who has rendered anything like adequate justice to
the merits of this great Frenchman in advocating our cause.
During the years that Mr. Bigelow was minister to France,
he made the acquaintance of descendants of Beaumarchais
and was given free access to family papers dealing with the
subject. In 1870, in an article entitled Beaumarchais, The
Merchant read before the New York Historical Society, Mr.
Bigelow says: "To him (Beaumarchais) more than to any
other person belongs the credit of making Louis XVI com
prehend the political importance of aiding the Colonies in
their struggle with Great Britain; he planned and executed
the ingenious scheme by which the aid was to be extended ;
he sent the first munitions of war and supplies which the
Colonists received from abroad and he sent them too, at a
time when, humanly speaking, it was reasonably certain that
without such aid from some quarter, the Colonists must have
succuinbed. He, too, was mainly responsible for sending
them forty or fifty superior ofBcers, some of whom not only
rendered incalculable service in the field, but a still greater
service, perhaps, in enlisting for the Colonies the sympathies
of continental Europe."
In making a close survey of the part played by Beaumar
chais in the cause of American independence, it would seem
that we as a nation owe to him not only a debt of gratitude,
but also one of reparation.^ ^ Surely this is not because we
" A similar debt of reparation is still owed by America to the memory
of Silas Deane. As his part in the great conflict was closely inter
woven with that of Beaumarchais, the suspicions that fell upon one
were necessarily shared by the other — and both rested under the same
impossibility of justifying themselves before the world. The publica
tion of the French archives has done for both men what they could
not do for themselves, and though the treatment accorded Silas Deane
by Congress drove him to such despondency that he subsequently lost
faith in the American cause, no shadow rests upon the patriotism which
inspired his early efforts in that cause. Charlemagne Tower, Jr., in his

38 Historical Introduction
are incapable of gratitude. The young and chivalrous La
fayette, throwing himself heart and soul into our cause, won
an undying place in the hearts of the American people. We
shall learn, however, that even Lafayette owed something to
Beaumarchais, Universal gratitude is felt also for the inestimable serv
ices rendered by Baron von Steuben ; and here it is primarily
to Beaumarchais that we are indebted for those services.
It is easy to give honor where nothing else is required to
be paid; neither Baron von Steuben, nor any other officer,
received from us money for their services; they did not
need to ask it, for the purse of Beaumarchais was ever open
to aid the friends of America when other means were want
ing ; but because Beaumarchais expected tobacco and indigo
in return for the several million dollars' worth of ammuni
tion and other supplies which he had furnished the American
cause, he was denied all claims to gratitude, although it was
his own boundless energy and enterprise that had overcome
all obstacles in sending those supplies upon which success
depended. More than this, his financial claims were long
ignored and he himself was stamped with the character of a
dishonest adventurer.
It cannot be denied, however, that Beaumarchais's own
character lent itself to misrepresentation. The very bril
liancy and versatility of his genius was a snare to him, while
the expansiveness of his nature gave such an air of adven
ture to his most sober acts, that they often were regarded
with suspicion by those whom he most desired to serve. The
misunderstandings which arose from these innate qualities
were keenly felt by Beaumarchais, Moreover, he early real-
The Marquis de La Fayette in the Americcm. Revolution has given to
the public all the essential documents which show the claim to gratitude
which Silas Deane has upon the American people.

Historical Introduction 39
ized that the ministry, while making use of his rare abilities,
intended to keep him in the background, Beaumarchais
was neither willing to forego recognition nor resigned to the
obscurity in which he was left. The gay philosophy of his
nature enabled him to laugh at his misfortunes, although it
Avas only as he himself has said through his creation,
Figaro, "that he might not be obliged to weep," Stung to
the quick on finding himself thrust aside in the midst of his
almost superhuman exertions in the American cause, he
turned for relief to lighter matters and found distraction
by writing Le Mariage de Figaro, the gayest comedy per
haps ever put upon the stage, and one so full of political sig
nificance that it was condemned by the authorities, though
in the end he succeeded in bringing it before the public, in
spite of the King and his ministers. Such a man was Beau
marchais, that it is no wonder that he failed to receive recog
nition for his serious labors, or that many people refused to
believe him in earnest at all. If his own nation regarded him
somewhat in the light of an adventurer, surely the men of
the New World, bred in stern necessity, accustomed to deal
only with hard facts and unyielding realities, may be judged
with less severity if they failed in comprehending the true
nature of their benefactor and friend. He himself was the
first to forgive them, and no spirit of enmity or personal re
sentment was ever to be observed in his subsequent attitude
towards them. To the end he called them "My friends, the
free men of America,"
When, during the French Revolution, Beaumarchais, find
ing himself an exile, reduced to a beggarly garret in an ob
scure quarter of Hamburg while his wife, his daughter, and
his sisters were languishing in a French prison, his property
confiscated, and his credit ruined, addressed a final des
perate appeal to the American people, begging for justice,

40 Historical Introduction
not a voice was raised in his favor. Since Robert Morris,
the Philadelphia financier, was allowed to remain for years in
a debtor's prison, it is not surprising that little interest was
roused by the claims of a foreigner, in whose existence even,
people refused seriously to believe.
Tardy and very partial justice was at last rendered the
heirs of Beaumarchais by the United States Government,
when in 1835 their claims were settled by the payment of
a portion of the debt owed to him ; but as a personality he
still remains unknown to us. The study which follows aims
at portraying this unusual character in its true colors; it
does not attempt to make of him an ideal hero, faultless and
blameless; but it endeavors to show him as he was, full of
violent contrasts, of limitless resource and energy, raising
constantly about him a whirlwind of opposition, loved by his
family and friends, hated by those whom he outstripped in
the rapidity of his advancement, plunging from one gigantic
enterprise into another, never at rest; ready at all times
to come to the aid of distress which presented itself in any
form, entering with sympathetic interest into the minutest
details, always with time for everything, but above all, -with
persistent determination demanding justice, and in the pur
suit of this aim, rousing the antagonism of all classes ; at
tacking fearlessly time-honored institutions, — literary, so
cial and judicial,^so that he becomes one of the most power
ful undermining forces which finally brought about the total
collapse of the old regime.
In his adventurous career, the part which he played in the
War of American Independence forms but an incident.
Though the primary object of this book is to .show what
that part really was, yet it is necessary to study his life
and character in order to understand why Beaumarchais
was interested in our cause, and how it came about that he
was able to render us such signal service.

BEAUMARCHAIS

AND THE WAR OP
AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE

BEAUMARCHAIS And the War of
American Independence

CHAPTER I
"Je passe encore sous silence la scene degoutante entre
deux hom/mes oil vous vous etes egare jusqu'a me reprocher
que je n'etais que le fils d'un horloger. Moi qui m'honore de
mes parents." . . .
Beaumarchais au Due de Chaulnes, 1771
Early life — Trained by his Father to the Trade of Watch
maker — Invents an Escapement for Watches — First Law
suit — Horloger du Roi — Enters the Court of Versailles
as Contrdleur clerc d'office — First Marriage — Assumes
the Name of Beaumarchais — Death of his Wife — Becomes
Music Master to the Princesses of France — Attracts the
Attention of Paris du Verney
IT was on the twenty-fourth day of January, 1732, in an
inconspicuous watchmaker's shop on the rue St. Denis in
Paris, that the child first saw the light who was baptized
Pierre-Augusttend whose family name was Caron. He was
the seventh of ten children, six of whom were gii'ls, but as
his brothers all died in infancy he was the only son of the
household and consequently its idol.
43

44 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Formed by nature for fun and frolic, the little "Pierrot"
as he was called had the merriest possible childhood. His
mother gentle, loving, and indulgent shielded her favorite
from his father, who at times was somewhat stern, while his
elder sisters petted and spoiled him, and the younger ones
entered heartily into his games and pastimes. Two of the
girls were younger than he, the one nearest his age, Julie,
was his favorite, and was also the one who most resembled
him by her talents and her native wit and gaiety. It is from
her pen that we have most of the details of their early life.
In some of her youthful rhymes Julie tells us how "Pierrot"
commanded a band of little good-for-nothings, roving about
either to plunder the larder of Margot, the cook, or re
turning at night to disturb the slumber of the peaceful in
habitants of the rue St. Denis. Again in inharmonious verse
she recounts how —
"Upon an incomm.odious seat
Arranged vn form of a pagoda
Caron presents a magistrate.
By his huge wig and linen collar.
Each one pleads with might and main,
Before that judge inexorable
That nothing wUl appease.
Whose only pleasure is to rain
Upon his clients ever pleading
Blows of fist and tongs and shovel;
And the hearing never ends,
TiU wigs and bormets roll away
In dire confusion and disorder."
But it must not be thought that the elder Caron approved
of too much levity. Although he was himself witty and

Huguenot Ancestry 45
gifted with a keen literary and artistic sense, he was above
all a serious man with an earnest: purpose in life. He was
descended from Huguenot ancestors who had managed to
live in France after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes,
although they no longer possessed a legal existence. Their
religious exercises were performed in caves' or'dark woods gr
in some desert spot. Here their marriages were solemnized
by wandering ministers. The grandparents of Pierre-Au
gust, Daniel Caron and Marie Fortain, had been thus united,
but their son, Andre-Charles Caron, shortly before his mar
riage Avith Louise Picheon in 1722, abjured his faith and
joined himself to the Catholic Church. He retained, how-
ever, his Calvinistic character.
Andre-Charles Caron, like his father, was a watchmaker
by profession. He was one of those exquisitely skilled
French workmen who had done so much for the advancement
of science in their own country, and who, when driven into
exile, made the fortune of the people among whom they
sought refuge, notably the Swiss. Not content with the ex
ercise of his profession alone, the penetrating mind of Andre-
Charles Caron led him into extensive scientific investigations
so that he came to be looked upon as an authority in many
branches of mechanics.
At ten years of age the young Pierre- August was sent by
his father to a professional school at Alfort, where he
learned the rudiments of Latin, but three years later his
father brought him home intent on his becoming a watch
maker. In the years that followed there was a period of stress
and storm during which father and son wrestled for mas
tery. Always when the latter worked he showed a dexterity
of touch, an ingenuity of invention which astonished the
father; but, on the other hand, his escapades away from

46 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
home were the despair of the stern watchmaker. The young
Caron, full of wit, of song, skillful in tricks and gay of
humor, attracted a following of youths whose tendencies
were toward a loose life and low morals.
For five long years the struggle continued between the
father and his brilliantly gifted son. Promises of amend
ment on the one hand and paternal pardon on the other
had led to nothing. Finally, since remonstrance proved in
vain, the elder Caron resorted to sterner measures : he turned
his son into the street and closed his doors against him. He
left open to the boy, nevertheless, one way of return.
Friends of the family in secret communication received the
lad, who soon showed a sincere desire to be restored to the
good graces of his father. The Pere Caron, at first inexora
ble, at length relented so far as to write the following letter,
which is still in existence :
"I have read and re-read your letter, M, Cottin has
shown me the one which you have written to him. They
seem to me wise and reasonable. The sentiments which you
therein express would be entirely to my taste if it were in
my power to believe them durable, for I suppose that they
possess a degree of sincerity with which I should be satis
fied. But your great misfortune consists in having entirely
lost my confidence; nevertheless, the friendship and esteem
which I entertain for the three respectable friends whom you
have employed, the gratitude which I owe them for their
kindness to you, force from me my consent in spite of my
self, although I believe there are four chances to one against'
your fulfilling your promises. From this, you will judge the
irreparable stain upon your reputation if you again force
me to drive you away.
"Understand then thoroughly the conditions upon which

Le Pere Caron 47
you will be allowed to return ; . . . I require full and entire
submission to my will and a marked respect in words, ac
tions, and expression of countenance; do not forget that
unless you employ as much art to please me as you have
shown in gaining my friends, you hold nothing, absolutely
nothing, and you have only worked to your harm. It is not
simply that I wish to be obeyed and respected, but you shall
anticipate in everything that which you imagine will please
me. "In regard to your mother, who has twenty times in the
past fortnight implored me to take you back, I will put off
to a private conversation on your return what I have to say
to make you thoroughly understand all the affection and
solicitude which you owe to her. Here then are the condi
tions of your return:
"First, — you shall neither make nor sell, nor cause to be
made or sold, directly or indirectly, anything which is not
for my account ; and you shall succumb no more to the
temptation of appropriating to yourself anything, even the
smallest matter, above that which I give you. You shall re
ceive no watch to be repaired under any pretext whatever,
or for any friend, no matter whom, without notifying me;
you shall never touch anything without my express permis
sion — you shall not even sell an old watch key without ac
counting for it to me,
"Second, — you shall rise at six o'clock in the summer and
at seven in the winter and you shall work till suppertime
without repugnance at whatever I give you to do ; I do not
propose that you shall employ the faculties which God has
given you, except to become celebrated in yoilr profession.
Remember that it is shameful and dishonorable to be the last
and that if you do not become the first in your profession,
you are unworthy of any consideration ; the love of so beau-

48 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
tiful a calling should penetrate your heart, and be the unique
occupation of your mind.
"Third, — you shall take your suppers always at homej
and shall not go out evenings; the suppers and evenings
abroad are too dangerous for you, but I consent that you
dine Sundays and holidays with your friends, on condition
that I know always to whom you are going and that you are
absolutely never later than nine o'clock. And furthermore
I exhort you never to ask permission contrary to this arti
cle and I advise you not to take it to yourself.
"Fourth,— you shall abandon totally your maudite
musique, and above all the company of idle people. I will
not suffer any of them. The one and the other have brought
you to what you are. Nevertheless, in consideration of your
weakness, I permit the violin and the flute, but on the ex
press condition that you never use them except after supper
on working days, and never during the day ; and you also
never shall disturb the repose of the neighbors, or my own.
"Fifth, — I shall avoid as far as possible sending you on
errands, but in cases where I shall be obliged to do so, re
member that above everything else I shall accept no poor
excuses for your being late. You know in advance how
much this article is revolting to me.
"Sixth, — I will give you your board and eighteen livres a
month which will serve for your expenses and little by little
enable you to pay your debts. It would be too dangerous
for your character and very improper in me to count with
you the price of your work and require you to pay me board.
If you devote yourself as you should, with the greatest zeal
to the improvement of my business, and if by your talents
you procure me jnore, I will give you a fourth part of the
profits of all that comes to me through you. You know
my way of thinking; you have experienced that I never al-

tiecomes an Inventor 49
low myself to be surpassed in generosity; merit therefore
that I do more for you than I promise ; but remember that
I give nothing for words, that I accept only actions.
"If my conditions suit you — if you feel strong enough to
execute them in good faith, accept them and sign your ac
ceptance at the bottom of this letter which you shall return
to me; in that case assure M. Paignon of my sincere esteem
and of my gratitude ; say to him that I shall have the honor
of seeing him and of asking him to dinner to-morrow, so
dispose yourself to return with mc to take the place which
I was very far from believing you would occupy so soon, and
perhaps never."
Beneath is written :
"Monsieur, very honored, dear father ; — I sign all your
conditions in the firm desire to execute them with the help
of the Lord ; but how sadly all this recalls to me a time Avhen
such laws and such ceremonies were unnecessary to engage
me to do my duty! It is right that I suffer the humiliation
that I have justly merited, and if all this, joined to my good
conduct, may procure for me and merit entirely the return
of your good graces and of your friendship, I shall be only
too happy. In faith of which, I sign all that is contained in
this letter. A. Caron, fls"
During the three years which followed the young man's
return to his father's house he made such rapid progress in
the art of watchmaking that we find him in 1753 making
his first appearance in public in the defense of an escape
ment for watches of which he claimed to be the inventor.
In the December number of Le Mercure of that year, the
folIoAving letter was published, which needs no commentary

50 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
to show how thoroughly his father's conditions had been
understood by the youthful genius and with what serious
purpose he had set to work.
"I have read. Monsieur," he says, "with the greatest as
tonishment, in your Septemb€r number, that M. Lepaute,
watchmaker to the Luxembourg, there announces as his in
vention, a new escapement for watches and clocks which he
says he has the honor of presenting to the King and to the
Academy. "It is of too much importance to me in the interests of
truth and of my reputation to permit him to claim this in
vention by remaining silent on the subject of a breach of
faith. "It is true that on the 23rd of July last, in the joy of myi
discovery I had the weakness to confide this escapement to
' M. Lepaute, allowing him to make use of it in a clock which
M. de Julienne had ordered of him, and whose interior he
assured me would be examined by no one, because of the
arrangement for winding of his own invention, and he alone
had the key to the clock.
"But how could I imagine that M. Lepaute would ever
undertake to appropriate to himself this escapement which
it will be seen I confided to him under the seal of secrecy.'' ,
"I have no desire to take the public by surprise, and I
have no intention to attempt to range it on my side by this
simple statement of my case; but I earnestly beg that no
more credence be extended to M. Lepaute than to me, until
the Academy shall have decided who is the author of the
new escapement. M. Lepaute evidently wishes to avoid all
explanation, for he declares that his escapement resembles
mine in no way ; but from the announcement which he makes,
I judge that it is entirely conformable to it in principle.

First Lawsuit 61
"Should the commissioners which the Academy names dis
cover a difference it will be found to proceed merely from
some fault in his construction, which will help to expose the
plagiarism. "I will not here give any of my proofs ; our commissioners
must receive them in their first form; therefore whatever
M, Lepaute may say or write against me, I shall maintain
a profound silence, until the Academy is informed and has
decided, "The judicious public will be so good as to wait until
then ; I hope this favor from their equity, and from the pro
tection which they have always, given the arts, I dare flat
ter myself, Monsieur, that you will be kind enough to insert
this letter in your next issue,
"Caron, son, watchmaker, rue St, Denis, near Sainte-
Catherine, Paris, November 15th, 1753,"
Two days before the writing of this letter the ardent
young inventor had addressed a lengthy petition to the
Royal Academy of Sciences, in which the following passage
occurs, permitting us to judge how completely watchmak
ing had become, as the father had hoped, the sole occupa
tion of his son's mind. He says : "Instructed by my father
since the age of thirteen in the art of watchmaking, and ani
mated by his example and counsels to occupy myself seri
ously with the perfecting of the art, it will not be thought
surprising that from my nineteenth year, I have endeavored
to distinguish myself therein, and to merit the public es
teem. Escapements were the first object of my reflections.
To diminish their defects, simplify and perfect them, be
came the spur which excited my ambition, , , , But what
sorrow for me if M, Lepaute succeeds in taking from me
tjie bojigr Qf a digcoverj^ which tjie Academy woul4 haye

52 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
crowned! I do not speak of the calumnies which M, Le
paute has written and circulated against my father and
me, they show a desperate cause and cover their author with
confusion. It is sufficient for the present that your judg
ment. Gentlemen, assures to me the honor which my adver
sary wishes to take from me, but which I hope to receive
from your equity and from your insight, Caron, fils
At Paris, November 13th, 1753"
The following February, two commissioners were appoint
ed to investigate the matter. In the registry of the Royal
Academy of Sciences, under the date of February 23rd,
1754, a lengthy report is given, a short extract from which
Avill suffice to show the results of the investigation,
"We therefore believe that the Academy should regard
M. Caron as the true inventor of the new escapement and
that M. Lepaute has only imitated the invention; that the
escapement of the clock presented to the Royal Academy on
the 4th of August by Lepaute, is a natural consequence of
the escapement for watches of M. Caron; that in its ap
plication to clocks, this escapement is inferior to that of
Grabain, but that it is in watches the most perfect that
has been produced, although it is the most difficult to exe
cute." Signed, "Camus and de Montigny."
"The Academy has confirmed this judgment in its assem
blies of the 20th and the 23rd of February. In consequence
of which I have delivered to M. Caron the present certificate
with a copy of the report, conformable with the delibera
tions of March 2nd at Paris."
This, March 4, 1754—
Signed, "Grand-Jean de Fouchy, Perpetual Secretary of
the Royal Academy of Sciences,"

Horloger du Roi 53
This lawsuit from which the young watchmaker issued
triumphant, proved for him a valuable piece of advertising,
for it gained him the attention of the king himself who hap
pened to have a passion for novel devices in time-pieces. It
was not long before the young Caron received an order from
His Majesty to make for him a watch having the new escape
ment. In a letter to a cousin in London dated July 31st, 1754,
less than five months after receiving the certificate, he writes :
"I have at last delivered the watch to the King by whom I
had the happiness to be recognized at once, and who remem
bered my name. His Majesty ordered me to show the watch
to all the noblemen at the lev^e and never was artist received
with so much kindness. His Majesty wished to enter into
the minutest details of my invention. The watch in a ring
for Madame de Pompadour is only four lines in diameter; it
was very much admired although it is not entirely finished.
The King asked me to make a repeater for him in the same
style. All the noblemen present followed the example of
the king and each wishes to be served first. I have also made
a curious little clock for Madame Victoire in the style of my
watches ; the King wished to make her a present of it. It
has two dials, and to whatever side one turns, the hours
always can be seen.
"Remember, my dear cousin, that this is the young man
whom you have taken under your protection and that it is
through your kindness that he hopes to become a member
of the London Society."
Even as late as June 16th, 1755, the ambition of the
young watchmaker had not extended itself as is clearly
shown in a letter addressed to Le Mercure by the young
horloger du roi as he now styles himself. In this letter he

64 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
modestly defends himself against the envy which his success
has awakened. He writes:
"Monsieur, I am a young artist who has only the honor
of being known to the public by a new escapement for
watches which the Academy has crowned with its approba
tion and of which the journals have spoken a year ago.
This success fixes me to the state of watchmaker, and I limit
my whole ambition to acquiring the science of my art. I
never have thrown an envious eye upon the productions of
others of my profession, but it is with great impatience
that I see others attempting to take from me the foundation
which by study and work I have acquired. It is this heat
of the blood, which I very much fear age will never correct,
that made me defend with so much ardor the just preten
tions which I had to the invention of my escapement when
it was contested eighteen months ago. Will you allow me
to reply to certain objections to my escapement which in
numerous writings have been made public? It is said that
the use of this escapement renders it impossible to make flat
watches, or even small ones, which if it were true would raake
the best escapement known very unsatisfactory."
After giving numerous technical details the young watch
maker terminates thus : "By this means I make watches as
thin as may be desired, thinner even than have before been
made, without in the least diminishing their good quality.
The first of these simplified watches is in the hands of the
king. His Majesty has carried it for a year and is well
satisfied. If these facts reply to the first objection, others
reply equally to the second. I had the honor to present
to Madame de Pompadour a short time ago a watch in a ring,
which is only four lines and a half in diameter and a Une
less a third in thickness between the plates. To render this

New Vista Opens 55
ring more convenient I contrived in place of a key a circle
which surrounds the dial plate bearing a tiny projecting
hook. By drawing this hook with the finger nail about two
thirds of the circuit of the dial the watch is wound up and
goes thirty hours. Before taking it to her I watched this
ring follow exactly for five days the second hand of my
chronometer; thus in making use of my escapement and my
construction, excellent watches can be made as thin and as
small as may be desired,
"I have the honor to be, etc, Caron, fils, horloger du roi."
Although the vision of the young man was still hemmed in
by the walls of his father's shop, yet his ardent spirit was
eager for flight and was waiting only for opportunity to
test its powers. He was now twenty-three years of age; the
unparalleled success which had attended his efforts had
taught even the stern father the need of a wider field for
the genius which had so easily outstripped him in his own
calling. Satisfied now with the solid foundation in charac
ter which his own hand had helped to lay he had no desire
to stand in the way of his son's adA'ancement. As not in
frequently happens, it was a woman's hand that opened the
door and liberated the captive. Speak'tng of this period,
his friend Gudin says : "Attracted by the celebrity of his
academic triumph, a beautiful woman brought a watch to
his father's shop, either to have it repaired, or perhaps with
the design of meeting the young artist of whom so much was
said. The young man solicited the honor of returning the
watch as soon as he had repaired the disorder, and this
event, which seemed so commonplace, changed the purpo«fi
of his life and gave it a new meaning.
"The husband of this woman was an old man possessed

56 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
of a very small office, at court, whose age and infirmities al
most Incapacitated him for the performance of his duties,
he therefore sought to pass them on to the young Caron."
Here indeed was an opening which. If embraced, would
lead him into a world wholly outside that by which hereto
fore he had been surrounded. It meant for him opportu
nity. Instantly all the latent desires within him surged in
to consciousness. Springing with joy from the low bench
of his father's dimly lighted shop, the youthful genius cast
forever aside his workman's frock and with one bound en
tered the service of the king, becoming an inmate of the vast
and splendid palace of Versailles.
November 9, 1755, a warrant was issued in the name of
Louis XV, King of France from which the following is an
extract :
"Great Stewards of France, high stewards and ordinary
stewards of our household, masters and controllers of our
pantry and account room, greetings ! Upon good and
praiseworthy report which has been made to us of the per
son of M. Pierre-August Caron, and his zeal In our service,
we have this day appointed him and by these presents, signed
with our hand do appoint him to the office of one of our
clerc-controleurs of the pantry of our household, vacant by
the dismission of Pierre-August Franquet, last possessor
thereof, that he may have and exercise, enjoy and use, the
honors, authorities, prerogatives, privileges, liberties, sal
ary, rights, etc.
"Given at Versailles under the seal of our secret, Louis."
The exchange being thus oflScIally made, Pierre-August
Franquet, the aged man in question, ceded his oflSce, and In
return was to receive a yearly pension Avhich was guaran-

Clerc-Controleur 57
teed by the elder watchmaker. Although this office was too
insignificant to admit its possessor to the dignity of bearing
a title of nobility, yet certain it is that in his own estima
tion at least, the brilliant young contrdleur of the pantry
was already a member of the aristocracy and with the same
ardor which he had shown at watchmaking, he set about ac
quiring at once, and to perfection, all the external marks of
one born to that station.
His duties as contrdleur clerc d'office were not arduous ;
he was one of si.xteen similar contrdleurs who served the
king's table, four at a time, alternating quarterly. His
duty was to walk in grand livery, his sword by his side, in
the long procession which preceded the king's meat ; when
arrived at the table, he took the platter and placed it be
fore the king. Ample time was thus left him to develop
those graces of mind and of person which nature had so
lavishly bestowed upon him. For the first time he began
to feel the lack of that classical education which had been
denied him In his youth. The practical training which he
had acquired under his father's roof enabled him, however,
readily to turn the force of his intellect in this new direc
tion, so that In an Incredibly short time he acquired such a
knowledge of literature, grammar, geography, history, and
geometry as served for the basis of the important literary
work he was afterward to accomplish.
Amongst the vast collection of manuscripts from the pen
of Beaumarchais left after his death, M, de Lomenie dis
covered very many belonging to this period which show that
the young contrdleur of the pantry already was exercising
himself In the art of writing and that from the first he
formed the habit of noting as he read such passages as
struck him forcibly, to which he freely added impressions of
his own.

58 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
But the many-sided nature of the young man did not per
mit him to Indulge exclusively his taste for study. The
gay world Into which he had entered enlisted much of his
time and talents although it never absorbed them. It gave
him the opportunity of cultivating his rare social gifts
which he soon learned to display to advantage. As soon
as Beaumarchais appeared at Versailles, to quote Gudin,
"The ladles were struck with his high stature, the elegance
of his form, the regularity of his features, his vivid and
animated countenance, the assurance of his look, with that
dominating air which seemed to elevate him above all his
surroundings, and, in a word, with that Involuntary ardor
which illuminated him at their approach." But he adds,
"Before going farther let us observe that It was in the work
shop of his father that his soul was made strong and in
accessible to vice or adversity. If he had been bom in lux
ury or grandeur it would have been softened hke wax in
the rays of the sun,"
Less than two months after relinquishing his duties at
court, Pierre-August Franquet died suddenly of apoplexy
leaving his widow a considerable fortune. Before the
year was out she consoled herself by marrying the bril
liant young contrdleur, although she was six years his
senior. Thus it would seem that the young man was
at last settled in his career, having a beautiful wife
who idolized him, and a sufficient fortune at his dis
posal. Their married happiness, however, was of short dura
tion. In less than a year she was attacked by typhoid
fever and died after a short sickness, although attended by
four of the best physicians of the capital,
Gudin, in speaking of her sudden death, says that Beau
marchais was at that time so Inexperienced In the ways of
the world and so grieved at the loss of his wife that he

Music Master to Mesdames 59
allowed the term permitted by law to expire before he
thought of taking steps to secure to himself the succession
to his wife's property, so that after her death he was re
duced to the small income from his office at court ; and It
would seem that he never gained from this connection any
material advantage except his footing at court and the
name of Beaumarchais which he took from a small landed
property belonging to his wife and which was in itself a
fortune. At twenty-five we find him again free and await
ing eagerly the opportunity to push his fortunes further.
He had not long to wait.
We have seen already that Beaumarchais was very fond
of music and that according to his father it was this same
maudite musique that had in his early youth brought him
so near the brink of ruin. Little did his father dream that
this was to become later the means of his son's most rapid
advancement, Gudin says: "He loved music and played upon several
instruments, amongst others the harp and the flute. The
harp was at that time disdained, but when Beaumarchais
applied to it his mechanical knowledge, he perfected It and
brought it into vogue,
"Having won a wide celebrity by performances In numer
ous salons at Paris and Versailles, the fame of his skill
reached the ears of the Princesses of France, who were four
in number and who all had a taste for music,
"They desired to hear the young musician, who was only
too flattered to be permitted to play before them,"
The dignity and charm of his person, his manners which
though polished and respectful retained a certain frankness
such as rarely penetrated to those august presences, joined
to his brilliant talents, completely won for him the favor
of Mesdames who insisted upon being permitted to have

60 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Beaumarchais for their instructor. From this moment,
dates what In a certain sense might almost be called an in
timacy between the young man who was so recently seated on
his workman's bench behind the window looking out on the
rue St, Denis and the four Princesses who were separated
by so profound a gulf from even the highest of the nobility
in the court about them. It must be understood that these
women took no part whatever in the gay licentious exist
ence which disgraced the court of their father, Louis XV,
Trained by their mother, the admirable Queen Marie
Leczlnska, to a life of sincere piety, they passed their time
with her in the performance of the really arduous duties
of their rank. As queen and daughters of France- they be
longed to the nation and not to themselves. So long as
they performed these duties, the nation cheerfully allowed
them the prerogatives of their rank, and the means of grati
fying their luxurious tastes.
It was therefore into this august family circle that Beau
marchais entered, to be for several years the central figure
of all its pastimes and amusements, Gudin tells us that at
this time Mesdames were in the habit of giving a weekly con
cert at which the King, Queen and Dauphin were present
and to which a very select company was invited.
These concerts were arranged and superintended by Beau
marchais who seems to have been treated by all with marked
favor and esteem. The Dauphin took great pleasure in his
company, and on one occasion said of him, "He Is the only
man who speaks frankly with me," The Dauphin, as is well
known, was of an austere nature, and for that reason, doubt
less, valued the honest character of Beaumarchais at its true
worth. In dealing with his royal pupils, Beaumarchais exercised
great tact and knew how to make them satisfied with them-

Jealousy of Courtiers 61
selves and with him. La Harpe says of him: "I have seen
few men more favored by nature. His countenance and the
tone of his voice were equally ardent, the former illumi
nated by eyes full of fire ; there was as much expression in
the accent and the look, as delicacy in the smile, and above
all, a kind of assurance which was Inspired by a conscious
ness of power,"
These personal gifts, this assurance and skill, even more
than the favor of Mesdames, quickly attracted to him the
enmity of those whose high birth alone assured them a re
ception at court. No better idea of the snares set for him,
nor of his skill in avoiding them can be given than by quot
ing a few pages from Gudin,
"One morning as he presented himself to be admitted to
Mesdames, one of their women ran to meet him.
" 'Oh my dear friend you are lost, some one has per
suaded Mesdames that you are on very bad terms with your
father, that he has driven you from his house and that, in
dignant at the tricks you have played him, he will not see
you any more.'
" 'Oh, is that all.'' Then I do not count myself dead.
Don't disturb yourself.' He said this and hurried back to
Paris. " 'You have always wished to see Versailles ; I have an
excellent opportunity to-day to show you the palace in
detail.' Father and son then returned with all possible
speed. Beaumarchais took pains that they should be seen
by the Princesses at the celebration of the mass, at their
dinner, at their promenade, everywhere they were to be
found. "In the evening, still accompanied by his father, whom he
left in an ante-chamber, he entered .the apartments of the
Princesses; he found thera cold, dreamy, embarrassed, and

62 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
not wanting to look at him, trying to show more annoyance
than they really felt.
"The most vivacious of them said to him with impatience,
'With whom have you been all day?'
" 'Madame, with my father.'
" 'His father, Adelaide, that isn't possible, we were told
that they had quarreled.'
" 'I, Madame. I pass my life with him. He is in the
ante-room — I have come for your orders ; he is waiting for
me, if you will deign to see him he will testify to the attach
ment which I have tiever ceased to have for him.' "
The Princesses, as Beaumarchais had well guessed, were
anxious to see the father of their instructor and he was
bidden to enter. As the elder Caron possessed, amongst his
other qualities, scarcely less sense of a situation and power
of adaptability than his son, he was at once at his ease.
His personal dignity and sincerity of manner could not fail
to produce a pleasing Impression upon the young women who,
as we have seen, demanded merit as the ground of their fa
vor, so that in Its results this intrigue which was intended
to ruin the young man, really served to heighten the esteem
in which he was held.
At another time on leaving their apartments, Beaumar
chais was intercepted by a crowd of youthful noblemen one
of whom had wagered to cover him with confusion. Ap
proaching him, the nobleman said, — to quote from Gudin,
"Monsieur, you who are so clever with watches, will you
tell me if this is a good one?'
" '^Monsieur,' replied Beaumarchais, looking at the com
pany, 'since I have ceased to work at that trade I have be
come very awkward.'
" 'Ah, Monsieur, do not refuse me.'
*' 'Very well, bqt I warn you thsit I have lost my art,'

Jealousy of Courtiers 63
Then taking the watch he opened it, raised it in the air
feigning to examine it, and suddenly let it fall from that
elevation ; then, making a profound reverence, he said, 'I
warned you. Monsieur, of my extreme awkwardness,' and
walked away leaving his provoker to gather up the debris
of his watch while the assembly burst into laughter."
But the insults did not stop here.
They became so frequent and their tone grew so malig
nant that Beaumarchais felt the time had come to put a stop
to them. Seriously outraged by a courtier whom Gudin
calls the Chevalier du C  he accepted the provocation.
They mounted their horses and rode off to a secluded
spot in the woods behind Meudon. In the words of Gudin,
"Beaumarchais had the sad advantage of plunging his sword
Into the bosom of his adversary ; but when on withdrawing
it he saw the blood issue in a copious stream he was seized
with terror and thought of nothing but helping him. He
' took his handkerchief and attached it as well as he could
over the wound, to arrest the flow of blood and to stop
fainting. " 'Save yourself,' said the fallen man, 'you are lost if any
one sees you. If any one learns that it is you who have taken
my life.'
" 'You must have help, I will get it for you' — Beaumar
chais mounted and rode to Meudon, found a surgeon, and
indicating the spot to him, where the wounded man lay, he
went off at full gallop to Paris to see what was to be done.
His first care was to inform himself If the Chevalier du
C  still lived. He found that he had been brought to
Paris but that his life was despaired of — he learned that
the sick man refused to name the one who had wounded him
so seriously.
" 'I have only what I merit,' he said, 'I have provoked

64 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
an honest man who never gave me any offense, to please peo
pie whom I do not esteem.'
"His relatives and friends were not able to draw any othei
reply from him during the eight days which he lived. H(
carried the secret to the tomb, leaving to Beaumarchais th(
regret of having taken the life of a man who proved sc
generous an enemy.
" 'Ah, young man,' Beaumarchais said to me one day wher
I was joking over some duel which was then much talked
about, 'you do not know what despair a man feels when he
sees the hilt of his sword upon his enemy's breast !' It was
then that he related to me this adventure which was still
afihcting him, although many years had elapsed since It had
taken place. He never spoke of it without grief, and ]
should probably never have heard of it. If he had not though!
it right to make me feel how dangerous It might be to joke
about such fatal affairs, the number of which is Increased
much more by frivolity than by bravery."
It may be well to add. In relation to the death of the
Chevalier du C  that the protection of Mesdames, who
personally Interceded with the King, prevented an investi
gation being made so that Beaumarchais was secure.
But while he was still holding his own In the envious crowd
of courtiers at Versailles, his position was In reality far
from desirable. Monsieur de Lomenie says: "Having no
other resource than the small income from his charge oi
contrdleur, not only was he obliged to put his time gratui
tously at the disposal of the Princesses, without speaking oi
the cost of keeping up appearances, but he even at times
found himself under the necessity of proceeding like a greal
lord, and of making advances for the purchase of costly
instruments which they scarcely thought of promptly paying
back. Very desirous of enriching himself, he wag too clevei

History of the Cotignac 65
to compromise his credit by receiving pecuniary recom
pense, which Avould have put him In the rank of a mercenary ;
he preferred to wait for some favorable occasion, when he
might obtain a real advantage from his position, reserving
the right to say later: 'I have passed four years in meriting
the good graces of Mesdames by the most assiduous and
most disinterested pains bestowed upon divers objects of
their amusements.'
"But Mesdames, like all other women and especially prin
cesses, had sufficiently varied fancies which it was necessary
to satisfy Immediately. In the correspondence of Mme. du
Deffant is the very amusing story of a box of candied
quinces of Orleans, so Impatiently demanded by Madame Vic
toire that the King, her father, sent in haste to the minis
ter, M. de Choiseul, who sent to the Bishop of Orleans, who
was awakened at three o'clock in the morning to give him,
to his great affright, a missive from the King, running as
follows :
" 'Monsieur the bishop of Orleans, my daughters wish
some cotignac; they wish the very small boxes; send some. If
you have none, I beg you . , , [in this place in the letter
there was a drawing of a Sedan chair, and below] to send
immediately Into your episcopal city and get some, and be
sure that they are the very small boxes; upon which, Mon
sieur the bishop of Orleans, may God have you in His holy
keeping, Louis.' Below In postscrlptum is written: 'The
sedan chair, means nothing, It was designed by my girls up
on the paper which I found at hand.' A courier was imme
diately dispatched for Orleans. 'The cotignac,' says
Madame du Deffant, 'arrived the next day, but no one
thought anything more of it.'
"It often happened that Beaumarchais received missives
that recalled somewhat the history of the cotignac, with this

66 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
difference, that the young and poor master of music, had
not, like the bishop of Orleans, a courier at his disposal.
Here, for example, is a letter addressed to him by the first
lady in waiting of Madame Victoire :
" 'Madame Victoire has a taste. Monsieur, to play to-day
on the tambourine, and charges me to write instantly that
you may get her one as quickly as will be possible, I hope,
Monsieur, that your cold has disappeared and that you will
be able to attend promptly to the commission of Madame,
I have the honor of being very perfectly. Monsieur, your
very humble servant, De Boucheman Coustilller,'
"It became necessary instantly to procure a tambourine
worthy to be offered to a princess; the next day It was a
harp ; the day after a flute ; and so on and so on,"
When the young Beaumarchais had completely exhausted
his purse, very thin at that time, he very humbly sent his
note to Mme, Hoppen, the stewardess of Mesdames, accom
panying it with reflections of which the following is a sam
ple: "I beg you, Madame, to be so good as to pay attention
to the fact that I have engaged myself for the payment of
844 livres, not being able to advance them, because I have
given all the money that I had, and I beg you not to forget
that I am in consequence, absolutely without a sol.
Besides the  1852 livres
Madame Victoire owes me  16 "
Then for the book bound in morocco with her
arms and gilded  36 "
And for copying the music into said book  36 "
Total  1939 livres
Which makes a sum of 80 louis, 19 livres.

Noticed by Paris du Verney 67
"I do not count the cab fares which it cost me to go among
the different workmen, who nearly all live in the suburbs,
nor for the messages Avhich all this occasioned, because I
have never had the habit of making a note of these things or
of counting them with JNIesdames, Don't forget, I beg you
that Madame Sophie owes me five louis ; in a time of misery
one collects the smallest things,
"You know the respect and attachment which I have for
you, I will not add another word,"
Four years spent In petty services of this kind was a
severe test to the earnestness of purpose of a man fired with
lofty ambitions and full of restless energy. Although at
times suffering from secret Irritation he remained master of
liimself and steadily refused to compromise his hope of great
fortune by yielding to the dictates of present necessities.
At last his patience was rewarded in a Avay worthy of the
sacrifices he had made.
There was at this time a celebrated financier, named Paris
du A'erney, who for years had been organizing a great work,
the Ecole MUitaire, actually in existence to-day on the
Champs de Mars in Paris, but AvhIch seemed likely to lan
guish at its beginning owing to the lack of Royal recogni
tion. As Paris du Verney had been the financial manager for
Madame de Pompadour, and as he had beerl protected by
her, a settled aversion was directed against him by all the
members of the Royal family. The disasters of the Seven
Years War had notably diminished the influence of the Mar
quise so that the Ecole MUitaire, considered as her work was
regarded with an evil eye by the people of France, Nothing
less than the official recognition of the school by the King's
visiting it in person, could lift it out of the disfavor into
which it had fallen. But how could th&t indolent monarch

68 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
be induced to honor the old financier with a visit? This was
the problem that for nine years occupied the mind and
heart of Paris du Verney, All his efforts in this regard
had however been in vain. The King was indifferent, the
Princesses prejudiced; there seemed left no avenue through
which approach could be made.
Matters were at this pass when the attention of du Verney
was attracted by the young music master of Mesdames, now
growing restless under the tedium of his showy but irksome
charge. The shrewd mind of du Verney was quick to dis
cover the latent business capacity which lay hidden under
the exterior of a gay courtier. He determined to make a
final effort for the accomplishment of his project by employ
ing the mediation of the favorite of the Princesses, to whom
he promised, if success should crown his efforts, an open
pathway to the rapid acquisition of a brilliant and inde
pendent fortune.

CHAPTER II
"On dira que Vamour des lettres, des plaisirs, n'exclut
point une juste sensibUite dans tout ce qui regarde Vhon-
neur." Marsolier — "Beaumarchais a Madrid."
Induces the Princesses to Visit the Ecole MUitaire Estab
lished by du Verney — First Financial Successes — Certain
Great Lords mis hors du combat — "The Frere Charmant"
— the Devoted Son — Preparations for Trip to Spain,
P ARIS DU VERNEY, who had pushed his way upward
¦*• from an origin even more obscure than that of Beau
marchais, Avas a man of wide experience in life, and of rare
energy of character.
Although a certain shadow rested upon his name in con
nection with the protection accorded him by Madame de
Pompadour and the management of the Seven Years war,
yet no doubt can be entertained of his mastery of the science
of finance or of the breadth and liberality of his views.
Clear sighted and keen in business matters, Paris du
Verney was. at the same .time a close observer of men, and
one not easily deceived as to their real merits. It was the
innate qualities of heart and mind added to the acquired
habit of doing thoroughly and well whatever he undertook,
that du A'erney had detected in the young man of bourgeois
extraction, so conspicuous at court, and It was upon him
that he now fixed his hopes. In speaking of It later, Beau
marchais says:
"In 1760, M, du Verney, in despair at having employed
69

70 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
vainly for the last nine years, every means at his command
to engage the Royal family to honor with a visit the Ecole
MUitaire, desired to make my acquaintance; he offered me
his heart, his aid and his credit, if I was able to effect that
which everyone had failed to accomplish for him,"
It is easy to understand how readily Mesdames were per
suaded to confer this much coveted honor upon the old
financier, understanding as they very well did that in this
way they could repay the years of faithful service of their
young protege. The joy of du Verney may be readily
imagined. His heart overflowed with gratitude toward the
one who had done him this great service. It was an event
as La Harpe has said, "That brought to the old man's eyes
the sweetest tears of his life,"
The day for the visit was therefore appointed, and Beau
marchais was perraitted the honor of accompanying the dis
tinguished .guests. They were received with great pomp and
the Impression made upon the Princesses was so agreeable,
that on their return to Versailles, as had been hoped, the
account they gave so stimulated the curiosity of the indolent
King, that in a few days he followed the example of his
daughters, thus entirely fulfilling the desire of the founder
of the school,
Du Verney was not slow on his side in fulfilling his promise
to the ardent young man who asked for nothing better than
the privilege of learning all that the experienced financier
could teach him.
Dating from this moment Beaumarchais entered a new
world, where new ideas, new possibilities opened themselves
before him. To quote La Harpe again, "Depository of the
entire confidence of the old man, charged with the handling
of his capital, Beaumarchais learned the science of vast com
mercial operations and appbed himself to it with all the

£C0LE MILITAIRE

Learns the Science of High Finance 71
vivacity of an ardent, enterprising, and Indefatigable na- '
ture," Speaking of du Verney, Beaumarchais has said, "He
initiated me into financial matters of which as everyone
knows he had a consummate knowledge ; I worked at my for
tune under his direction and undertook by his advice a num
ber of enterprises; in several of these he aided me by his
capital and credit, in all by his advice."
Of du Verney's feeling for Beaumarchais, we have the fol
lowing testimony from his own pen.
"Since I have known him and since he has become an inti
mate in my restricted circle of friends, everything convinces I
me that he is an upright young man, with an honest soul, an J
excellent heart, and cultivated mind, which merit the love I
and esteem of all honest people; proved by misfortune, in- j
structed by adversity, he will owe his advancement if he I
succeeds to his good qualities alone."
Du Verney also aided Beaumarchais in the acquiring of
certain functions at court which gave him a legal claim to
his title of nobihty. In 1761 he bought for 85,000 francs
the very noble but very useless charge of Secretary to the
King. An attempt was made afterwards to bring him into
a still higher place by securing for him the very important
and very lucrative charge of Grand Master of the Waters
and Forests of France. M. de Lomenie says in speaking
of this matter that had it been successful, the whole career
of Beaumarchais might have been changed. As It proved,
however, so much opposition was aroused by the alraost me
teoric rapidity with which he had arrived at so great for
tune that for the first time in his life, and notwithstanding
the warm recommendations of Mesdames, Beaumarchais
was forced to change the direction of his solicitations and
to content himself with the less lucrative but even more hon-

72 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
or able charge of lieutenant-general des chasses aux bail- ^
liage et capitainerie de la varenne du Louvre.
For a young man of bourgeois extraction, not yet thirty
years of age, his complete transformation had come about
with an almost incredible rapidity. The new office, which
will be treated In detail later, placed him on the level with

the ancient aristocracy of France and gave him a social p.g^
sition which his ever increasing fortune enabled him more_
and more effectively to support.
Not content, hoAvever, with his own rise in the world, he
desired to share his fortune with his whole family. We shall
soon see him uniting them all under his roof in Paris, but
for the moment we must picture him continuing to live at
Versailles, and though occupied for the most part with his
new business operations, he still has time to superintend,
as of old, the pastimes and amusements of the Princesses,
as well as to cultivate his rare social gifts. No man ever
made a more amiable or a more brilliant figure in a salon.
His music, his songs, his jests and repartees, the gaiety
and ardor of his nature, made him everywhere a favorite.
Gudin says of him at this period, "He never forgot his
old comrades and almost never came to Paris without stay
ing with his father, going to see and embracing his neigh
bors, and those who had been witnesses of his first efforts.
Showing himself as far removed from the silly vanity which
blushes at its origin as from the pride which pretends to
be what It is not; by his gaiety and affability he made those
about him forget the change in his fortune and even at
times the superiority of his talents. In the bosom of his
family his manners were simple, he was even what one calls
a bonhomme." Characterizing him a little further on, Gudin
says, "For frivolous people Beaumarchais was only a man
of the world; for the ladies, a man attractive by his figure

Envied for His Successes 73
and his wit, amusing by his talents, his dress, his imagina
tion and a host of amiable adventures such as the gayest and
most Interesting romance can scarcely furnish ; but for the
old du Verney he was an excellent citizen, a truly manly
genius, zealous for his country, full of liberal ideas, of grand
and useful conceptions. He possessed pre-eminently all the
talents which form the charm of society, he put Into every
thing a piquant originality which made him more loved and
prized than others. In verses or couplets which he com
posed, there was always a turn, an idea, a striking feature,
another would have missed. His conversation, mixed with
new ideas, jests, lively but never bitter, unexpected repartee,
always founded upon reason, made him singularly attrac
tive." It can not be thought surprising that while these amiable
and brilliant qualities endeared Beaumarchais to the hearts
of his friends, and to the ladies into whose society he came,
¦the effect produced by the same qualities upon men of rank
and position, who possessed no such attractions was of a
very different nature.
The hatred Avhich his first entry Into the service of Mes
dames had so bitterly aroused was now redoubled since the
old financier, du Verney, had fixed his affections upon the
young plebeian, and had helped him to the amassing of a
fortune and the procuring of a high position at court.
This hatred did not hinder these same noblemen from
receiving favors from him which is proved by the nuraerous
lawsuits, quarrels, and disasters which came to thwart his
career, nearly all of them the result of some debt owed to
him, or money not returned of which he demanded restitu
tion. We shall have occasion in the course of this study to show
from innumerable instances that no man was ever more

74 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
ready to come to an amiable adjustment, or when necessary
completely to forgive a debt, but it will be found that this
was always on condition, that a just and fair statement be
admitted first. When this was refused, as in the famous
Goezman trial, we shall see that though it be only a ques
tion of fifteen louis, Beaumarchais is ready to stake reputa
tion, happiness, fortune, and, as the event proves, his civil
existence even, in demonstrating before the whole world that
his adversary is completely in the wrong.
To quote Fournier, "These gentlemen who did not wish to
accept Beaumarchais as a nobleman, but to whom he had so
well proved that at least, the courage was not lacking to be
one, had very much more agreeable ways with him, when it
was a question of some service to be asked, service of money
almost always, but which from lack of restitution made of
alraost every debtor an enemy."
As an illustration of the arrogance of some of these cour
tiers who were gentlemen in name only, as well as of the cool
assurance of Beaumarchais, Monsieur de Lomenie has given
a series of letters exchanged apropos of a small debt owed
the latter, and contracted at a card table.
It must be stated before going further, that among the
peculiarities of Beaumarchais, was a pronounced distaste for
any sort of gambling. This trait was the more unusual as
gaming was at this period the recognized amusement of all
the upper classes while lotteries were recognized by law.
Later Beaumarchais used his influence for the suppression
of what he clearly saw to be an institution ruinous to the
prosperity of the country. As a young man at- Versailles
and later at Madrid he was frequently witness of disasters
resulting from the chance of , a card, and his whole mind
turned toward the procuring of more solid pleasures. But
to return to the matter of the debt contracted at a card

Obliges a Great Lord 75
table, jNI. de Lomenie says : "Beaumarchais found himself in
1763 at a ball at Versailles where there was playing. He
was standing by a table looking on, A man of quality
named M, de Sablieres borrowed of him, although he was
a complete stranger, thirty-five louis. At the end of three
weeks Beaumarchais hearing nothing of the thirty-five louis
wrote to the gentleman In question who replied that he would
send them the next day, or the day after. Three more
weeks passed. Beaumarchais wrote a second time ; no reply.
He grew impatient and addressed to M. de Sabliferes the
third letter which follows:
" 'Since you have broken the written word which I have
received from you. Monsieur, it would be wrong for me to
be surprised at the fact of your not replying to my last let
ter; the one is the natural consequence of the other. This
forgetting of yourself does not authorize me to reproach you.
You owe me neither any civility, nor any regard. This let
ter Is written only to remind you once more of the debt of
thirty-five louis which you have contracted with me at the
home of a mutual friend without other title required but the
honor of the debt, and that which is due from both of us
to the house where we met. Another consideration which is
of not less weight is that the money that you owe me has
not been taken from me by the chance of a card, but I
loaned it to you from my pocket, and perhaps I deprived
myself by that of the advantage which it was perraitted rae
to hope, if I had wished to play Instead of you.
" 'If I am not happy enough to produce upon you by
this letter the effect that would be made upon rae were I
in your place, don't take It amiss that I place between us
two a third respectable person, who is the natural judge in
similar cases.

76 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
" 'I shall await your reply until day after to-morrow, I
shall be very happy if you judge by the moderation of my
conduct of the perfect consideration with which I have the
honor to be — Monsieur, etc, De Beaumarchais.' "
See now the reply of M. de Sablieres, man of quality ad
dressing himself to the son of the watchmaker, Caron. Lo
menie says, "I reproduce literally the letter with the mis
takes in spelling and grammar with which it is decorated.
[Unfortunately the effect is spoiled by translation.] 'I
know that I am unhappy enough to owe you thirty-five louis,
and I deny that this can dishonor me when I have the will to
pay them back. My manner of thinking. Monsieur, is known,
and when I shall no longer be your debtor, I will make myself
known to you by terms which will be different from yours.
Saturday morning I shall ask a rendezvous in order to
acquit myself of the thirty-five louis, and to thank you for
the polite things with which you have had the goodness to
serve yourself in your letters; I will attempt to reply in
the best possible manner and I flatter rayself that between
now and Saturday you will be good enough to have a better
idea of me. Be convinced that twice twenty-four hours will
seem very long to me; as to the respectable third, with which
you menace me, I respect him but no one could care less for
threats, and I care even less about your moderation. Satur
day you shall have your thirty-five louis, I give you ray
word, and I know not whether for ray part I shall be happy
enough to reply with raoderation. While awaiting to acquit
rayself of all that I owe you, I ara, monsieur, as you desire,
your very hurable. Sablieres.'
"This missive announcing not very pacific Intentions was
replied to by Beaumarchais (who it will be remembered had

Insists on His Debt Being Paid 77
recently killed a man at a time when the laws against duels
were very rigorous) in a letter In which he begins by assur
ances of having had no intention to wound the honor of that
petulant IM. de Sablieres, and he closes the letter thus : 'My
letter explained I have the honor of announcing to you that
I will wait at my house all Saturday morning the effect of
your third promise; you say you are not happy enough to
vouch for your moderation; from the style of your letter
it is easy to judge that you are scarcely master of yourself
in Avriting, but I assure you that I shall not exaggerate in
any way an evil of which I am not the cause, by losing con
trol of myself, if I can help it. If after these assurances.
It is your project to pass the limits of a civil explanation
and to push things to their utmost, which I do not wish in
the least, you will find me. Monsieur, as firm to repulse an
insult as I try to be on my guard against the movement
which brings it into being, I have no fear, therefore, to
assure you again that I have the honor to be with all possible
consideration. Monsieur, " 'Your very humble, etc,
" 'De Beaumarchais,
" 'P, S, I keep a copy of this letter as well as of the first.
In order that the purity of my Intentions may serve to jus
tify me in case of misfortune; but I hope to convince you
Saturday that far from hunting a quarrel, no one should
make greater effort than I to avoid one, I cannot explain
myself in writing.' "
Upon the copy of the same letter is written with the hand
of Beaumarchais the following lines which explain the post
scrlptum and which treat of the duel with the Chevalier ,
du C, of which we have spoken already, "This happened

78 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
eight or ten days after my unhappy affair with the Chevalier
du C, which affair would have ruined me but for the good
ness of Mesdames who spoke with the king, M. de Sablieres
asked for an explanation of the postscrlptum of my letter
from Laumur, at whose house I lent him the money, and
what is amusing is that this explanation took away all his
desire to bring the money himself,"
We have chosen this instance among numerous others to
show the difficulty of the position In which Beaumarchais
found himself placed, Gudin says, "The e'fforts of envy
against him, fortified the character to which nature had
given so much energy. He learned to watch unceasingly
over himself, to master the impetuosity of his passions, to
conserve In the most perilous and unexpected circumstances,
a perfect coolness united with the most active presence of
mind. Everything which seemed prepared to destroy him
turned to his advantage and enabled him to rise superior
to circurastances."
It was very soon after acquiring the foundations of a fixed
fortune, that Beaumarchais carried into execution the cher
ished dreara of his life, which was to gather all the mem
bers of his family under his own roof and to lavish upon
thera all those comforts of life. In which the limited means
of the elder Caron had not permitted them to indulge. His
mother was no longer living but there remained his father
and two unmarried sisters at home. The elder Caron had,
two years before, at his son's request given up his trade of
watchmaker, receiving from the latter a lifelong pension and
a considerable sum of money to cover certain heavy losses
which had come to him in the way of business.
We have formed already the acquaintance of Julie whom
Beaumarchais especially loved and who shared with him to
the end all the vicissitudes of his career.

Sisters of Beaumarchais 79
Julie is spoken of as channing, witty, , and vivacious ; a
good musician, speaking Italian and Spanish with fluency,
improvising songs and composing verses, "more remarkable
by their gaiety than by their poetic value." Later in life
she appeared before the pubhc in a serious little volume
entitled Reflections on Life, or Moral Considerations on the
Value of Existence, but at the present tirae — 1763 — the
tone of her letters distinctly betokens one not yet disen
chanted with the gay world of which her brother formed the
center. The youngest sister of all, Jeanne Marguerite Caron,
seems to have received a more brilliant education than the
rest. M. de Lomenie says of her that, "She was a good mu
sician, playing very well on the harp, that she had a charm
ing voice and more than that she was very pretty. She loved
to compose verses like her sister Julie, and without being
equally intelligent she possessed the same vivid, gay esprit
which distinguished the family. In her infancy and girlhood
she was called 'Tonton.' When her brother, now a courtier,
had associated Julie with the graceful name of Beaumar
chais, he found an even more aristocratic name for his
youngest sister, he called her Mademoiselle de Boisgarnier,
and it was under this name that Mile, Tonton appeared with
success In several salons,
"In her correspondence as a girl, MUe, Boisgarnier ap
pears to us as a small person, very elegant, slightly co
quettish, slightly indolent, somewhat sarcastic, but still very
attractive. The whole tone of her letters is that of the
petite bourgeoise, of quality, very proud to have for a brother
a Secretaire du roi. Lieutenant-general des chasses, and
in relation to whom she says in one of her letters, 'Comment
se gouverne la petite societe? Le frere charmant en fait-il
toujours les delices?' "

80 Beaumiarchais and the War of American Independence
An older sister, Fran9oise, already had married' a cele
brated watchmaker of Paris, named Lepine, Avith whom the
family tie was never broken. Her home served as a place of
rendezvous for the scattered members of the family during
those cruel years, of which we shall have to speak, when the
property of Beaumarchais was seized and he himself de
graded frora his rights as citizen,
A son of this sister afterwards served as an oflScer in
the American army under the name of "Des Epinieres,"
The eldest sister of all, Marie-Josephe, had left her
father's house when her brother was a young lad just re
turned from the school at Alfort, She had married an
architect named Guilbert and had settled at Madrid in
Spain. She took with her one of the younger sisters, Marie
Louise, who continued to live with her there. The two sis
ters kept a milliner's shop and the younger, Lizette as she
was called, became the fiancee of a gifted young Spaniard,
Clavico, of whom we shall hear presently from the pen of
Beaumarchais hiraself.
Many years later the elder sister returned to France, a
widow without fortune, accorapanied by Lizette and two
young children. Beaumarchais gave them both a yearly
allowance, and at the death of the widow Guilbert, continued
to provide for her children whom he gathered under his
roof In Paris. Lizette had died some time previously.
Mademoiselle de Boisgarnier married very soon after her
brother's return from Spain. She was, however, taken early
from her faraily and friends. She died leaving a daughter
who, needless to say, was cared for by her generous uncle,
and who later in life owed to him her advantageous settle
ment and dowry. She seems to have inherited a large share
of the faraily gifts and to have been witty and attractive.
In the family circle she went by the name of "the muse of

JLoyttlty to His Family 81
Orleans," from the city in which she was married and
settled. In estimating the full value of this unusual generosity
which, as avIII be seen, did not show itself in isolated and
spasmodic acts, but rather in a constant and inexhaustible
stream floAving direct from his heart, it must not be for
gotten that while Beaumarchais was at different periods of
his life enormously rich and able to extend his generosity to
those outside his family, yet there were other periods when
exactly the reverse Avas the case, when he knew not where to
turn for the necessary means of subsistence for himself
alone. It was at such times that the true generosity of his
nature shone forth in unmistakable clearness ; there was
never a time in his Avhole career, no matter what calamityl
had befallen him, that he thought of shaking himself loose
from the family whose care he had assumed, a burden which
indeed he bore very lightly most of the time, but which some
times became a weight which he could scarcely support.
The thought, however, of rising again without every one of
those dear to him was so Impossible to a nature like his, that
it never entered his mind. The very fact that it was difficult,
that it was impossible for anyone else was a sufficient spur
to his energy. Defeat meant nothing to him, if one thing
which he had tried failed, he at once attempted something
else, but conquer he must and In the end he alraost in
variably did.
But to return to Beaumarchais and the faraily gathered
under his roof; as we have seen, his actions speak for them
selves and need no Interpreters. In a letter to his father
written a little later he sums up his experience of the world
and his reason for pushing his fortunes so vigorously.
He says:
"I wish to walk in the career which I have embraced, and

82 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
it is above everyl;hlng else In the desire to share with you in
ease and fortune that I follow it so persistently."
That the family of Beaumarchais knew how to appreciate
and to return such rare devotion we have incontestible
proofs. Especially touching are the outbursts of tender
ness which come so spontaneously from the father's heart.
Under the date of February 5th, 1763, at the moment of his
accepting the home prepared for him by his son the elder
Caron writes, "I bless heaven with the deepest gratitude for
finding in my old age a son with such an excellent heart, and
far from being humiliated by my present situation, my soul
rises and warms Itself at the touching idea of owing my
happiness, after God, to him alone."
And a little later: "You modestly recommend me to love
you a little; that Is not possible, my dear friend. A son
such as you Is not made to be loved a little by a father who
feels and thinks as I. The tears of tenderness which fall
from my eyes as I write are the proof of this ; the quali
ties of thy excellent heart, the force and grandeur of thy
soul, penetrate rae with the most tender love. Honor of
my gray hairs, my son, my dear son, by what have I merited
from God the grace with which he overwhelms me, in my
dear son? It Is, as I feel, the greatest favor which He can
accord to an honest and appreciative father, a son such
as you."
The sincerity of these lines cannot for a moment be ques-'
tioned, and we are not surprised to find that the venerable
old watchmaker died with a blessing upon his lips. At the
age of 77, a few days before his death, he wrote to Beaumar
chais, then engaged with his first measures regarding the
War of American Independence: "My good friend, my dear
son, that narae is precious to my heart, I profit by an in-

Devotion to His Old Father 83
terval in my excessive suffering, or rather in the torment
which makes me fall in convulsions, simply to thank you very
tenderly for what you sent me yesterday. If you go back
to England I beg you to bring me a bottle of salts such as
they give people who, like me, fall in fainting fits. Alas!
my dear child, perhaps I shall no longer have the need of it
when you return. I pray the Lord every day of my life to
bless you, to recompense you, and to preserve you from
every accident ; this will always be the prayer of your good
friend and affectionate father, Caron."
But in 1763, many years of happy relationship be
tween father and son were still before them. It may
be of Interest to note that the house first bought by Beau
marchais, in which the family passed many happy years,
is still in existence, possessing much the same external ap
pearance as It did when occupied by him who gave it its
historical significance. It bears the number, 26 rue de
Conde, in the neighborhood of the Luxembourg, In the iron
grating about the windows may still be seen the initials of
Beaumarchais. But while he was laying the foundations of the family
happiness in Paris, an event was occurring in the distant
capital of Spain the news of which stirred his soul with in
dignation and caused him to hasten with all speed to the
scene of action. True however to the raany sided nature
so strongly developed within him, he took time thoroughly
to prepare himself for the journey.
He received from the patronage of Mesdames important
recommendations to the courtofS£ain, and power to enter
into business negotiations at the capital. His faithful
friend, Paris du Verney, provided him with letters of credit.

84 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
destined to place him grandly at Madrid and to enable him
to carry on whatever his fertile brain could Imagine, or his
energy and audacity carry through.
Express trains and automobiles had not been invented in
those days, but whatever the century in which he found him
self possessed in the way of rapid transit was put to the
utmost test In this journey Into Spain stopping neither
night nor day, and all the while his Imagination car
rying him still faster, busying itself with the primary cause
of his journey and so sure of victory in his overwhelming
consciousness of power, that already his indignation was on
the brink of turning into pardoning pity, which It was bound
to do as soon as his adversary showed any symptom of re
turning to sentiments of honor. Of this rare adventure we
must let Beaumarchais tell in his own way.

CHAPTER III
"Que dirait la Sagesse si elle me voyait entre-meler les
occupations les plus graves dont un homme puisse s'occu-
per, de soiries agreables, tantdt chez un ambassadeur, tantdt
ches un minis tre. . . . Les contraires peuvent-ils ainsi
aUer dans une meme tete? Oui, mon cher pere, je ressem-
ble a feu Alcibiade, dont-U ne me manque que la figure, la
naissance, Vesprit et les richesses."
Lettre de Beaumarchais a son pere.
Marceline: "Jamais fdche, toujours en belle humeur;
donnant le present a la joie, et s'inquietant de I'avenir tout
aussi pen que du passe, semUlant genireux genereux."
Bartholo: "Comme un voleur!"
Marceline: "Comme un seigneur."
"Le Mariage de Figaro" — Act I, Scene IV.
Adventure with Clavico — Business Negotiations in Spain —
Life of Pleasure at the Spanish Capital — Home Interests
and Letters.
TT^OR several years," wrote Beaumarchais, "I had had
¦*¦ the happiness to surround myself with my whole family.
The joy of being thus united with thera and their grati
tude towards me were the continual recompense for the
sacrifice which this cost me. Of five sisters which I had,
two since their youth had been confided by my father to one
of his correspondents in Spain, where they resided, and I
had only a faint but sweet memory of them which some
times had been enlivened by their correspondence.
85

86 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
"In February, 1764, my father received a letter from
the elder daughter of which the following is the substance :
'My sister has been outrageously treated by a man as high
in public favor as he is dangerous. Twice at the moment of
marrying her, he suddenly has broken his word without
deigning to give any excuse for his conduct. The offended
sensibilities of my sister have thrown her into such a state
that from all appearances it Is doubtful if we can save her.'
" 'The dishonor with which this event overwhelms us has
forced us into seclusion, where I pass the day and night in
weeping while endeavoring to offer my sister those consola
tions which I do not know how to take myself.
" 'All Madrid knows that my sister has nothing with which
to reproach herself. If her brother has enough credit to
recomraend us to the French Ambassador, His Excellency
may be induced to protect us from the disgrace which this
perfidious man has brought upon us.'
"My father hastened to Versailles to meet me, and weep
ing gave me the letter of my sister,
" 'See, my son, what you can dd for these two unfortun
ates, they are no less your sisters than the others,'
"I was indeed touched by the account of the distressing
situation of my sister, but I said to my father, 'Alas, what
can I do? Who knows whether there is not some fault which
they hide from us?'
" 'I forgot,' said my father, 'to show you several letters
which prove my daughter to be innocent of any fault,'
"I read these letters, they reassured me — then the
words, 'She is no less your sister than the others,' went to
the depths of my heart,
" 'Do not weep,' I said to my father, 'I have decided on a
step which will astonish you, but it seems 'to me the most
certain, the most wise, I will ask to be released from my

Adventure With Clavico 87
duties at court, and taking only prudence for a guide I
will either revenge my sister or bring them both back to
Paris to partake with us of our modest fortune.'
"Further information which I derived from reliable
sources which were indicated by my sister, made ray blood
boil with indignation at the outrage Avhich she had suffered,
so without any further delay, I went back to Versailles to
notify my august Protectresses, that a sorrowful affair of
the highest Importance demanded my presence in Madrid,
and forced me to suspend my services at court. Astounded
at so abrupt a departure, they were kind enough to desire
to be informed as to the nature of my trouble. I showed
them' the letter of my sister.
" 'Go, but act prudently,' was the honorable encourage
ment which I received from the Princesses; 'that which you
undertake is well and you shall have support, if your con
duct is reasonable.'
"The warmest recommendations to our ambassador were
given me by these august ladies, and became the inestiraable
price of four years devoted to their amusement,
"At the moment of my departure I received the commis
sion to negotiate a very important affair in Spain for the
commerce of France, M, du Verney, touched by the motive
of my voyage, embraced me and said, 'Go my son, save your
sister. As to the business with which you are charged know
that in all you undertake, you have my support, I have
promised this publicly to the Royal Family, and I will never
go back on my word. Here are my notes for 200,000 francs,
which will enable you to draw upon me for that sum,'
"I started and traveled night and day, accompanied by a
friend, I arrived at Madrid the 18th of May at eleven
o'clock in the morning; I found my sisters expecting me.
Scarcely were the first embraces over, than I said to them.

88 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
'Don't be surprised if I employ the first moments In learning
exactly the nature of your unhappy adventure. To serve
you with success I must be Informed fully In regard to what
happened.' The account they gave me was exact and long.
Several of their intimate friends were present who testified
to Its accuracy. When the story was finished, I kissed my
sister and said to her, 'My child, now that I know all, con
sole yourself, I see with pleasure that you no longer love
the man ; this makes the matter much easier for me. Tell
me simply where I can find him.' Everyone present advised
me to begin by seeing the arabassador, as our enemy was a
man powerfully supported at court.
" 'Very good, my friends,' I said, 'to-morrow I will go and
pay my respects to Monsieur the ambassador, but do not be
angry if I take certain steps before I see him. The only
thing I ask of you Is to keep my arrival here absolutely
secret.' "Promptly I had a costume taken from my trunk, and
hastily adjusting it, went directly to the house of Joseph
Xjavico, ^uard of the archives jaf the king. He was not at
home. I was told where he might be found; I hastened
thither and without making myself known I requested an
interview at his earliest possible convenience, as I was
charged with certain commissions for him from France. He
Invited me to take my chocolate with him at nine o'clock the
next morning; I accepted for myself and my traveling
companion. "The next morning, the 19th of May, I arrived at half-
past eight. I found him superbly lodged in the house of a
man prominent at court, who Is so much his friend, that
absent from Madrid he allowed him the use of his home as
though it were his own.
" 'I am charged,' I said to him, 'by a society of men of

Adventure With Clavico 89
letters, to establish in the cities where I pass a literary cor
respondence with the most learned men of the country. As
no other Spaniard writes better than the author of el Pertr
sador, to whom I have the honor of speaking. It seems to
me that I cannot better serve my friends, than in connecting
myself with a man of your merits.'
"I saw that he was enchanted with my proposition, so
better to judge the man with whom I had to deal, I allowed
hira to discourse lengthily upon the advantages which differ
ent nations might obtain from similar correspondence. He
talked like an angel and simply glowed with pleasure.
"In the midst of his joy, he asked me what was the busi
ness which drew me to Spain, saying he would be happy if
he might be of any service to me.
" 'I accept with gratitude your flattering offer,' I replied,
'and I assure you that for you I have no secrets.' Then
desiring to mystify him completely so that the end of my
discourse alone would explain its import, I presented my
friend a second time, saying, 'Monsieur here Is not an en
tire stranger to what I have to say to you, and will not be
the least In our way.' This exordium caused him to regard
my friend with much curiosity. Then I began:
" 'A French merchant of limited means had a good many
correspondents in Spain. One of the richest of these, nine
or ten years ago, In passing through Paris, made hira the
following proposition: "Give me two of your daughters, I
will take them with me to Madrid, they will Hve with me,
who am an old bachelor without family, they will be the hap
piness of my old days and they shall inherit one of the rich
est establishments in Spain."
" 'The eldest daughter, already married, and a younger
sister were confided to him. In exchange for this favor, the
father agreed to supply the Spanish house with whatever

90 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
merchandise was needed from France.
" 'Two years later the correspondent died, leaving the
sisters without having received any benefit and embarrassed
with a commercial house which they were obliged to keep
up. (Here I saw Clavico redouble his attention.)
" 'About this time a young man, a native of the Canary
Islands, presented himself at the house. (All his gaiety van
ished at the words which designated him.) Notwithstanding
his small fortune, the ladies, seeing his great ardor to learn
the French language and the sciences, aided him by every
means In their power.
" 'Full of desire to become celebrated, he formed the proj
ect, quite new for the nation, of providing the city of Madrid
with a periodical journal in the nature of the English
Spectator. He received from his friends encouragement and
help of every kind. His enterprise raet with great success;
then, animated with the hope of making himself a name, he
ventured to propose marriage with the younger of the
French women. 'Begin by succeeding,' said the elder one,
'If you are able to secure a position which will permit you to
live honorably and if she prefers you to other suitors, I shall
not refuse ray consent.' (Here Clavico began to move about
nervously In his chair, but without apparent notice I con
tinued thus:)
" 'The younger, touched by the merits of the man who
sought her hand, refused several advantageous alliances,
preferring to wait until he had succeeded In obtaining what
he desired and encouraged him to issue his first philosophic
paper under the imposing title of el Pensador. (Here I saw
he looked ready to faint.) The work,' I continued with icy
coldness, 'had a prodigious success ; the King himself,
amused by that charming production, gave the author marks
of his satisfaction. He offered him the first honorable posi-

MADAME DE POMPADOUR

Adventure With Clavico 91
tion which should become vacant. At this the young raan
dispersed all other pretendants to the young woman's hand
by publicly announcing his intentions.
" 'The marriage was postponed only by the non-arrival of
the desired position. At last, after six years of waiting on
one hand, and of assiduous efforts on the other, the position
arrived, and at the same moment the young man disap
peared. (Here Clavico gave an Involuntary sigh and then
turned crimson with confusion. I noticed all this without
ceasing to speak.)
" 'The affair had raade too rauch noise to perralt the
ladies to regard this denoument with indifference. They had
taken a" house large enough for two families, the bans had
been published ; the outrage made all their friends indignant.
Monsieur the French ambassador interested himself. When
the young man in question found that the women were thus
protected, fearing to lose his credit, he went and prostrated
himself at the feet of his fiancee. He employed every means
in his power to win her back. As the anger of a woman Is
almost always love disguised, everything was soon adjusted.
The preparations for the marriage were recommenced. The
bans were published again, and the event was to come off
in three days.
" 'The reconciliation had made as much noise as the rup
ture. He went to obtain leave of the minister to marry, and
before going said, "My friends, conserve the wavering heart
of my mistress until my return and dispose everything so that
I may then conduct her to the altar." (In spite of the hor
rible state in which my recital put him, Clavico, still uncer
tain of my motive, looked from time to time from me to my
friend, whose sangfroid instructed him as little as my own.)
I continued: " 'He returned sure enough two days later, but instead

92 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
of leading his fiancee to the altar he sent her word that he
had again changed his mind, and that he would not
marry her.
" 'Their friends, infuriated, rushed upon him. The in
solent fellow defies them to do their worst, and threatens
that if the French women undertake to interfere he has it in
his power to ruin them. At this the young woman falls into
such a state that her life Is in danger. In her utter despair,
the elder sister writes to France, recounting the public out
rage they had received. This account touches the heart of
a brother who demanded at once permission to come to Spain
In order to clear up this affair. He has made but one bound
from Paris to Madrid, and this brother am I, who have left
everything: country, position, business, family, pleasures, to
corae here to revenge an innocent and unhappy sister ; it is I
who come armed with right and firmness to unmask a traitor,
and to write his soul in traces of blood upon his face, — and
that traitor — is you!' "
The effect of these words upon the unhappy Clavico, can
be Iraagined better than described. As Beaumarchais fin
ished his long recital he turned and fixed his gaze steadily
upon his adversary, who writhed under its spell. As Beau
marchais paused, Clavico began to mutter forth excuses.
To return to the account of Beaumarchais. " 'Do not in
terrupt me, you have nothing whatever to say, but a great
deal to hear. To coramence, will you have the goodness to
declare before Monsieur here who has come with me from
France for this express purpose, whether by breach of faith,
frivolity, weakness, or other vice, my sister has merited the
double outrage which you have had the cruelty to impose
upon her publicly.'
" 'No, Monsieur, I admit that Donna Maria, your sister,
is full of suirlt. erace and virtue.'

Justification of Sister 93
" 'Has she ever given you any subject for coraplaint?'
" 'Never, never.'
"Then turning to the friend who accompanied me: 'You
have heard the justification of my sister, go and pub-
hsh it, the rest that I have to say to Monsieur does not need
witnesses.' "My friend went out, Clavico rose but I made him sit
down. " 'Now, Monsieur, that we are alone, here is my project
which I hope you will approve.' " Beaumarchais then pro
posed either a duel, or a written justification of his sister.
While Clavico rose and paced restlessly up and down the
room, Beaumarchais coolly rang for the chocolate to which
he helped himself AvhIle the unhappy man was going over in
his mind what there remained for him to do,
Clavico, though unprincipled in character, was clever
enough to recognize the qualities of the man with whom he
had to deal. Being possessed of neither physical courage
nor training, the first alternative offered by Beaumarchais
had no place In his consideration. Obliged to accept the
other, he decided to do so with the grace of one having been
convinced of his wrong. Beaumarchais, informed of this pur
pose, summoned several servants of the house whora he sta
tioned in an adjoining gallery as witnesses in case Clavico
ever should try to prove that force had been employed.
Paper, pen, and ink were brought, Clavico seated himself and
meekly wrote, while Beaumarchais walked indifferently to
and fro dictating. Again to return to the narrative of
Beaumarchais :
"Declaration, of which I have the original :
" 'I the undersigned, Joseph Clavico, guard of the
archives of the crown, testify that I have been received with

94 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
kindness In the house of Madame Guilbert, that I have de
ceived Mademoiselle Caron her sister by a promise, a thou
sand times repeated, to marry her, that I have failed in the
fulfillment of this promise, without her having committed
any fault which could serve as a pretext or excuse for my
breach of faith; that, on the contrary, the conduct of that
lady, for whom I have the most profound respect, always has
been pure and without spot. I testify that by my conduct,
by the frivolity of my discourse, and by the interpretation
which could be given it, that I have openly outraged this
virtuous young lady, of whom I beg pardon by this writing
made freely, although I recognize fully that I am unworthy
to obtain it, promising her every possible reparation which
she could desire. If this does not satisfy her.
" 'Made at Madrid and entirely written by my hand, in
presence of her brother, the 19th of May, 1764.
Signed — Joseph Clavico.' "
As we have said, Clavico had accepted the role forced upon
him with admirable grace. As soon as he had signed the
paper and handed it to Beaumarchais, whose anger now was
wholly appeased, he began in the most Insinuating tones,
"Monsieur, I believe that I am speaking to the most offended
but most generous of men." He then proceeded to explain
how ambition had ruined him; how he had always loved
Donna Maria ; how his only hope now lay In her forgiveness
and In being able to win back her affection; how deeply he
realized his unworthlness of this favor and that to obtain it
there was only one person to whom he could have recourse
and that was the offended brother before him; he therefore
implored Beaumarchais to take the paper he had just signed
and use It as he wished, but to plead his cause with Donna
Maria.

Exposes Perfidy of Clavico 95
This was a turn in the situation for which the brilliant
Frenchman Avas hardly prepared. The wily Clavico pursued
his advantage and before the interview had ended he was
already convinced that the man with whom he had to deal
was too generous to be really dangerous.
Strong In his position through the written declaration of
Clavico, Beaumarchais now hurried back to the home of
Madame Guilbert. He found his sisters in the raidst of
their friends, waiting with indescribable impatience for his
return; when he arrived with the paper, when they heard Its
contents, a scene of the greatest excitement occurred in
which amid mutual embraces, with everyone weeping and
laughing together, and all talking at once, the whole story
little by little at length was brought out.
As can be Imagined, the aff'air made a great stir in Mad
rid. The influence of the friends of Clavico on the one
hand, and on the other, the strong recommendations of the
French Ambassador, who took the matter seriously in hand,
finally induced the family after several weeks of indecision
on their part and of pleading on that of Clavico, to hush the
matter by accepting a new alliance. The affair once set
tled, Beaumarchais, true to his character of doing whole
heartedly whatever he undertook, became at once the warm
friend and confidant of Clavico, lent him money, entered
heartily into his schemes of advancement, so that the two
were constantly seen together. After a short period of this
friendship, so sincere on the part of Beaumarchais, imagine
his surprise to suddenly find that the cunning Clavico had
all along been secretly plotting his ruin and was now on the
brink of having him arrested and throAvn into prison.
Fui'ious at last, Beaumarchais no longer hesitated in
wreaking his vengeance upon his perfidious adversary; he
rushed to court, made the Avhole matter thoroughly known.

96 Beaumiarchais and the War of American Independence
and the king, having entered into the merits of the case,
decided against Clavico whom he discharged from his serv
ice and who was obliged to take refuge In a convent out
side of Madrid. From this retreat he addressed a pleading
letter to Beaumarchais Imploring his commiseration. The
latter In speaking of It says, "He was right to count upon
it, I hated him no longer, in fact I never in my life hated
anyone." Before going farther, it raay be of interest to note that
this same Clavico survived Beaumarchais a number of years,
dying In Madrid In 1806. He seems to have succeeded in
making his way in the world in spite of his temporary loss
of favor, and also, to quote Lomenie, "after having seen him
self Immolated during Hfe in the open theater, by Goethe,
as a melodramatic scoundrel." He translated Buffon into
Spanish and died editor of the Historical and Political
Mercury and vice-director of the Cabinet of Natural His
tory of Madrid.
As might be expected the news of Beaumarchais's way
of settling the Spanish matter, caused no less joy to the
family In France, than to that in Madrid. On June 6th,
1764, his father wrote to him: "How deliciously I feel the
honor, my dear Beaumarchais, of having such a son, whose
actions crown so gloriously the end of my career. I see at
a glance all the good that will result for the honor of my
dear Lisette from the generous action which you have per
formed in her favor. I receive by the same post two let
ters from the charming Countess (the Countess of Fuen-
Clara, one of the patronesses of the pere Caron, watch
maker) one to me and the other to Julie, so beautiful and
touching, so full of tender expressions for me, and honor
able for you, that you will have no less pleasure than I
when you read them. You have enchanted her; she never

Gay Life at Madrid 97
tires of dwelling upon the pleasure it gives her to know
you, or the desire she has of being useful to you, or the joy
it gives her to see how all the Spanish approve and praise
your action with Clavico; she could not be more delighted
if you Avcre her own son. Adieu, my dear Beaumarchais,
my honor, the joy of my heart; receiAe a thousand embraces
from the kindest of fathers and the best of friends. Caron."
There is also a letter extant from the abbe de Malespine
to the elder Caron. He wrote: "I have read and re-read.
Monsieur, the account which has been sent you from Spain.
I am ovenvhelmed with joy at all that it contains. Monsieur
your son is a real hero. I see in him the most brilliantly
gifted of men and the tenderest of brothers ; honor, firmness,
everything shines out in his proceedings with Clavico."
When this affair which had occupied him so Intensely for
alraost six weeks was definitely settled, Beauraarchais seems
to have given it no further consideration, but to have turned
his attention to the business negotiations with which he was
charged, and to the life of gaiety and pleasure which his
brilliant gifts opened to him. In speaking of this period,
Lomenie says, "Scarcely arrived at Madrid, we see him
plunging into the whirlpool of industrial enterprises, pleas
ures, festivals, gallantries, of music and of song, which was
his element. He is in the flower of his age; all his esprit
all his imagination, all his gaiety. In a word all his faculties,
are at the highest point of their development."
Soon we find him writing to his father, "I follow ray
affairs with a determination which you know me to possess ;
but all business between the French and the Spanish is
hard to bring to success. I shall have long details to give
you when I get back to warm myself at your fire. I work.

98 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
I write, I confer, I draw up documents, that is my life, I
promise you that whether I succeed or not In all that I have
undertaken, I will at least bring with me the esteem of all
those in this country with whom I have to deal. Take care
of your health and believe that my greatest happiness will
be to enable you to share whatever good comes to me,"
A little later he wrote, "I am now at the flower of my
age. It is for me to work and for you to repose yourself,
I I may perhaps be able to relieve you entirely from all your
'engagements. To this object I devote all my energy. I
will not tell you all now, but understand that I shall not go
to sleep over the project which I have always had In my
mind to put you on a level with all that is about you. Take
care of yourself, my dear father, and live. The moment
. will come when you will be able to enjoy your old age, free
from debts, and satisfied with your children. I have just had
your son-in-law appointed paid engineer to the king. If
you receive news of me from any Inhabitant of Madrid they ,
will say, your son amuses himself like a king; he passes all
his evenings at the Russian Ambassador's,— with my Jady
Rochford; he dines four times a week with the Commander
of the engineers, and drives with six mules all about Madrid ;
then he goes to the sitio real to see M. de Grimaldi and
other Ministers. He takes one meal a day at the French
ambassador's so that his stay Is not only charming, but very
inexpensive. All this is true as far as amusements go, — but
you must not suppose that I neglect my business. I attend
to every detail myself. It is in the high society for which
I was born that I find the means which I require — and when
you see what I have written, you will admit that I have not
been walking but running toward my goal."
One of the chief enterprises which Beaumarchais had
undertaken: was the establishment of a Louisiana Company I

Devotion to His Father 99
modeled on that of the British East India Company, which
had for its object the securing for France the right to trade
in that territory for the next thirty years.
He had a project for the colonization of the Sierra Morena
Mountains in Spain, a third for the introduction of a new
and more practical method of providing the army with the
necessary supplies; then there were Innumerable minor
schemes for the improvement of agriculture, commerce, In
dustry, and things generally in Spain. Upon all of these
subjects, he addresses Innumerable memoirs to the Spanish
ministers, and, in a word, does his utmost to infuse some
of his own energy into that unenterprising nation. Although
he almost succeeds in stirring things into a semblance of
life, yet it will not be thought surprising when we consider the
nation with which he had to deal, that notwithstanding his
assiduous efforts, many of his projects failed corapletely,
and others met with but partial success.
There is a lengthy letter given by Lomenie addressed by
Beaumarchais to his father in which the son goes Into rainute
details about his project for supplying the Spanish array
with provisions. It shows, amongst other things, his mas
tery of calculation on a gigantic scale, and that no enterprise
was too vast for his comprehensive intellect.
True to the dictates of his generous soul, here as else
where, it Is the thought of the ease and comfort which he will
be enabled to give to those dear to him that fills his heart
with gladness. Still to his father he wrote: "I finish, my
dear father, by recommending the care of your health as
the most precious thing that I have in this world and I
reiterate the tender and respectful attachment Avith which
I have the honor of being. Monsieur and very dear father,
your very humble and very obedient servitor and affection
ate son, Beaumarchais." . . . (Then in postscript) "I

100 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
might be able to find ten days that I would employ with a rare
satisfaction in procuring you a consultation with M. Tron-
chon so as to get at the bottom of your malady. This idea
consoles me in advance. It may be that before I go to
Lyons, I shall pass by Paris, in which case I will take you
with me and the rest will follow of itself. Your health be-
S comes more and more dear to me, as I feel myself able to
augment your satisfaction by my advancement and by the
care that I will give to render your old age agreeable in pro
curing comfort for all those who are dear to you."
But to return to the social life which Beaumarchais was
leading at Madrid. We have spoken already of his distaste
for card playing. Lomenie gives a very characteristic let
ter of Beaumarchais to his sister Julie, where he paints with
rare force and vividness of coloring the scene about a table
de jeu In the salon of the Russian Ambassador. The center
of the life and movement is naturally himself. With his
usual frankness he writes to Julie, "Evenings we have cards
or music and then supper, of all of which I seem to be the
soul. The society has been increased by all the Ambassa
dors, who before my arrival lived rather isolated. They
say now they have charming evenings because I am there."
Then follows a vivid description of the mad playing which
ends by Beaumarchais's lending this time, not thirty louis,
but two hundred and thirty, besides three hundred and
fifty which he had gained at the play, but which were not
', forthcoming. The debtors in this case were the Russian
Ambassador and his wife. As Beaumarchais was now win
ning he rose and refused to play any longer. The Ambas
sador and his wife who were excited over their losses, failed
In their duties as host and hostess ; the matter made a good
\ deal of noise and for ten days coolness reigned in all the so-
; cial Hfe of Madrid, Beaumarchais vowing that he had played

Music Replaces Cards at Madrid 101
for the last time. During the whole affair he carried himself
with so much dignity and showed so much moderation that he
won great credit among all the Princes and Ambassadors of
that high society. Finally the matter was adjusted, the joy
ful evenings recommenced, but with grand music instead of
cards, and Beaumarchais adds : "Word of honor, let no one
ever speak to me of playing again, let us amuse ourselves
with other things which do not entail such serious conse
quences.'' And a little further on, "the friendship is stronger
than ever ; balls, concerts, but no more cards. I have written
some French words to a Spanish air that is very much ad
mired ; I have had two hundred copies made. I will save one
to send with the music of the one I sent to my father. Good
night, I will write Tuesday to my Pauline and her aunt."
But not only the Russian Ambassador rejoiced in the
pleasure of the intimate friendship of Beaumarchais, but
also — in the words of Lomenie : "Loi'd Rochford dotes upon
him, goes to the Prado with him, sups with him, sings duets
with him and becomes astonishingly jovial for an English
diplomat. "But this is not all his Hfe at the Capital. In the midst
of his Industrial enterprises and his aristocratic pleasures,
the future author of the Barbier de Seville appears to be con
tinually occujpled with his humble family, now displaying a
rare tact and without compromising his patrician bearing
to force great ladles at Madrid to pay the bills which they
had long owed the elder Caron; and with fraternal bonhomie,
entering Into all the details of the life of his sisters at home,
or leaving the salons of the Capital for the modest dwelHng
of his sisters at Madrid."
That he was not ashamed of their station in Hfe Is ad
mirably shown by the following letter addressed to his father.
He wrote: "I have seen DrouIUet (a French banker estab-

102 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
lished in Madrid). He and his wife called soon after my
arrival, but I have not entered Into their society although
Drouillet is himself an estimable man. The reason I have
kept away is the ridiculous airs of his wife, who because she
possesses a few more ecus than your daughters considers her
self above them. She has tried to attract me there by at
tentions and invitations of every sort but ncA'er mentioned
my sisters, which made me reply that I was making too short
a stay in Madrid to give my time to any but my family. It
is the same everywhere, this ridiculous feeling belongs to
every country. There are here great and little France. My
sisters are too well brought up to belong to the latter and
they are not considered rich enough to be admitted to the
former, so that the visits of the Drouillets were for me alone;
at which Monsieur your son, took the liberty of putting
Madame Drouillet In her place; and so she says that I am
malin. You know what that means, my dear father, and
whether there is malice in seeing things clearly and then in
saying what one thinks."
In relation to the debtors of the elder Caron at Madrid,
allusions frequently occur In the letters. For instance, the
father writes, "I see what you have done and what you are
doing among my debfjors from whom I would never have
drawn a farthing but for you." At another time Beaumar
chais writes, "I am In a way to receive payment from all
of your grandees — their self esteem is so mixed up with it
that I think I shall manage to get all they owe you. My
letters to thera are polite but proud. The duke and duchess
do not seem to want to be under any obligation to me, fear
ing that I will boast of it and that the length of the credit
will be divulged. Let rae manage it in my own way."
. Here is a sample of his manner of approaching these cred
itors of his father. "Knowing that a number of idle people

Proves Right to Titles of Nobility 103
do me the honor of disturbing themselves regarding the mo
tives of my stay in Spain, it has seemed to rae ray duty to
tranquilize them by employing my time In soliciting the debts
of my house. In consequence I have the honor to demand
of your excellency the perraission" — here follows a statement
of the debt owed to the elder Caron. One of these individuals
of quality thus addressed being in no way anxious to pay, re
venged herself by trying to show up Beaumarchais as an
adventurer. Immediately the latter wrote home and re
ceived from his sister Julie by return post, a beautifully
printed decree drawn from the "Cabinet rose" by the chim
ney. There are four great pages containing fifteen articles
reinforced by legal terms and extracts of ordinances — the
whole surmounted with a beautiful ornament made of acan
thus leaves and bearing the following inscription, "Made
at the castle of the Louvre by Monsieur Pierre-August
Caron de Beaumarchais, Equerry Councilor of the King,
lieutenant-general des chasses aux bailliage et capitainerie
de la varenne du Louvre, grande vennerie, fauconnerie of
France, having session in the chamber of council, Tuesday,
January 17th, 1764, signed de Vitry, chief registrar." For
fear the list was not long enough, knowing well that one
can never have too many titles in Spain, his brother-in-law
added, "Equerry Councilor, secretary of the king, con
trdleur of the house of the king, lieutenant-general, etc."
But it is Impossible to touch upon all the details of that
correspondence so faithfully sustained on both sides for more
than a year, during his stay in Spain. These letters are the
chief source from which we have to draw In estimating Beau
marchais the son, brother and friend, as well as the man of
the world and the man of business. Fortunately nearly all
these letters have been preserved; we shall have occasion to
return to them when treating of another phase of the Hfe of

104 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Beaumarchais In relation to a connection formed before his
sudden departure frora Paris. As this incident with its con
nections takes us away from the outside world and conducts
us into the inmost sanctuary of the home established in the
rue de Conde, all the letters which touch upon it seem to
belong to the next chapter.
It is there we shall see Beaumarchais playing at first the
part of the happy and accepted lover of his charming Paul
ine, but a little later assuming the rather astonishing role of
victim, for in the words of Lomenie, "In the end he is really
the victim, and we shall see that he does his best to be
furious. He is here the antithesis of Clavico. It is Pauline
who will be Clavico, or rather there will be a Clavico who will
carry off PauHne."

CHAPTER IV
"Figure charmante, organe flexible et touchant! de I'ame
surtout." "Les deux amis," Act I, Scene I.
The Beautiful Creole, PauHne — Beaumarchais the Judge, the
Lover, the Friend — ^Mademoiselle de Boisgarnier Marries
Janot de Miron — The Pere Caron's Second Marriage.
T) EFORE entering into a consideration of the role played
-*-^ by Beaumarchais as lover, a few more touches are neces
sary to represent him as he was before the world. We
already have spoken of his various appointments at court,
and mentioned the fact that In 1763 he had bought the very
honorable charge of Urutenant-general des chasses au.v bail
liage et capitainerie de la varenne du Louvre.
In order that it may be quite clear to the reader what
were the functions assumed in acquiring this office we may
explain that the capitaineries were territorial circumscrip
tions in which the right of hunting was reserved exclusively
for the king. That known as "la varenne du Louvre" ex
tended for some fifty or sixty miles about Paris. There was
a special tribunal called "the tribunal to conserve the pleas
ures of the king" wliich tried all cases connected with in
fringements of the regulations belonging to the capitaineries.
The audiences of the particular one in question were held
once a week at the Louvre. They were presided over by
the duke de la Valliere, whose chief officer Beauraarchais now
became, 105

106 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence.
When the duke was absent, which M, de Lomenie assures
us was alnjost invariably the case, Beaumarchais himself
presided. Under the latter were many subordinates, some
of thera noblemen of high rank, so that it Is easy to under
stand the prestige of such an office.
There were innumerable regulations, many of them very
trying to private individuals, which it became the duty of the
lieutenant-general to enforce. In the territory belonging to
the capitainerie, no game could be shot, no garden or other
wall be constructed without special authorization from the
tribunal which presided over these matters. So annoying
were these regulations that in 1789 the suppression of the
capitaineries was one of the most popular measures voted
by the Assemblee Constituante. In 1763, however, no one
had thought as yet of the possibility of doing without them,
so that we shall see Beaumarchais entering with his usual
ardor into the exact and circumspect performance of his
new duties.
To think of Beaumarchais as he appears later in life,
attacking with the audacity which belongs to him alone,
the very foundations of feudal despotism in his Inimitable
Mariage de Figaro, and to see him now In his long judicial
robes seated upon the fieur de lis, gravely judging "pale hu
mans" apropos of rabbits, is a contrast which hardly can be
met with in any other career, and certainly not in any other
century. That he took his functions seriously and that he
also knew how to guard such rights as individuals then
possessed is clearly shown in the following characteristic
anecdote which we quote from Gudin.
"Soon after his return from Spain, Beaumarchais had a
quarrel with the Prince of Conde, on the subject of the privi
leges of the chase, in connection with a certain garden wall
which the Prince had torn down and which Beaumarchais

Dispute With the Prince of Conde 107
as the protector of the rights of the individual had caused
to be rebuilt. The Prince was very angry. M. de Beau
marchais mounted on a horse and went to find him while the
nobleman was out hunting.
" 'I have come,' said Beaumarchais, 'to give an account of
ray conduct.'
"A discussion at once arose; the Prince had a good deal
of esprit and what Is rarer still in one of his rank, he had
liberal ideas.
" 'Certainly,' Beaumarchais said to hiin, 'your Highness
can obtain anj'thlng you wish. Your rank, your power — '
" 'No,' replied the Prince, 'it Is as laAvyer that I pretend
to be In the right.'
" 'In that case,' said Beauraarchais, 'I demand of your
Highness leave to be the lawyer on the opposite side and
to plead before you. You shall be the judge.'
"He then proceeded to expose the affair with so much
clearness, precision, eloquence, energy, and regard for the
Prince that the latter avowed he was in the wrong and from
that moment felt for Beaumarchais the greatest affection."
And the devoted biographer hastens to add, "It was difficult
to see him without loving him ; the Dauphin, Mesdames, the
Duke de la Valliere, the Duke de Chaulnes and nearly all
those with whom he came in contact have experienced the
same sentiment."
During Beaumarchais's sojourn In Spain the functions of
this office, when not presided over by the Duke in person,
were necessarily left to subordinates. Beaumarchais how
ever retained his charge until a period just prior to Its final
abolishment in 1789.
When in the spring of 1765, Beaumarchais returned from
Spain he found the court plunged In mourning, for the
Dauphin was very near his end. Concerts for Mesdames

108 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
were not to be thought of, so very naturally he found him
self drifting farther and farther from the social atmosphere
of Court life. We soon shall see him employing his spare
moments in literary work but before attempting to study
Beaumarchais as an author, let us pause to contemplate him
as the lover.
Like most romances connected with the life of this unusual
character, the affair which we are now about to consider
is not a romance pure and simple, but has also a very pro
saic, business-like, raatter-of-fact side. It would seem that
the story has come down to us only because there was a
question of money involved, and of money never repaid to
Beauraarchais. In the words of Lomenie, "We thank heaven
that there was really a matter of business, that is to say,
a debt at the end of this love affair, or else it would have
met the fate of other episodes of the sarae nature, the papers
relating to which have- been destroyed, and so it is in the
august character of pieces justicatives that sorae very ten
der letters of an amiable young lady have been able to.
traverse the years."
The amiable young lady In question, Pauline, was a charm
ing Creole, born on the island of Santo Domingo, then be
longing to France. She had lost her parents in early in
fancy and was brought to Paris, where she was received!
by an aunt who became a second mother to the young girl..
The faraily estate was estimated to be worth two million
francs, but as it was heavily encumbered with d^bts and In
a run-down condition Pauline was no such heiress as at
first it would appear.
She was beautiful, however, and is described by those who'
knew her ias tender, delicate, and childlike, with a bewitch
ing voice and good musical ability. The family of Pauline
at Paris becarae intimate with that of the Carons about the

Pauline 109
time that Beaumarchais made his first acquaintance with
Paris du Verney.
From the first, Beaumarchais was much attracted to the
beautiful girl, then about eighteen years of age, and as niay
be Imagined had little difficulty in arousing in her a corre
sponding sentiment. Before demanding her hand in mar
riage, however, he decided to send a commissioner to Santo
Domingo to look carefully Into the condition of her affairs
and to see what would, be best to do for the ];-e-establishraent
of the estate. An uncle of Beaumarchais, M, Pichon, ac
cepted the commission and set out for Santo Domingo pro
vided with 20,000 francs in money and a cargo of mer
chandise of which he was to dispose to the best advantage
possible. Having taken this step, Beaumarchais wrote the
following letter to Pauline in Avhich prudence shows Itself
quite as clearly as sentiment.
"You thought me sad, my dear and amiable Pauline; I
was only preoccupied; I had a thousand things to say to
you which seem so serious, so important, that I have thought
it wise to put them upon paper so that you can better grasp
their import. You could not have doubted, my dear Pauline,
that a sincere and lasting attachment was the true cause of
all that I have done for yoii. Although I have been discreet
enough not to seek your hand in marriage until I was in a
situation to give you your proper station, my whole conduct
must have proved to you that I had designs upon your future
and that they were honorable. To-day, now that my funds are
engaged for the re-establishment of your affairs I am hoping
for the sweet bruits of my labors ; I even said something to
your uncle yesterday, who seemed favorably disposed toward
me. I must avow to you that I took the liberty of assuring
him that I believed that your consent would not be refused
me and I explained clearly to him my intentions. Pardon,

110 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
my dear Pauline, it was without presumption that I was led
to make the avowal to him. It seemed to me that your con
stant friendship for me was the guarantee of what I
advanced. Do you disavow it?
"There is one thing, however, which still deters me, even
though, my amiable PauHne, with proper management and
a reasonable economy. It is probable that the actual state
of my affairs is such that I have enough to make your
destiny agreeable, Avhlch Is the only desire of my heart ; yet
if through sorae terrible misfortune all the money which I
send to Santo Domingo should be engulfed in the ruinous
condition of an affair of Avhich Ave as yet know nothing but
from the testimony of others, these funds deducted from my
fortune will no longer permit me to support a condition such
as I would have given you ; and what would be my sorrow
if that were the case !
"This disquietude is the only reason that has forced me to
retard the denland for your hand, after which I have sighed
for so long a time.
"I do not know what clalras you have upon the property
of your dear uncle, either in regard to the dowry of your
late aunt or for the debts of which I have heard indirectly
spoken. It seems very improper for me to broach this sub
ject to you or to him. I revolt at the thought. Never
theless, my dear Pauline, in order to pass a happy life, one
must be without uneasiness as to the future, and no sooner
should I have you in my arms than I must begin to tremble
lest some misfortune should cause the loss of the funds which
I have sent to America; because I have placed no less than
80,000 francs aside for this purpose.
"This then, my dear Pauline, is the cause of my silence
which must have seemed strange after all I have done.
"There are two ways out of this difficulty if you accept

Paulvne 111
my proposal; the first is to have patience until the entire
success of my plans and the security of my capi
tal permits me to offer you something assured; the
second is that you engage your aunt to sound your
uncle upon what dispositions he intends to make in re
gard to you. Far, however, from wishing to diminish his
comfort in order to augment yours, I am entirely ready to
make sacrifices on my part, to render his old age more agree
able if the actual condition of his own affairs holds him in
restraint. But if the tenderness which he feels for you leads
him to favor your Interests, my intentions would never be to
permit him to transfer to you anything during his lifetime,
but since in case of his death he Avould be no longer able to
enjoy the use of it hiraself, it does not seem Improper to
make a similar request of an uncle who takes the place of a
father to you, and who has the right to expect your care and
your attentions to make his old age agreeable. Assured from
this side, we could then conclude our happy marriage, my
dear Pauline, and look upon the money sent aAvay as a pierre
d'attente, thrown out into the future, to render it more
agreeable if it succeeds, but which the future benevolence
of your uncle would raake good in case of loss.
"Reflect seriously upon what I have Avritten you. Give me
your advice in reply. My tenderness for you will always
have the ascendency over my prudence. My fate is in your
hands ; yours Is in the hands of your uncle."
This must have seemed a very solemn and business-like
letter for a young colonial unused to the minute exactitude
of a French mcnagere. Her reply shows that the heart
had discovered what It most desired to know, but that
the mind was confused by the mass of detail on the matter of
her fortune which after all must have seeraed to her a raatter
of but secondary Importance,

112 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
She wrote In reply: "Your letter, Monsieur, my good
friend, has thrown rae into extreme distress; I did not feel
strong enough to reply myself; nor did I feel either that I
ought to communicate it to my aunt, her tenderness for
me which is her chief merit in regard to me, could not help
me in the least. You will no doubt be very much aston
ished when you learn the intrepid act which I decided upon ;
the moment was favorable, your letter urgent, my embar
rassment more inspiring than the most prudent counsel, I
went and threw myself Into the arms of my uncle, I opened
to him my heart without reserve, I implored his advice and
his tenderness. At last I dared to show him your letter,
although without your permission my good friend ; all this
was done on the impulse but how glad I am that I over
came my timidity, so that he could read into my soul! It
seemed to me that my confidence In him augmented his fond
ness for me. In truth, my good friend, I did well to go to
him. I acquired in reasoning with him the certitude of his
attachment for me, and what pleases rae still raore I found
hira full of esteera for you and he also renders you all the
justice which I ara sure you raerit. I love my uncle a thou
sand times more because of this. As to the business of your
letter, he wishes to confer with you himself. I should man
age this too badly to undertake It. He wishes to see you
very soon. You have written rae that your fate is in my
hands, and that mine is In the hands of my uncle; in my
turn I give my interests over to you. If you love me as I
believe, you will be able to cause a little of your ardor to
pass over to my uncle; he complains that he Is bound already,
"My good friend. In this conversation, your heart and
your mind must work at the same time ; nothing resists you
when you really set your heart upon it. Give me this proof
of your tenderness, I shaH regard your success in this as the

Pauline 113
raost convincing proof of the zeal which you have for what
you so sweetly call your happiness and which your Pauline
could not read without a fearful beating of the heart. Adieu,
my good friend, I hope that your first visit when you come
back from Versailles, will be to my uncle. Think of all
the respect which you owe him if he is to be yours. I stop,
for I feel myself ready to Write foolishly. Bonsoir, mS-
chant!" Whatever may have taken place at the meeting between
Beaumarchais and the uncle, the results were not such as
permitted an immediate marriage. It was therefore post
poned until the Santo Domingo matter cleared itself. In
the meantime, the lovers saw each other frequently and in
the intervals letters were exchanged. Those of Beaumar
chais are in every tone ; sometimes a lengthy and pro
found dissertation on the nature of love which accords well
with the philosophic side which is by no means the least
developed in his surprisingly complex character ; others re
veal some touch of a longing for the deeper sentiment of
a pure affection which shall be all his own; whUe others
totally at variance with these are in a light jovial vein. The
following presents an epistle of this type:
"Bonjour, my aunt ; I embrace you, my amiable Pauline ;
your servitor, my charming Perrette. My little children, love
one another; this is the precept of the apostle word for
word. May the evil that one of you wishes another fall
back upon his own head; this is the malediction of the
prophet. This part of my discourse is not made for tender,
feeHng souls like yours, I know it, and I never think with
out an extreme satisfaction how nature, which has made you
so amiable, has given you such a portion of sensibility, of
equity, and of moderation which permits you to live so hap
pily together and me to be in the midst of so charming a

Il4 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
society. This one will love me as a son, that one as a friend
and my Pauline, uniting all these sentiments in her good little
heart, Avill inundate me with a deluge of affection, to which
I will reply following the power given by Providence to your
zealous servitor, your sincere friend, your future ,
Peste! what a serious Avord I was going to pronounce! It
would have passed the limits of the profound respect with
which I have the honor to be. Mademoiselle, etc., etc."
Matters werje at this pass when Beaumarchais left Paris
for Madrid. Soon after his arrival there, news of an alarm
ing nature began to reach France from Santo Domingo. The
uncle had met with an unscrupulous relative of Pauline and
very soon money and merchandise were lost, and as a crown
ing misfortune the uncle suddenly died.
The elder Caron, in writing to his son, seems to have
intimated a suspicion of foul play, for the son replies frora
Madrid, after quoting a line frora his father's letter,
"What do you mean by that? If it is simply that our funds
are lost that is a misfortune no doubt, but truly the other
thought Is far worse. My heart aches to think of my poor
uncle who, having a presentiment of misfortune and death,
went to meet his fate with so much good grace; but do not
believe that anyone has hastened his end, for we have no
proof and the suspicion is the most odious that can enter
into the raind of raan ; the climate alone, even where there
are no worries or enfeeblement, carries off tAvo-thirds of the
raen and It is certainly sufficient calamity for us to feel that
we have sent him to a natural death, Avithout gnawing our
hearts out by the dreadful idea that we sent him there to be
a victim, "My sisters at Madrid know nothing of my real sorrow,
I could have wished that you yourself might have been
spared the knowledge of it."

Julie's Lover Meets Pauline 115
That Beaumarchais conceived the idea of himself going to
the West Indies, is proved by a passage in one of his letters
to his father In which he speaks of his design to sell his ap
pointment at court and go with PauHne to settle in Santo
Domingo, Through some of the letters of the elder Caron we have
a picture of the delightful home life of the family and the
gaiety of the sisters of this brilliant brother. On the 22nd
of January, the father writes, "Nothing raore beautiful than
the festival at Beaufort could be imagined, Boisgarnier and
Pauline shone with their usual brilliancy. They danced until
two, after the concert and the supper; there was nothing
wanting but our Beaumarchais,"
Julie also wrote to a friend, "We played comedies and
we made love, there was a company of forty-five persons
and your Julie pleased generally in all her roles. Everyone
declared her one of the best actresses. What I say here is
not to praise her, because every one knows how modest she
is ; it is only because of your weakness, and to justify your
choice in having made her your friend. We are preparing
another more agreeable festival for the return of my
brother," Of Julie's manner of love-making we shall permit her to
tell us, a little later, in her own way. For the moment, let it
suffice to state the fact, that a certain Chevalier du S  , a
gifted young raan with no fortune, but with a name and a
position of honor, had been for some time very assiduous in
his attention to the favorite sister of Beaumarchais, He
had been well received by the family and had asked her hand
in marriage. He was also a native of Santo Domingo,
though in no way connected with Pauline, whom he met for
the first time at the home of hjs friends. In rue de Conde.
It does not concern us in the study which we are making

116 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
to enter very deeply Into the merits of this young man since
in the end he does not aHy himself with the family ; we shaU,
however, be forced to speak of him later, as it is he who
turns out to be the other Clavico, who deserts JuHe and
carries off PauHne. In how far these two are justified for
their double desertion, the reader may judge if he has the
patience to follow the story to its completion. For the pres
ent, let us turn our attention to another pair of lovers, less
romantic, perhaps, at least so far as the hero Is concerned,
— but possessed of more sterling qualities.
It will be reraerabered that the youngest sister of Beau
marchais, Mademoiselle de Boisgarnier, was rather an at
tractive, though slightly affected, little body. A certain
young man, Janot de Miron, had been introduced into the
home of the Caron family and had fallen much In love with
the rather disdainful young woraan In question.
She seems In the beginning to have been but slightly
touched by his ardent addresses. She did not find him ele
gant enough for her fastidious taste. But Miron was a
tenacious young man whose ardor was only stimulated by the
coldness and disdain of her whose heart he never despaired
of conquering.
Beaumarchais, unconscious of this and seeing his sister's
indifference, had written from Madrid proposing another
alliance. Miron, learning of the interference of his friend,
promptly grew furious and wrote an Indignant letter in
which he indulged freely In injurious personalities.
The reply of Beaumarchais is so characteristic and shows
so clearly the crude strength of his nature as well as his
sense of justice that we take from it a rather long extract.
The affair once settled, true to the instincts of his warm
heart, the matter was not only forgiven but also completely
forgotten.

Janot de Miron 117
Beaumarchais wrote: "It is my turn to reply, my dear
Miron, to the very astounding letter which I have just re
ceived from you, , , , I Avant to tell you now, that long ago
I was tired of sacrifices and that my one desire has been that
everyone around me should be happy; you alone seem to
imagine that you have the right to complain of ray proceed
ings. I am not touched by your reproaches, I have done my
duty by eA'eryone. I do not need to prove this, that does not
concern me noAV — but to refute the most heavy, awkward, dis
agreeable jesting which Is the tone of your letter, my friend.
I am most astonished that those Sapphos of sisters of mine
did not prevent your putting such impertinence into the post.
It is a fact that you are not made for jesting but for more
serious matters. Nothing could be more ridiculous than to
see you attempt the lighter vein, which does very well for
the little dog of La Fontaine, but which is disgusting In
more solid animals. More than this, your ideas are based
upon a foundation so false and so equivocally set forth that
they fill me with pity. ... As far as my sister Is concerned,
I shall be very happy if I find her married as her heart dic
tates when I return ; if I find her unmarried, I shall put no
obstacle in the way of her happiness. I have two left for
whom I will provide according to the turn which my affairs
take on. ... I am in no haste for either of them for I have
certain ideas about the future Avhich make me feel that the
longer they Avait the less they will regret not having been in
too much of a hurry.
"And now since I do not pretend to give myself airs in
disposing of any of my family without their consent. It would
have been easy to draw from me an explanation which would
have made your letter unnecessary. I am returning the mis
sive to you that you may have the pleasure of regaling your
self thereon If by chance you have not kept a copy.

118 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
"For the rest, your desire to marry my sister is an honor
to her — I repeat it — and she is entirely free to choose you
if you satisfy her; far from trying to prevent it I give my
consent from to-day forth — but always with the understand
ing that you never confound the rights which you will ac
quire over her as her husband, with those which you can
never have over me. This is what I wish to tell you once
for all In order that nothing of this kind may ever again
happen between us.
"I take the liberty of begging you to keep to the only
tone which will pass with me — that of friendship. I have
need neither of a preceptor who pretends to explore Into the
motives of my actions, nor of a pedagogue who takes it upon
hiraself to instruct me.
"I do not know why Julie should have communicated to
you that which I wrote, and I am still more astonished that
she has imagined that your ridiculous letter could affect
me. It Is my intention never to return to this subject, there
fore I beg her by this letter, never again to suffer in her
presence that anyone fails in the respect which is due me.
I am so indulgent truly, that this need not be denied
me. "You will receive this letter by the way of my father, who
sent me yours, so that All The FaTnily may be the witnesses
of the way in which I accept your jesting.
"It is not very agreeable to me to think that my sisters,
not wishing to take with me an improper tone, make it their
business to pass on to me your words, to relieve themselves
of the restraint they have before me.
"After this, jest on as much as you like, you will receive
nothing from me to engage a serious quarrel. When you
know so little of my life, however, you will spare me your
commentaries.

Janot de Miron 119
"I am none the less, ray dear Miron, your servant and
friend "Beaumarchais."
As he hiraself has said, "with good hearts, anger is only
a pressing need for pardon," so the matter was not difficult
to settle. August 27th, 1764, he writes to Julie, "How is
eA'er A'body, the christian pedagogue first of all?" and Oct.
26th of the same year, "I have received your letter of the
9th by which you confirm all that has been told me of the
moderation of Boisgarnier. I thank her sincerely. jMIron
has written to me, but while reading, I felt like saying,
'Miron, what do a'ou want of me with this beautiful letter?
A month ago my anger was all gone and all this seems to
me but tiresome repetition.' "
In spite of her moderation the youngest sister seems to
have sided AvIth her brother at her lover's expense, for we
soon find the former pleading with her in a letter addressed
to his father from Madrid, dated January 14, 1765.
"Monsieur and very dear father:
"I have received your last letter dated December Slst —
and that of Boisgarnier. Her reply gave rae much pleasure.
She is a droll creature, but she has a good deal of intelli
gence and rectitude of character; now, if I am in any way
the cause of the coldness. between her and her friend, I say in
advance that I have entirely given up my resentment and
she will do well to follow my example. For whatever opin
ion he may have of me, I am determined not to quarrel with
him. "The only tiling that can hurt me is that he should speak
ill of my heart, I don't care what he says of my mind. The

120 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
first will always be at his service and the second ready to
give him a drubbing if he needs it. . . .
"I am indeed sorry if they cannot agree, for Miron is a
man who does not lack a single quality which should make
an honest woman happy; and If my Boisgarnier Is less
touched by these qualities than by the defects of a few fri
volous attractions (which for my part I do not deny him)
then I should say that she is a child who has not yet ac
quired that experience which prefers happiness to pleasure.
To say absolutely what I think, I am convinced that he is
right to prefer his qualities to mine, for there are many
points where I do not feel that I possess either his virtue
or his constancy, and these things are of great price when
it is a question of a union for life.
"Therefore I invite my Boisgarnier not to think of our
friend except in regard to what there is of him which is
infinitely estimable, and soon the matter will adjust Itself.
I was furious with him for twenty-four hours — nevertheless
there is no other man whom I would prefer to be associated
with as a brother-in-law.
"I understand all that Boisgarnier would say — yes, he
plays on the hurdy-gurdy, that Is true, his heels are half
an Inch too high, he has a nasal twang when he sings — he
eats raw apples at night, he is cold and didactic when he
talks, — he has a certain awkwardness of manner in every
thing he does ; but still the good people of the rue Conde
ought not to be offended at such things; — a wig, a waist
coat, a pair of clogs ought not to drive anyone away when
he excels In matters of the heart and his mind is in keep
ing. Adieu Boisgarnier, here Is a long article for thee."
It is interesting to find Beauraarchais candidly acknowl
edging the lack of certain qualities in himself which at least

PRINCESS DE LAMBALIE

The ClievaUer du S  121
he knoAVS hoAv to appreciate in other.s. In his rel.itions Avith
Pauline it Avill be seen that whatever her real motives may
have been, she uses what she considers his inconstancy as
a pretext later for her break with him. However, to do him
justice. It raust be affirraed that there Is no eAadence that
he ever for a moment entertained an Idea of abandoning her,
or that in his heart he meant to be untrue; yet the fact re
mains that other women did not lose their charm for him
because of her, and while at IMadrid he Avas far from deny
ing himself consolation for being deprived of her society.
His letters to her were by no means frequent enough, nor
ardent enough to satisfy the longings of a romantic young
girl. Already before his departure for Madrid, he seems to have
given ground for complaint, as we find JuHe accusing him
of levity in a letter to a friend while at the same time she
paints In her merriest vein the love-sick condition of the
family. "Our house," she wrote, "is a dovecote ivhere everyone
lives on love and hope ; I am the one who laughs more than
the others, because I am the least In love ; Beaumarchais is
a perverse being who by his levity teases and grieves Pauline.
Boisgarnier and Miron discuss sentiment till one loses one's
breath, and impassion themselves with order up to the point
of a sublime disorder. The Chevalier and I are worse than
all that ; he Is as loving as an angel, passionate as a seraph,
while I ara as gay as a linnet, and malicious as a demon.
Love does not make me lon-lan-la like the others, and yet in
spite of my madness I could not keep from tasting of It.
More's the pity!"
Beaumarchais wrote from Madrid, "I have this after
noon been to the French Arabassador's in the carosse of

122 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Madame the Marquise de La Croix, who has the goodness
to drive me everywhere with her six mules. She Is a charm
ing lady who has great credit here by her rank, but still
more by reason of her intelligence and the graces which
make her dear to all the world. Her society dissipates the
dust, the inaction, the ennui, the Impatience which seize
everyone who remains long in this place. I should die in
this dull city if it were not for this delicious company."
It is quite evident that Beauraarchais is thinking little
of Pauline and he will soon find to his chagrin, that she has
ceased to think any longer so tenderly of him.
He has not, however, forgotten her interests in Santo
'Domingo nor his project of going there to settle in case the
turn of his affairs should point to that move as the best
solution of the difficulties, but in the meantime, he amuses
hiraself In his moments of leisure in the pleasantest way that
offers itself.
But not only were the sisters of Beaumarchais living on
hope and love, the elder Caron himself was entertaining
the same guests as Is proved by the following letter written
by his son frora Madrid.
"Monsieur and very dear fatheri — •
"I am not surprised at your attachment for Madame
Henry; she is cheerfulness itself, and has one of the best
hearts that I know. I could wish you might have been
happy enough to inspire a more lively return of affection.
She would raake you happy and you would certainly fender
agreeable this union founded upon reciprocal affection and
an esteera which has lasted twenty-five years. If I were
you, I know very well how I should go about it, and if I
were she, I know also very well how I should reply ; but I

The Pire Caron Marries Madame Henry 123
am neither the one nor the other and it is not for me to
clear up this affair of yours, I have enough of my own."
To which the elder Caron replied, September 19th, 1764,
"We supped yesterday with my dear and good friend who
laughed heartily when she saw the article in your letter,
imagining as she very well could, the way in which you would
go about this affair if you were in my place, so that as
she says, she only embraces you with all her heart, because
you are nine hundred railes away."
But though the amiable Madame Henry was quite ready
to laugh at the article in the son's letter she does not ap
pear to have been in any hurry to change the relationship
which had so long existed between herself and the elder
Caron, for shortly before his return from Madrid we find
Beaumarchais writing in relation to the same matter: "A
man ought not to be alone. One raust hold to something
in this life, and the society of your sons and daughters can
only be sacrificed to another much sweeter, but Avhich you
do not seem on the point of acquiring. I precede ray arri
val by a picture of what should be, so that you may have
time to determine what you ought to do before my return,
which will be soon. What happiness for me, if on reaching
there I could on the same day see assured the felicity of my
father and my sister."
Unfortunately for us, Beaumarchais returned from Spain
In May, 1765, so that the correspondence ceased and with
it, our means of following in detail the lives of those in
whom we have begun to take so warm an interest. The "fe
licity" of the father we know, however, to have been consum
mated, for on January 15, 1766, he was united in marriage
Avith the woman of his choice, Madame Henry, she being then

124 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
sixty years of age and he sixty-eight. After two years of
happy married life, Madarae Caron died and we find her
husband again returning to the rue Conde to live with his
dearly loved son.
In the meantime. Mademoiselle de Boisgarnier had taken
the advice of her brother, and we cannot for a moment doubt
that she acted wisely ; for her lover, Janot de Miron, seems
to have been a man of exceptionally fine character. Refer
ring to the letter already quoted In which Beaumarchais
pleads with his sister for her friend, M. de Lomenie says, "In
reading this eulogy of poor Miron, where his moral quali
ties are exalted rather to the detriment of his brilliant ones,
we have need to remeraber that Beaumarchais previously
had declared his friend was not wanting in external accom
plishments ; and truly he was not. Mirori, judging from
his letters was rather pedantic, but in no way stupid. The
taste for poetry and art, which reigned In the Caron faraily
was no stranger to him. After several years of torment, he
succeeded in touching that disdainful little heart and thus
his constancy was rewarded. Mademoiselle de Boisgarnier,
suitably endowed by her brother, married in 1767 M. de
Miron, whom the Influence of Beaumarchais later succeeded
In having appointed Secretaire des Commandements du
Prince de Conti.
In all these matters it will be seen that Beaumarchais did
not set himself up to be dictator in his family but was actu
ated solely by the desire to see consummated the dearest
wish of those about him. Pauline he accepted as a settled fact
of his existence, treating her as though he Avere her brother
rather than her lover. His taste led him naturally to women
more mature In years and experience, and he was far less
sentimental than Pauline.
We shall see presently, as we come to treat of Beaumar-

Century in Advance of Age 125
chais as an author, that though through flashes of inspira
tion he raay at times attain the heights of the heroic, yet he
has in reality small sympathy with it, either in life or litera
ture. At no time, do we find him possessed of one of those
absorbing passions which devour all lesser ones and which
alone make sacrifice, not only necessary but easy ; sacrifice
is always distasteful to him. He has an intense desire to be
happy and to have all about him happy. We must not
expect, In this wise to find him a hero. Beaumarchais is
pre-eminently a modern man, and It is no accident that he
should have been an instrument to aid in laying the founda
tions of that modern nation, which more than any other,
has brought ease and comfort within the reach of every class
and condition of men.

CHAPTER V
"Les serments
Des amants
Sont legers comme les vents,
Leur air enchanteur,
Leur douceur
Sont des pieges trompeurs
Caches soits des fieurs."
Seguedille de Beaumarchais
New study of Beaumarchais by Lintilhac — Beaumarchais's
Return from Madrid — The Lover of Julie Carries off
Pauline — the Reglement de compte which Terminated this
Romantic Chapter of the Life of Beaumarchais.
A MONG the numerous studies of the life of Beaumar-
¦*¦ ^ chais which the admirable and scholarly work of M. de
Lomenie stimulated into being, none takes a higher place
than that of Eugene Lintilhac. Fired Into enthusiasm by
the work of Lomenie, and having as he has said, his curi
osity rather stimulated than satisfied thereby, he demanded
of the descendants of Beaumarchais leave to examine for
himself the entire mass of manuscript which had served as
the foundation of that great work. He was also actuated,
as he tells us, by the sentiment so forcibly expressed by Gu
din, "I soon found that I could not love him moderately
when I came to know him In his home," and it was this sen
timent which made him desire to refute from direct evidence
X26

LintUhac's Life of Beaumarchais 127
some unsympathetic writings which had appeared, writings
in which the character of Beaumarchais is inverted and all
his great and disinterested actions viewed from the stand
point of Avhatever Avas ordinary about him, or whatever
could be tortured into appearing so, thus making everything
seem petty and contemptible, as when a telescope is reversed
and all its power directed towards diminishing the objects
upon which it is turned.
Many of the letters which wc have already qugted were
first published by him, and we shall have occasion, more than
once to have recourse to his volume. In the family corre
spondence M. Lintilhac found several fragments of letters
written by friends and especially by one M. de la Chataig-
nerie, a man at that time well advanced in years, but devoted
to the interests of his friend and Avho had been left with a
certain oversight of the family. He wrote: "The dear sis
ter, who though slightly indisposed, conserves her reason,
at least so far as essentials go, begs you to bring everything
that you find which is good in all the places where you pass,
even the hams of Bayonne. Time presses because the little
dog of a Boisgarnier drives me to despair, and beats me —
it is true that I deserve no better. Adieu, adieu — deliver
rae from my guardianship!"
And M. Lintilhac continues : "Nevertheless the care does
not rest altogether on him, the main part falls on Julie —
who keeps the purse, which is no small matter, for Ave find
that, by the 17th of November she already had given out
frorn 7000 to 8000 francs. We must believe that they were
well expended because she no doubt followed the programrae
traced for her by her brother. 'I recommend to you econ
omy as the mother of comfort,' and he adds without joking,
'modesty as the amiable companion of great success.' He
wishes that the family, 'think of hira a little in his absence,'

128 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
'Men are vain,' he adds, 'they like to be flattered.' "
Beaumarchais, just before leaving Spain, wrote: "So I
am putting my whole mind on ray business, my Father, while
my misfortune causes me to lose 2000 ecus of income from
the provisions of France which dissolve especially to ruin
me, the King of Spain and the Ministers cast their eyes
on me to be at the head of those in Spain, as my old Du
Verney is of those in France. There is talk of joining to
this the furnishing in general of all the grain needed for
Spain as well as the fabrication of saltpetre and powder, so
that I may find myself suddenly at the head of a company
for providing provisions, subsistencies, munitions and agri
cultural products.
"Keep this for the family and see that my prospects, hon
est as they are, are known only by their success."
And Julie replied In her tenderest vein, "My Beaumar
chais, my amiable genius, I have seen your letters, your
projects, your work and nothing surprises me, not even
your philosophizing over our sad news. When any one ap
preciates you as I do, one has the right to count upon aston
ishing things. Assuredly we will keep the secret ; but when
do you return? My heart rebels at your long absence."
M. Lintilhac continues : "We know his grand projects did
not receive the aid and sanction of the ministry, but they
were dismissed with flattering compliments for him. All his
plans, however, had not proved abortive as has so often
been said, because on returning to France he writes to his
father from Bordeaux, April 2nd, 1765, "I am now at Bor
deaux, I don't know whether I shall leave to-morrow or the
next day. My Spanish business requires certain Informa
tion which I can obtain only here, or in some other seaport.

Returns from Spain 129
I received a letter from Durand at Madrid very satisfac
tory in regard to the obliging regrets of the honest people
of Madrid as well as for the affairs to which I have there
attached him. I am absolutely alone, my valet de chambre
stayed at Bayonne with a groom and three beautiful horses,
which at Paris ought to pay the price of their journey as
well as my own."
No record has corae down to us of the meeting of Beau-'
marchais and his family after their long separation, but
now that we know them all so intimately it is not difficult to
reconstruct the scene, the venerable father pressing his son
to his bosom, the tears of tenderness welling to his eyes,
the sisters rushing to embrace him, the friends and domes
tics even, eager to clasp his hand, and all radiant with the
thought of having him in their midst. Then this outburst
of affection over, what gaiety and mirth follow, and all
that human expansiveness which com'es so spontaneously
from the heart !
But though the family tie remained as strong as ever, a
decided change had come already Into the situation between
him and Pauline. Nevertheless, matters were smoothed over
and the marriage was definitely decided upon. Misunder
standings, however, continued from time to time, and in the
midst of these troubles, a rumor reached the ears of Beau
marchais, that the Chevalier du S. had intentions upon
Pauline. Beaumarchais, furious, wrote a letter to the Cheva
lier who in turn defended himself in a letter which is as
follows: "It seems to me. Monsieur, that a counterfeit story
ought to find less credit in your eyes than in those of
others, since you have been all your life the butt of such
reports. For the rest, I beg you to believe that I do not
write to obtain grace, but because I owe to Mile, de L. B. — •

130 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
to make known the truth upon a point which compromises
her, and because it would be hard and very hard for me to
lose your esteem."
Pauline replied to the same charge with an indifference
which shows a great change of sentiment on her part.
"As I was ignorant of the project of M. le ChevaHer be
fore I received your letter, and as I know nothing of the
matter, you will permit me to inform myself before I reply.
As to the reproach which you make in regard to Julie, I do
not feel that I merit it, If I have not sent to know how she
is, It Is because I have been assured that she was very much
better and had been seen at her window, which made me
think that It was true. If my aunt were not IU, which pre
vents my leaving, I would assuredly go to see her. I em
brace her with all my heart."
M. de Lomenie says : "The two were perhaps Innocent at
that moment. If I can judge from a letter of a cousin of
Pauline's and a friend of Beaumarchais, very badly treated
by the latter in regard to this affair, 'When you have a
more tranquil mind so that you "^111 do me justice,' says
the cousin, 'I will speak openly with you and prove to you
that you, who condemn others so easily, are more culpable
than those you believe to be dissimulating and perfidious.
Nothing Is so pure as the heart of the dear Pauline, noth
ing nobler than that of the Chevalier, or more sincere than
my own, and you look upon all three as though we were mon
sters.' "
The above letter of November 8, 1765, Is all we have to
fix the date of the previous one. During the interval which
follows, it is Impossible to determine exactly what hap
pened, but true it is that by February llth, 1766, the defi
nite rupture had taken place and even the cousin undertakes

Tlie Chevalier du S  131
no longer to shield the "dear PauHne." As to the Chevalier,
who a year before had written of Julie, "She Is the unique
object of my tenderest desires," It may be that Julie her
self had much to do with his estrangement, for in a letter
already quoted we have her OAvn authority for believing that
she was never very deeply in love, and her "maliciousness,"
ni'iy have helped to cool the ardor of the Chevalier. Certain
it is, that Julie with all her warmth and expansiveness was
not by nature any more formed for absorbing passions than
Avas her brother. A letter belonging to a very much earlier
period, proves that love was at no time a very serious mat
ter with her, while it paints to the life the gaiety of her
character. She writes, "You must knoAv, ray dear Lhenon
upon what terras of folly I am with your brother. His air
of Interest for me, of which I Avrote a month ago, has de-
A'eloped singularly and beautified itself since 'Our friends
haA'e gone to the country. He comes nearly every evening
to supper and stays till midnight or one o'clock. Ah my
dear Lhenon, you should hear him recounting to rae, and
me retorting In the same tone with that air of folic that
you haA'e always known me to possess ; but in the midst of
all these pleasantries I have sometimes found a happy way
of expressing myself, so as to persuade hira seriously that I
do not love him, and I believe him convinced, although I have
never said half as many sweet things to him as I do now,
because of an agreement which we have to love each other
tAVO days of the week, he has chosen Monday and Saturday,
and I took Thursday and Sunday. On those days we say
very tender things, although it is agreed that there shall
always be one farouche when the other loves."
This to be sure was a girlish fancy, but the character of
Julie retained to the end much of the folic of which she

132 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
here speaks, Avithout, however. In the least Impairing its
real seriousness. But whatever the cause, the fact remains
that the Chevalier du S. declared himself to Pauline, who
in turn disengaged herself from Beaumarchais. The corre
spondence ended with two long letters from the latter and
one short, dry note from Pauline. ]M. de Lomenie in speak
ing of the letters of Beaumarchais observes, "In novels
each impulse of the human heart is ordinarily painted sepa
rately with vivid colors, well marked and without blending.
In reality, things seldom pass that way ; when one Impulse
Is not strong enough to stifle all the others, which generally
is the case, the human heart presents a confused medley
where the most diverse sentiments, often directly opposite,
speak at the sarae time." It Is thus that in the letters which
are given, one can discern In the heart of Beaumarchais, to
quote Lomenie, "a remnant of love reawakening, excited by
jealousy and restricted in its expression by vanity, scruples
of delicacy and honor, the fears of 'what they wiU say,' the
need to prove that he has no reproach to make to himself,
the determination to AA-ed, and yet perhaps a certain fear of
being taken at his word, because, although these letters con
tain a very formal offer of marriage, they also contain cer
tain passages sufficiently mortifying, so that the pride of
Pauline Avould reply by a refusal. Again it is evident that
Beaumarchais fears a refusal and whether from love or self
esteem he wishes to triumph."
"You have renounced me," he wrote to PauHne, "and
what time have you chosen to do It? The very moment
which I had announced to your friends and mine, would be
that of our union. I have seen the perfidy which has caused
everything to turn against me, even to my offers. I have
seen you, you who have so often sighed at the injustice

Pauline Discards Beaumarchais 133
nwiBtr-' '
Avhich others have done me, join yourself to them to create
wrongs of which I never thought. If I had not had the
intention of marrying you, would I have put so Httle form
into the services which I rendered you? Would I have
assembled your friends and mine two raonths before your
refusal, to announce to thera my resolution? Everything has
turned against me. The conduct of a friend, two-faced and
perfidious, In giving me a cruel lesson, has taught me that
there is no woman so honest and so tender who cannot be
seduced and made to change. Also the contempt of all those
who have seen him act, is his just recompense. Let us come
back to you. It is not without regret that I have turned
my thoughts from you, since the first heat of ray resentment
has passed, and when I insisted that you .should write for
mally that you refused my offer of marriage, there was mixed
with my chagrin, an obscure curiosity to see whether you
would take this last step with me; to-day I must know
absolutely how I stand. I have received very advantageous
propositions of marriage, on the point of accepting I felt
myself suddenly arrested; I do not know what scruple of
honor, what return toward the past, made me hesitate. I
have every reason to feel rayself free and disengaged from
you after all that has passed ; nevertheless, I am far from
tranquil, your letters do not say formally enough what is
most iraportant for rae to know. Reply truly, I beg of you.
Have you so completely renounced me that I am free to
contract with another woman? Consult your heart upon
this point, while my delicacy questions you. If you totally
haA'e cut the knot which should unite us, don't fear to tell
me so. In order that your amour propre be completely at
ease upon the demand which I make, I add this, that In
writing to you I have put back everything to Avhere it was
before all these storms. My demand would not be just if,

134 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
setting a trap for you, I did not give you the liberty of
choice In your reply. Let your heart answer alone. If
you do not give me back my liberty, write me that you are
the same Pauline, sweet and tender for life, whom I used
to know, and that you believe yourself happy to belong to
me, instantly I break Avith everything that is not you. If
your heart is turned to another, and invincibly estranged
from me, do me the justice of admitting that I have been
honest with you. Give to the bearer of this, the declaration
which frees me and I shall feel that I have accomplished
my duty and shall have no reproach to make myself. Adieu,
I ara, up to the raoraent of your reply, under Avhatever title
it shall please you to choose, MaderaoiseUe, your very hum
ble servant, etc. De Beaumarchais."
A fcAV hours later followed a second letter: "I send you
back the package of your letters, if you keep them, join
mine to your reply. The reading of your letters has moved
me deeply, I do not wish again to experience that pain, but
before replying examine well what is the best for you, as
well for your fortune as for your happiness. My Intent is
that, forgetting everything, we pass our days in tranquillity
and happiness. Do not let the fear of living with the raera
bers of my family who do not please you arrest your sensi
bility, if another passion has not extinguished it. My horae
is so arranged that whether it be you, or whether It be an
other, ray wife shall be the peaceful and happy mistress
there. Your uncle laughed in ray face when I reproached
him with having opposed me. He told me that his opinion
Avas that I need not fear a refusal or else that his niece's
head had been turned. It is true that at the moment of re
nouncing you forever, I felt an emotion which showed rae
that I held more strongly to you than I thought. What I

Patdine Discards Beaumarchais 135
write therefore is frora the sincerest faith in the world.
Don't flatter yourself ever to give me the chagrin to see
you the wife of a certain man. He must be very daring to
think of rai.sing his eyes before the public if he proposes to
accomplish this double perfidy. Pardon me if I grow warm !
Never has that thought entered my mind that all my blood
has not boiled in my veins.
"But whatever your resolution, don't keep me waiting, '
because I have suspended all my business to give myself over
once more to you. Your uncle tried to convince me that
this marriage with you was not all to my advantage, but
I am very far from occupying myself with these considera
tions. I wish to possess you only for yourself, and that it
be for life. ... I admit that It would be sweet to me. If
while the enemies slept, peace should be concluded between
us. Re-read your letters and you will understand that I
found again In the depths of my heart all the sentiments
that they had there called into being."
Lomenie remarks: "The reply of Pauline Is rauch more
laconic and much more direct. With her there is no con
flict of sentiments : she does not love Beaumarchais any
more ; that is very simple and very clear.
" 'I can only repeat. Monsieur, what I said to Mademoi
selle your sister, that my stand is taken not to return, there
fore I thank you for your offers, and I desire with my
whole heart that you may marry the person who Avill make
you happy; I assured Mademoiselle your sister of this. My
aunt and I feel it our duty to tell you how unhappy Ave
are that you should fail In respect to us In treating so
badly a man whom we consider as our friend. I knoAV bet
ter than anyone else that you have no right to call him

136 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
perfidious. I said once more this morning to Mademoiselle
your sister, that a demoiselle who used to live with my aunt
was the cause of what happens to-day. You have still sev
eral of my letters AvhIch I ask you to return. I will beg
one of our friends to arrange with you about everything
which remains to be adjusted. I am, very perfectly. Mon
sieur, your very humble and obedient servant,
L. B  .'"
Still quoting Lomenie : "Pauline who used to sign herself,
'I am for life thy faithful Pauline' now signs politely her
family narae, and so this correspondence ends like so many
others of the same nature, by, 'I have the honor to be,' or 'I
am very perfectly' which succeed the protestations of an
eternal love."
And now follows a second letter from the cousin in rela
tion to this unhappy affair, "All is said, my dear Beaumar
chais, and without hope of return. I have notified Madame
G. (the aunt of Pauline) and Mile. Le B  of your dispo
sitions, they ask nothing better than to come to an honor
able arrangement In this rupture. It remains now to regu
late the account between Mile. Le B  and you, and to
take measures to secure for you the sum Avhich Is due. These
ladies beg you to give back all the papers AvhIch you have
concerning the affairs of Mile. Le B — — . You cannot tell
how unhappy I am not to have been able to unite two hearts
which for so long have seemed to me made for each other,
but man proposes and God disposes. I flatter myself that
on both sides the justice which I feel belongs to me, will be
rendered. I have let you read in my heart, and you must
have seen that I know neither disgulsement nor artifice.
Adieu, my friend, I will go to see you as soon as I can;

The Reglement de Comptes 137
in the meantime write to me. I embrace you, I am as always,
"Your sincere friend P-  "February llth, 1766—"
In the words of Lomenie, "Let us accord this worthy
cousin, whose sentences are more consoling than new, the
justice which he claims, and acknoAvledge that he is a
stranger to the perfidy of the Chevalier. If Ave were Avrit
ing a romance we would stop here, or else end with the death
of Beaumarchais, he killing himself In desp.iir, or by the
death of the Chevalier, immolated by the fury of his rival;
but as we are writing a history we are obliged above all else
to be exact and instead of stating that the adventure ends
by a suicide or a duel we are forced to state that it termi
nates much more prosaically, by a reglement de comptes
where the future author of the Mariage de Figaro raakes an
amusing enough figure in his role of betrayed lover and un
easy creditor."
There is, we must admit, an indefinable humor in the idea
of the brilliant genius Beaumarchais, deserted by his Paul
ine, seating himself, le coeur gros, the tears of anger and
mortification weUIng to his eyes, Intent upon regulating,
with the same minute exactitude that he showed in making
the watch to be set as a jewel in a lady's ring, the account
existing between him and Pauline.
As a matter of fact, he had been far less prudent in his
generous advances of money than in the expression of his
sentiments as a lover, for not only had he risked large sums
on the Santo Domingo property, but he had been in the habit
of advancing money both to Pauline and to her aunt with
out keeping any special count. To return to the account
of Lomenie, "He groups the capital with the interest and
presents a bill of the most scrupulous rectitude. The Cheva-

138 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Her, who has no time to bother with such vile details, and
who has gone to pass his honeymoon I don't know where,
sends to Beaumarchais his older brother, the abbe du S  ,
respectable, but a little quick tempered, who not only quib
bles over the bill, but permits himself sometimes to deepen
a bleeding wound by opposing the lover to the creditor.
From that come stormy discussions, of which the following
letter of Beaumarchais to the abbe will serve as illustration.
" 'Monsieur I'abbe,
" 'I beg you to notice that I never have been lacking in
politeness towards you, but that I owe nothing but con
tempt for him whom you represent, as I have had the honor
of saying to you twenty times, and as I strongly would have
desired to say to him if he had been as exact In showing
himself as he has been clever in taking my place. The proof
that Mile. Le B  wished well of me, of my affection, of
my counsels, of my money, is that without your brother
she would still make use of all my gifts which I lavished
upon her as long as they were agreeable and useful to her.
It Is true that she bought my services very dear, since she
owes to our affection for your brother the happiness of
having married him, which she would not have done, if he
had remained without knowing us in the place where he
then vegetated. I do not understand the secret of the phrase
about the apology, so I am dispensed with replying to It. I
regret that he Is absent, only because I would have the
greatest pleasure to testify to him in person, what he can
now only know through proxy. I shall not cease to prepare
myself for atrocities and injustices by benevolent acts. It
ahvays has agreed with me very well to do good In the ex
pectation of evil, and your counsel adds nothing to my dis
position in that regard.

End of the Love Affair 139
" 'Since you admit that you have lost j'our temper with
me, It would be out of place for me to reproach you with
it. It is sufficient that you accuse yourself, for me not to
hold any resentment.
" 'I do not know Avhy you haA'e underlined the words, "your
sister," in recalling to me that I said that it Avas in this
way that I loA'ed Mile. Le B  . Does this irony fall back
on her, on rae, or on your brother? Just as you please, for
that matter. Although the fate of Mile. Le B  interests
me no longer, it Avould be out of place for me. In speaking
of her, to use other terms than those which I have employed.
It is not her that I blame ; she is as you have said, young
and without experience and although she has very little for
tune, your brother has used well his experience and has
made a good affair in marrying her.
" 'Remember, I beg you, Monsieur I'abbe, that all Avhich
is addressed to him has nothing to do with you. It would
be too humiliating for a man of your station to be suspected
of having had any part in the perfidy of your brother In
my regard ; let him bear the blame, and do not take up
those things which do not deserve to have a defender as
honest as yourself.
" 'I have the honor to be, etc. " 'Beaumarchais.' "
The raatter finally was adjusted and the account reduced
to 24,441 livres, 4 sous, 4 deniers.
One would alraost think that after making such Important
reductions the sum might have been rounded off by the omis
sion of the 4 sous, 4 deniers. Not so Beaumarchais — the
whole debt might go unpaid for he was not a man to make
much trouble about that, but in any case, the matter must
stand In its absolute exactitude. M. de Lomenie terminates

140 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
this interesting chapter of the life of Beaumarchais in the
following manner: "And now I demand pardon of the shade
of the charming PauHne, but it seems certain that this debt,
recognized and accepted by her, was never paid. Not only
do I find it amongst papers of a later date classed as al
raost hopeless debts, but the touching solicitude of the cash
ier Gudin, after the death of his master, for the least letter
of PauHne, is sufficient to demonstrate that this too must
be ranged amongst those debts recognized but not dissolved,
where so many amiable woraen, poets, and great lords have
left their traces in the papers of Beaumarchais. It Is true
that Pauline was left a widow a year after her marriage, and
this misfortune no doubt spoiled the arrangement of her
affairs — and I conclude that if the young and beautiful
Creole left her debt unpaid, it must have been because
the habitation of Santo Domingo was seized by the other
creditors, or plundered by the blacks or swallowed up by
an earthquake."
For our part let us hasten to add that we are very grate
ful to the ChevaHer du S  for carrying off Pauline.
Charming as she was, she did not possess those sterling
qualities which alone could have enabled her to be a real
helpmeet to hira in the terrible trials, which were preparing
for him. Overwhelmed as we shall presently see him, a na
ture like hers would have been as a millstone about his neck,
and he inevitably must have succurabed. As we shall see,
the woman who eventually comes to share his life was of
a very different mould. Misfortune and all the terrors of
the Revolution only served to bring Into more striking re
lief the vigor of a character already pronounced in its
strength and womanHness.
Our gratitude to the Chevalier du S  is no less great,
in that by abstracting Pauline, he left to Beaumarchais the

Julie Left to Beaumarchais 141
truest support of his life, the woraan who better than any
one else understood the inmost recesses of his nature, and
Avho at no moment of his career failed in giving him the
affection, the encouragement, which he needed, and that
served as the solid basis upon which he could build. In
leaving to Beaumarchais the undisputed possession of his
sister Julie, the Chevalier du S  has Avon our undying
gratitude, and so in all sincerity we say, requiescat in pace.

CHAPTER VI
"Je laisserai sans rcponse tout ce qu'on a dit contre I'ou-
vrage, persuade que le plus grand honneur qu'on ait pu lui
faire, apres celui de s'en amuser au theatre, a ete de ne pas
le juger indigne de toute critique."
Beaumarchais in "Essai sur le genre dramatique serieux,"
prefixed to the edition, of "Eugenie."
"Eufjevie" — "Les deux Amis" — Second Marriage of Beau
marchais — The Forest of Chinon — Death of Madame de
Beaumarchais.
rr^HE immediate effect of Pauline's desertion of Beaumar-
-¦• chais was to turn his thoughts from the gay world in
which he was so brilliant and so striking a figure, to the
more sober realms of literature. His talent as an author
already had manifested itself by several farces and charades
written for his colleague, IM. Lcnormant d'Etioles, the hus
band of Madame de Pompadour, at whose chateau d'Etioles
they were produced.
The very spicy charade, "John Bete a la Foire," was
written in 1762 for a special festival given at this chateau
In the forest of Senart. On this occasion and on all simi
lar occasions the farces of Beaumarchais found no more
spirited Interpreters than his own sisters. Fournier says,
"The youngest played comedies with a surprising verve de
gaillardise, and it would seem, was not frightened by the
most highly seasoned of her brother's productions. She and

Beaumarchais as Grandison 143
the Countess of Turpin played the leading parts. Come
dies and charades were also played cnchantingly by Julie
who frequently arranged them in her oavu style ; several
scenes and not the least spicy, according to family tradi
tion, passing as her oavu production."
But this vein of true Gallic Avit which Avas later to carry
its possessor to almost unprecedented heights of fame was
not in keeping Avith the spirit in which Beaumarchais foynd
himself during the Avinter of 1766.
The entire family as Ave have seen possessed In an unusual
degree a Avarm life blood which burst spontaneously into
joyful expression, but It showed itself also in sentimental
sallies. The English novelist, Richardson, Avas-a favorite
Avith thera all and Ave find Julie Avriting in her diary, about
this time, "I see In Beaumarchais a second Grandison ; it is
his genius, his goodness, his noble and superior soul, equally
sweet and honest. Never a bitter sentiment for his enemies
arises in his heart. He Is the friend of man. Grandison
is the glory of all Avho surround him, and Beaumarchais
Is their honor."
The father writing to his son during an illness said : "In
the Intervals when I suffer less I read Grandison and in Iioav
many things I have found a just and noble resemblance be
tAveen him and my son. Father of thy sisters, friend and
benefactor of thy father, 'If England,' I said to myself, 'lias
her Grandison ; France has her Beaumarchais ; Avith this
difference, that the English Grandison is the fiction of an
amiable writer, Avhile the French Beaumarchais really ex
ists to be the consolation of ray days.' "
It was, therefore, Beaumarchais, as Grandison, whom Ave
noAv find seriously occupying himself with the thought of
literature. Nor shall avc be surprised later to find those of
the literary profession preparing to meet him in very much

.44 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
he same spirit as did in the beginning M. Lepaute, watch-
naker, and a little later. Messieurs les Courtisans at Ver-
ailles. So long as his Hterary ambition limited Itself to
charades, farces, and comic songs the antagonism of men
)f letters was not aroused; but that he who had received
10 regular training in the schools should presume, de se
neler, with serious literary productions was quite another
natter. Lintilhac says: "But our immature author, shaking his
ete carree braved this danger Hke all tiie rest, arming him
elf with patience and esprit; let us see him at his work.
"A literary instinct had from the beginning led him
traight to those Gallic writers whose race he was destined
o continue. We find him studying Montaigne; he extracts
lotes and imitates Marot, translates In verse and sets to
nusic one of the hundred and tAventy romances of the Cid
^olng against the Moors in the eleventh century.
"But his taste for the ancestor of the esprit frangais is
lot exclusive ; he Is happy to find it among their direct
lescendants : Regnler, whom he quotes abundantly. La Fon-
aine, of whom he Is a disciple, Moliere and Pascal, who fur-
lIsH the models of his chefs-d'oeuvre. More than that, he
roes back to their antique masters. The rudiments of Latin
chich he learned at school serve to help him to read Lu-
;rece, Catulle, TIbulle, Horace, Ovid, and Seneca, and to
ake from them that salt of citation with which he heightens
o effectively the sallies of his Gallic wit."
Among the manuscripts of the Comedie Fran9alse are a
lumber of pages covered with Latin citations, elegantly
ranslated, which Beaumarchais adapted to the circum-
tances of his life and works, with a precision which could
lot have been the result of chance.
"This is the serious side of his education, but it was not

The New Dramatic School in France 145
all; the unfolding and development of his talents must have
been deeply influenced by that society of which he was the
bout-en-train, and where the Prince de Conti and the
Countess de Bouffiers, la divine Comtesse, restored the an
cient traditions of epicurean esprit. What did he not owe
to conversation, often free, always piquant, of the aristo
cratic and bourgeois salons, to the foyers of the theaters and
cafes Avhich he frequented, and In which he was past-master,
fencing with such skilled champions as Chamfort, as Sophie
Arnould, those little kings de I'esprit! We raust therefore
give to these brilliant contemporaries of our author the
honor of having shaped his genius." (M. de Lomenie.)
We have spoken already of Beaumarchais's natural aver
sion to the heroic in literature, all his instincts led him to
ward the new dramatic school which was then appearing
in France, and whose raaster was Diderot. In this school
the old heroic tragedy was replaced by a doraestic tragedy [ \
in which the ordinary events of daily life formed the theme. \ \
By the side of this, there was to be a serious comedy, not 1 ;
clearly defined frora the tragic element, but which was to I \
take the place of the "gay comedy" of the past.
More than a century of deinocfatic ideas has so far re
moved the present generation frora the ideas of the past, that
It Is difficult for us to appreciate the magnitude of the in
novation made by this new style of literature when it first
appeared in France. It was, however, but the natural out
growth of that new order of things which was year by year
becoming more pronounced, in which the bourgeoisie of '
France rises to a state of self consciousness which demands
expression. The splendor of the raonarchy as upheld by
Louis XIV had faded from men's minds. The people were
beginning to realize that they themselves, with their joys
and sorrows, their loves and hates, belonged to the realm

146 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
of art.
Beaumarchais forcibly expresses the new Ideas when in
his essay "Sur le Genre Serieux," he says, "If our heart en
ters into the Interest taken in tragic personages. It is less
because they are heroes and kings than because they are
human beings and miserable. Is It the Queen of Messina
that touches me In Merope? No, it is the mother of Egiste.
Nature alone has right over our hearts. — The true rela
tion of the heart is, therefore, always from man to man, and
never from man to king. The brilliancy of rank far from
augmenting the Interest which we feel in a tragic personage,
on the contrary destroys It. The nearer to mine the con
dition of him who suffers, the more touched am I by his
woes. It belongs to the essence of the serious drama to
offer a more pressing interest, a more direct morality than
that of the heroic tragedy, and there should be something
raore serious than mere gay comedy." After developing this
theme for a considerable length he terminates thus, "The
morality of comedy Is nil, the reverse of what should be In
the theater."
Beaumarchais, a few years later, yielding with his usual
suppleness to the inevitable, when he found the public re
fusing to be Interested In his serious mediocrities, abandoned
the genre serieiix, which in the beginning he so warmly
defended. He did not leave it, however, without a last
thrust at his critics.
In his preface to the "Barbier de Seville," which he pub
lished eight years later, he thus alludes to these earlier pro
ductions: "I had the weakness, Monsieur, to present to you
at different times two poor dramas, monstrous productions
as is very well knoAvn, because betAveen tragedy and comedy
no one is any longer ignorant that nothing exists, that is
a point settled ... As for myself, I am so completely con-^

Writes a "Serious Comedy" 147
vinced of the truth of this that if I wished again to bring
on the scene, a mother in tears, a betrayed wife, a forlorn
sister, a son disinherited, in order to present thera decently
to the public, I should begin by placing them in a beautiful
kingdom where they had done their best to reign, and I
should situate it near one of the archipelagoes, or in some
remote corner of the world. . . . The spectacle of men of \
medium condition, crushed and suffering, how absurd ! Ri
diculous citizens and unhappy kings, there is nothing else the
theatre will permit."
For those of Beaumarchais's admli'ers who consider the
creation of Figaro as his highest title to fame, it Is no mat
ter of regret that after imperfect success with his first
drama, and almost failure with his second, he should have
made the transition to gay comedy. Figaro, however, as ;
Ave shaU see, did not come before the public simply for Its ;'
amusement, he came as the announceraent of that complete .
change AA'hich already was taking place in the social institu- \
tions of modern Europe, first breaking out in France, so
that his apparition, therefore, Avas no mere accident, but a
momentous event.
At the present moment in 1766, no one could be farther
than Beaumarchais from the possibility of such a creation,
for although he had brought Avith him from Spain the crude
outline of the "Barbier," he lacked as yet all that experi
ence which was to give political significance to the play,
and AvhIch was destined to enable him to voice for all time
the right of the individual to be heard in his oAvn cause, l
In 1766 he not only imagined himself to' be, but was, one of i
the most loyal, one of the most respectful subjects of the \
king. His life of adventure apparently Avas over. He
asked for nothing better than the fortune and position he
had acquired already. At heart he was above everything

148 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
else domestic and was therefore warmly attracted toward
the new Hterary school. Lomenie says, "He precipitated
himself with his ordinary fervor into the drame domestique
et bourgeois, which seemed to him an unknown world of which
Diderot was the Christopher Columbus, and of which he
hoped to be the Vespuclus."
In speaking of Beaumarchais's attraction for this school
Gudin says : "Struck with the new beauties which the French
stage displayed from day to day, drawn on by his own talent
he descended into the arena, to mix with the combatants
who disputed the palms of the scenic plays.
"Never before had been seen such an assemblage of ex
cellent actors, the theater was not simply a place of amuse
ment, it was a course in public instruction; here were dis
played the customs of all nations and the principal events
of history; all the interests of humanity were there devel
oped AvIth that truth which convinces, and arouses thought
in every mind.
"Diderot proposed to paint upon the scene the different
duties of the social condition, the father of the family, the
magistrate, the merchant. In order to shoAV the virtues which
each requires. It was certainly a new point of view which
he offered to the public. Beaumarchais felt his heart deeply
touched, and yielding to the impulse which he felt, he com
posed, almost in spite of himself, his touching Eugenie.
"This Is the picture of a virtuous girl infamously seduced
by a great lord. No piece ever offered a more severe moral
ity, or more direct instruction to fathers of vain women,
who allow themselves to be blinded by titles and great naraes.
It is the duty of every author to attack the vices of his
own century. This duty the Greeks first understood. But
in France a thousand voices were raised against the innova
tion, Beaumarchais, whom nothing intiraidated, dared in his

E0GEN1E

EugSnie or La Vertu Malheureuse 149
first play to attack the vice so common among great lords,
especially under Louis XV,
"Certainly this ought to have made him applauded by
every friend of virtue. The opposite occurred. The friends
kept silence. Those who were guilty of similar vice cried
out against the play, their flatterers cried still louder, jour
nalists and the envious authors hissed and cried out that it
was detestable, scandalous, badly conceived and executed,
immoral. Not one applauded the energetic audacity of
the author who dared to raise his voice against the luxurious
vice permitted by the monarchy and even by the magistrates.
Beaumarchais, however, had the public on his side, the piece
remained upon the stage and was constantly applauded."
Although the fastidious French taste, apart frora all the
enraity aroused by the many-sided success of its author,
found much to criticise In the production, Eugenie, or la
Vertu malheureuse, the piece retains its place upon the
repertoire of the Theatre Frangais and is still occasionally
given. Outside France It met with a much warmer reception.
The German writer, Bettleheim, assures us that it was at
once translated into most of the Kultur-Sprachen of
Europe and was produced In the principal theatres every
where. In England, through the support of Garrick, then
director of the Drury Lane theater, and in Austria, through
that of Sonnenfels, It met with an astounding success.
In Germany the translation was very soon followed by an
Iraltatlon called "Aurelie, oder Triumph der Tugend."
Of the English play Garrick writes to Beaumarchais:
"The School for Rakes, which Is rather an imitation than
a translation of your Eugenie, has been written by a lady
to whom I recommended your drama, which has given me
the greatest pleasure and frora which I thought she could

150 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
make a play which would singularly please an English au
dience; I have not been deceived, because with my help, as
stated In the advertisement, which precedes the piece, our
Eugenie has received the continual applause of the most
numerous audiences."
In Italy the success of Eugenie was scarcely less pro
nounced. It was first produced in Venice in 1767, and in
the criticism which follows the publication of the translation
we read: "The whole city was In great expectancy
when it was known that this drama was to appear upon
the scene. The irapressions made upon the hearts of the
spectators corresponded with the fame which had preceded
it and Instead of diminishing this constantly continued to
increase in such a manner that the whole of Italy, although
rich in her oAvn productions, has not grown weary of prais
ing the piece."
But for Beaumarchais the Important thing was to win
recognition from his own country. This was no easy mat
ter ; he, however, did not despair, and set about It with his
usual tenacity of purpose. Infinitude of resource and ver-
sa.tility„ of genius.
M. de Lomenie says : "Beauraarchais worked with all his
energy to prepare a success for his play; we are indeed, far
from 1784, at which time the author of the Mariage de
Figaro only had to hold back the feverish impatience of
a public that awaited the performance of the piece as one
of the raost extraordinary events. We are In 1767, Beau
raarchais is completely unknown as an author. He is a raan
of business, a man of pleasure who has been able to push
himself somewhat at court, about whom people talk very dif
ferently, and whom men of letters are disposed to consider,
as did the courtiers, an intruder. From this arose the neces
sity for him to push ahead, to arouse curiosity and to secure

Advertises His Play 151
from all ranks supporters for his play. This is what he
does with that aptitude which distinguishes him.
"When, for instance. It is a question of obtaining the
privilege of reading his drama before Mesdames, he poses
as a courtier Avho has condescended to occupy himself with
literature In the interest of virtue and good manners. He
assumes a celebrity which he has not yet acquired and on
the whole seems endowed Avith a rare presumption ; here is
the letter:
" 'Mesdames :
" 'The comedians of the Comedie Franr^alse are going to
present In a few days, a drama of a new kind which all
Paris is aAvaiting with lively impatience. The orders which
I gave to the comedians in making them a present of the
work, that they should guard the secret of the name of the
author, have not been obeyed. In their unfortunate enthu
siasm, they belieA'ed that they rendered me a service In trans
gressing my wishes. As this work, child of my sensibility,
breathes the love of virtue, and tends to purify our theater
and make it a school of good manners, I have felt that I
owe a special homage to my illustrious protectresses. I
come, therefore, Mesdames, to beg you to listen to a read
ing of my play. After that, if the public at the represen
tation carries me to the skies, the most beautiful success of
my drama will be to have been honored by your tears, as the
author has always been by your benefits.'
"With the duke of Noailles, to whom he had read the
piece, and Avho had shoAvn an interest, Beaumarchais poses
as a statesman who has missed his calling. The letter to
the Duke of Noailles is as follows :
" 'It is only in odd moments, Monsieur le due, that I
dare give way to my taste for literature. When I cease

152 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
for one moment to turn the earth and cultivate the garden
of my advanceraent, instantly what I have cleared is cov
ered with brambles so that I must recommence unceasingly.
Another of the follies from which I have been forced to teir
myself is the study of politics, a subject thorny and repul-
I sive for most men, but quite as attractive as useless for me.
: I loved it to madness, and I have done everything to de
velop It, the rights of respective powers, the pretentions of
princes, by which the mass of mankind always is kept In
commotion, the action and reaction of governments, all these
are interests made for my soul. Perhaps there Is no one
who has felt so much the disadvantage of being able to see
things en grand, being at the same time the smallest of
men. Soraetiraes I have gone so far as to murmur In my
unjust humor that fate did not place me more advanta
geously in regard to those things for which I believed my
self suited, especially when I consider that the missions
which kings and ministers give to their agents, have the
power to confer the grace of the ancient apostleship, which
Instantly made sublime and Intelligent men of the most in
significant brains.' "
To the duke of Nivernais, Beaumarchais was indebted for
a useful criticism of the weak side of his play. It probably
raay be due to that nobleraan's observations that he made the
important change of transporting the scene to England,
and giving the characters English names. As the play now
stands, after decided modifications made immediately follow
ing the first representations, the story is this :
Eugenie, the daughter of a Welsh gentleman, supposes
herself the wife of Lord Clarendon, nephew of the Minister
of War. Clarendon, however, basely has deceived her by a
false marriage in which his steward plays the role of chap-

EugSnie or La Vertu Malheureuse 153
lain, and he prepares to marry a wealthy heiress the very
day that his victim arrives in London.
The weakness of the play consists In this, that Avhile the
character of Eugenie in its delicate, sweet womanliness, en
lists our entire sympathy and admiration, we are not suf
ficiently prepared at the end of the fifth act to see the man
who has so deceived her, pardoned and reaccepted on his
giving up his intended marriage along with the ambitious
schemes of his powerful uncle, even though the old baron
utters the sublime truth that "he who has sincerely repented
is farther from evil than he who has never known it."
In the Avords of the Duke of Nivernais, "In the first act
Clarendon is a scoundrel who has deceived a young girl of
good faraily by a false marriage, he prepares to wed an
other, and this is the raan, who in the end finds grace in
the eyes of Eugenie, a being who interests us. It requires
a great deal of preparation to arrive at this conclusion."
This was the Avhole difficulty, and though Beaumarchais re
touched as best he could the character of Clarendon, making
as much as possible of the extenuating circumstances, and
emphasizing his hesitation and remorse, the play remains
weak in this respect.
The English Imitation before spoken of, rectifies this dif
ficulty by altering the role of Clarendon. In the advertise
ment, the author says, however, "I have not dared to deviate
from the gentle, interesting Eugenie of Beaumarchais."
The play finally was given for the first time, January
29th, 1767. ¦ In the "Annee Litteraire" of that year this
passage occurs: "Eugenie, played for the first time Janu
ary the 29th of this year, was badly received by the public
and its reception had all the appearance of a failure; it
has raised Itself since with brilliancy, through omissions
and corrections ; it occupied the public for a long time and

154 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
this success greatly honors the comedians."
"The changes made by Beaumarchais between the first
and second representations were sufficient," says Lomenie,
"to bring Into reHef the first three acts, which contain
many beautiful parts, and which announced already a rare
talent of mise en scene and of dialogue. The refined, dis
tinguished acting of an amiable young actress. Mile. Do-
ligny, who represented Eugenie, contributed not a little to
save the drama and make It triumph brilliantly over the
danger that threatened Its first representation."
Beaumarchais had gained the public ear, but not the
critics. As Lintilhac says : "The enterprise did not pro
ceed without scandal, for at the second representation In
stead of hissing, the public weeps. The critic enraged at the
success of the piece cried, 'It is all the fault of the women —
talk to them of Eugenie; it is they who have perverted the
taste of our dear young people.' Nevertheless the piece en
dures in the face of censures and cabals. — He managed his
dramatic affairs quite as cleverly as the others. Abuse goes
along with success, tant mieux! So much the better. It gives
him the opportunity of lashing criticism with witty replies,
whieh he prints Avith his play in a long preface of justifi
cation." "Into Avhat a Avasps' nest you have put your head," said
Diderot to hira,
Gudin observes, "He was not one to be frightened at
their buzzing, or to stop on his way to kill flies. He was
busying himself with a new drama,"
That this first production, "This child of my sensibility,"
as he called It, was ahvays dear to his heart Is proved by
the fact that years afterwards Beaumarchais gave the name
of Eugenie to his only daughter, of whom we shall have
much to say later on.

Meets Madame Leveque 155
But in the meantime, an event occurred which for '
period of two years had an Important bearing on his life.
To quote Gudin: "It was about this tirae that Madam B.,
celebrated for her beauty, came one day to find the sister
of Beaumarchais and asked her what her brother was doing
as she had not seen him for a long time.
" 'I do not know If he Is at home, but I believe he is work
ing on his drama.'
" 'I have something to say to him.'
"He was called. He appeared looking like a hermit, his
hair in disorder, his beard long, his face illumined by medi
tation. " 'Well, my friend, what are you busying yourself with
when an amiable woman, recently a widow, sought already
by several pretendants, might prefer you? I am to ride
with her to-raorrow in that secluded avenue of the Champs
Elysees, Avhich is called I'allee des Veuves; mount on horse
back, we will meet you there as if by chance ; you will speak
to rae, and then you shall both see whether or not you are
suited to one another.'
"The next day Beaumarchais, followed by a domestic, ap
peared mounted on a superb horse which he managed with
grace. He was seen from the coach in which the ladies were
riding long before he joined them. The beauty of the steed,
the bearing of the cavalier worked In his favor; when he
came near, Madara B. said she knew the horseman. Beau
marchais came up and was presented to the lady.
"This meeting produced a very vivid impression ; the veil,
the crepe, the mourning costume served to bring Into re
Hef the fairness of the coraplexion and the beauty of the
young widow. Beaumarchais soon left his horse for the
carriage, and as no author dialogued better for the stage
so no man ever brought more art into his conversation. If

156 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
at first it was simply saHIes of wit, it became by degrees
more Interesting and finished by being attractive. Beau
marchais finally proposed that the ladies should come and
dine at his home. Madam B. persuaded the young woman
to consent, although she refused several times. He sent
back his horse by his domestic which was the signal arranged
with his sister in order that she might prepare to receive
the ladles, one of whom was an entire stranger,
"It Is very different seeing a man out riding and seeing
him in his own home. It is there that one must follow him
in order to judge him rightly and so it was on entering that
unpretentious, though elegant and convenient home, seeing
Beaumarchais surrounded by his old domestics, seated be
tween his father and sister, the latter a young woman of
much intelligence and proud of such a brother, the young
woman could not but realize that It would be an honor to
have him for her husband. The table disposes to confidence,
the heart opens and discloses itself; they had not left it
before each was sure of the other and they had but one
desire, never to separate. They were married in April, 1768.
His fortune was increased by that of his wife, and his hap
piness by the possession of a woman who loved him passion
ately." His wife's name was Madame Leveque, nee Genevieve Made
leine Watebled. She was possessed of an ample fortune
1 which added to that of Beaumarchais made their position in
every Avay desirable. The world at last seemed ready to smile
upon him and he quite content to settle down to peace
ful enjoyment of all the blessings with which his life was
now crowned.
Gudin says, "Happy in love and in his friends, he amused
himself in painting the effects of these passions in a drama,
'Les Deu^ Amis.' " The following year a son was born to

Writes a New- Drama 157
him, the happiness of being a father was the only happiness
AA'hich had hitherto been denied him.
The new drama, "Les DeuM Amis," although he himself
says of it, "It is the most powerfully composed of all my
works," was not a success before the Parisian public. In
the provinces and in the most of Europe it met with a very
different reception, long retaining its favor with the public
there. It is the story of two friends who live in the same house,
Malac pere, collector of rents for a Parisian company, and
Aurelly, merchant of Lyons, where the scene Is laid.
Aurelly Is expecting from Paris certain sums to enable
him to meet a payment which must be made in a few days.
Malac pere learns that the money from Paris avHI not arrive
and to save his friend turns into the latter's case all which
he has in his possession as collector of rents, allowing his
friend to think that the raoney from Paris has arrived. At
this moment the agent-general of the Paris company ap
pears demanding the rents. During two acts Malac pere
allows himself to be suspected of having appropriated the
money, meekly accepting the disdain of the friend whose
credit he has saved.
The real situation discloses Itself at last and through
the heroism of Pauline, the niece of Aurelly, and the curi
osity of the agent-general, St, Alban, the threatened ruin
is averted.
In connection with the main action, Beaumarchais has
joined a charming episode of the loves of Pauline and Malac
fils. The play opens Avith a pleasing scene, where the young
girl Is seated at the piano playing a sonata while the young
man accompanies her with the violin ; the scene and the con
versation which follows are a touching souvenir of the early
days of Beaumarchais's attachment for the beautiful creole,

158 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Pauline, The piece was produced January 13, 1770, and was given
ten times, Lomenie says. In explaining the reason for the
short duration of the play : "Each one of us suffers, loves
and hates In virtue of an impulse of the heart, but very few
have a clear idea of what is felt by one exposed to bank
ruptcy or supposed guilty of misappropriating money.
These situations are too exceptional to work upon the soul,
too vulgar to excite the imagination, they may well concur
in forming the Interest of a drama, but only on condition
that they figure as accessories. Vainly did Beaumarchais
blend the loves of Pauline and Malac fils, trying to sweeten
the aridity of the subject. Several spiritual or pathetic
scenes could not save the too commercial drama of 'Les Deux
Amis.' "
The author having, as he said, the advantage over his
sad brothers of the pen In that he could go to the theater
in his own carosse, and making perhaps a little too much of
this advantage, the effect of the failure of his drama was to
call out many witticisms. It is said that at the end of the
first representation a wag of the parterre cried out, "It is
question here of bankruptcy ; I am in it for twenty sous."
SeA'eral days afterAvard Beaumarchais remarked to So
phie Arnould, apropos of an opera Zoroaster which did
not succeed, "In a week's time you will not have a person, or
at least very few."
The witty actress replied, "Vos Amis will send them to us."
Finally the capital fault of the play Is very well drawn
up in the quatrain of the time,
"/ liave seen Beaumarchais's ridiculous drama.
And in a single word I ¦will say what it is;
It is an exchange where money circulates.
Without producing any interest,"

The Forest of Chinon 159
Lintilhac remarks, "He gave in this crisis a double proof
of his genius ; in the first place, lie allowed his piece to fall
without comment, and in the second he did not despair of
his dramatic vocation."
Already Beaumarchais was meditating his Barbier de
Seville but in the meantime he Avas seriously occupied with a
new and extensive business transaction. The fortune of his
wife had enabled him to enter into a partnership with old
Du Verney in the acquisition of the vast forest of Chinon,
which they bought from the government. A letter to his
wife, dated July 15, 1769, shows him at his work.
"De RIvarennes.
"You invite me to write, my good friend, and I wish to
with all my heart, it Is an agreeable relaxation frora the
fatigues of my stay in this village. Misunderstandings
among the heads of departments to be reconciled, complaints,
and demands of clerks to be listened to, an account of more
than 100,000 ecus. In sums of from 20 to 30 sous
to regulate, and of Avhich It was necessary to discharge
the regular cashier, the different posts to be visited, two
hundred workmen of the forest whose work must be ex
amined, two hundred and eighty acres of wood cut down
whose preparation and transportation must be looked after,
new roads to be constructed Into the forest and to the river,
the old roads to be mended, three or four hundred tons of
hay to be stacked, provisions of oats for thirty dray horses
to be arranged for, thirty other horses to be brought for the
transport of all the wood for the navy before winter, gates
and sluices to be constructed in the river Indre in order to
give us water all the year at the place Avhere the wood Is
discharged, fifty vessels which wait to be loaded for Tours,
Saumur, Angers and Nantes, the leases of seven or eight

160 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
farms to sign, beside the provision for housing thirty per
sons ; the general inventory of our receipts and expenses for
the last two years to regulate, voila, my dear wife, briefly
the sum of my occupations of which part Is terminated and
the rest en bon train."
After two more pages of details Beaumarchais terminates
his letter thus: "You see, my dear friend, that one sleeps
less here than at Pantin, but the forced activity of this work
does not displease me, since I have arrived in this retreat
Inaccessible to vanity, I have seen only simple people with
unpretentious manners, such as I often desire myself to be.
I lodge In my office which Is a good peasant farm, between
barnyard and kitchen garden, surrounded with a green hedge.
My room with Its four white-washed walls has for furniture
an uncomfortable bed where I sleep Hke a top, four rush-
bottomed chairs, an oaken table and a great fireplace with
out ornament or shelf; but I see from my window on writing
you, the whole of the Varennes or prairies of the valley
which 1 inhabit, full of robust, sunburned men who cut and
cart hay with yokes of oxen, a multitude of women and girls
each with a rake on the shoulder or in the hand, all singing
songs whose shrill notes reach me as I write. Across the
trees in the distance I see the tortuous course of the Indre
and an ancient castle flanked by towers which belongs to
my neighbor Madame de Roncee. The whole is crowned with
wooded summits which multiply as far as the eye can see,
the highest crests of which surround us on all sides in such a
manner that they form a great spherical frame to the hori
zon, which they bound on every side. This picture is not
without charm. Good coarse bread, the most modest nourish
ment with execrable wine composes my repasts. In truth, If
I dared wish you the evil of lacking everything in a desolate
country I should deeply regret not having you by my side.

Devoid of Prophetic Vision 161
Adieu, my friend. If you think that these details might in
terest our relatives and friends you are free to read my
letters to them. Embrace them all for me and good night
— it seems hard to me sometimes not to have you near —
and my son, my son ! how Is he ? I laugh when I think that
It Is for him that I work."
In January, 1770, Beaumarchais could easily afford the
ill success of his drama, for he Avas one of the best placed
men in France. As Ave see him at this moment nothing seems
lacking to complete his happiness. All his ambitions either
are satisfied, or submerged. Of fierce trials, overwhelming
calamities, of revolutions, and ignominy worse than death,
he had as yet no idea. In 1767, he had written in his preface
to his Eugenie, "What does it matter to me, peaceful subject
of a monarchial state of the eighteenth century, the revolu
tion of Athens and Rome ? Why does the story of the earth
quake which has engulfed the city of Lima with all its in
habitants, three thousand railes away, fill me with sorrow,
while the judicial murder of Charles comraitted at the Tower
only makes me indignant? It is because the volcano opened
in Peru might explode In Paris and bury me in its ruins, while
on the other hand I can never apprehend anything in the
least similar to the unheard of misfortune which befell the
king of England." This from the pen of Beauraarchais !
Beaumarchais, who in 1784 was to produce his famous
Mariage de Figaro, of which Napoleon said it was, "The
RexoktfcionJn^jjctiQn." Yes the Revolution, but "nof^ancH"
like the Revolution in England whose results were only
political, but one which went down to the very foundation of
the human soul changing the psychology of every individual
man, woman and child In the fair land of France and from
thence spreading its influence over the entire civilized world !
Here again we have a startling proof of what already has

162 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
been advanced, namely that the great actions in the life of
Beaumarchais do not come from his own wilHng or contriv
ing. In the sublime naivete of his genius he became the in
strument of those mysterious forces, so gigantic, which first
manifested themselves in France, and whose revolutionary
power continues to be felt over the 'whole world to-day. For
the moment, however, his thoughts and interests were all for
the restricted circle of his family and friends. He laughed
when he thought of the son for whom he Avas working. But
alas, as no happiness had been denied, so no human calamity
was to escape him, he must drink his cup of grief and abase
ment to the dregs.
Already the wife Avhom he cherished was attacked by a
fatal malady which only could end in the grave, the son for
whom he worked so gaily was soon to follow her; his prop
erty was to be seized, his aged father and dearly loved sis
ter were to be turned adrift. Deprived of his liberty, en
tangled in the meshes of a criminal lawsuit and under circum
stances so desperate that no lawyer could be found bold
enough to plead his cause, it was then that the true force
and grandeur of his soul were to be made manifest; It was
then that he found himself caught on the crest of that giant
wave of public opinion now forming itself in France, his petty
personal affair was to become the affair of the nation. It
was not to be himself as a private individual who opposed
his wrongs against despotic power, but the people of France
found through him a voice crying aloud for vengeance.
But the time was not yet ripe, Beaumarchais, happy in
the bosom of his family, thought only of sweetening the re
mainder of that life which was perishing in his arms,
"Before his second marriage. Madam Beaumarchais real
izing to the full how difficult it was to see him without loving
him," says Gudin, "and knowing how much he cherished

LE JARDIN DU PETIT-TRIANON

Death of Second Wife 163
women in general, said to him, 'You are a man of honor,
promise mc that you Avill never give ine cause for jealousy
and I Avill believe you.' He promised her and kept his word."
Gudin further says, "When she was stricken AvIth a fatal and
contagious disease, he Avas even more assiduous than before in
his devotion. Reading in her eyes the fears that devoured
her, he sought to dissipate them by his care and that host
of little attentions Avhich have so great a price for the hearts
Avhich understand each other. She received them with all
the more gratitude In that she could not fail to realize that
she had lost those charms which had made her attractive,
leaving only the memory of what she had been, joined to the
sentiments of a pure soul already on the point of escaping
from a frail body,
"Father, sisters, all the relatives of Beaumarchais, alarmed
at his attachment, trembled lest he too should contract the
malady and follow her to the tomb. She died on the 21st
of November, 1770, leaving him the one son before men
tioned. Her fortune, AvhIch had consisted almost entirely
of a life Income, was cut off with her death,"
Paris du Verney had died the same year. The moment
had arrived when the storm so long gathering was about to
break. The first part of the career of Beaumarchais was
over, the dream of a quiet, peaceful life vanished forever,
while stern and unending confiict entered to take Its place.

CHAPTER VII
"La calomnie. Monsieur! vous ne savez guere ce que vous
dedaignez; j'ai vu des plus honnetes gens prets d'en etre
accables. Croyez qu'il n'y a pas de plate mechancete, pas
d'horreurs, pas de conte absurde, qu'on ne fasse adopter aux
oisifs d'une grande ville en s'y prenant bien. . . .
D'abord un bruit leger rasant le sol comme hirondelle avant
I'orage, pianissimo murmure et file, et seme en courant le
trait empoisonne. Telle bouche le recueiUe, et piano, piano,
vo^ls le glisse en I'oreille adroitement. Le mal est fait; il
germe, il rampe, il chemine et rinforzando de bouche en
bouche il va le diable; puis tout a coup on ne sait comment,
vous voyez la calomnie se dresser, siffler, s'enfier, grandir a
vue d'oeil. Elle s'elance, etend son vol, tourbUlonne, eru-
veloppe, arrache, entraine, eclate et torme, et devient, grace
au del, UM cri general, un crescendo public, un chorus uni-
versel de haine et de proscription. Qui diable y resisterait?"
"Le Barbier de SevUle," Act II, Scene VII.
The Death of Paris Du Verney — The Lawsuit La Blache —
Judgment Rendered In Favor of Beaumarchais — The
Comte de La Blache — ^Appeals to the New Parliament —
Private Life of Beaumarchais at This Period,
A S will be reraerabered, it was in 1760 that Beaumarchais
¦*¦ *¦ entered into relationship with Paris du Verney, Dur
ing the ten years which followed there had been considerable
movement of capital between the two, very many business
164

Tlie Comte de la Blache 165
transactions more or less sustained by the old financier, nu
merous loans of money, and finally the partnership in the
forest of Chinon, without their ever having arrived at a
definite settlement,
Beaumarchais, always minutely careful in matters where
money was concerned, realizing the advanced age of du Ver
ney often had urged upon his friend the necessity of such
a settlement. Finally in April, 1770, after several years of
correspondence, an act Avas drawn up in duplicate by Beau
marchais, dated, signed, and sealed by du Verney.
By this act, after a long and detailed enumeration of the
rights on both sides, Beaumarchais gave back to his old
friend 160,000 francs of the latter's notes and consented to
the dissolution of the partnership in the Forest of Chinon.
Du Verney, on his side, declared Beaumarchais absolved
from all debts against him, recognized that he owed the
latter 15,000 francs and obliged himself to loan 75,000
francs Avithout Interest, for eight years.
Du Verney died before the last two clauses had been exe
cuted, so that It was to his heir, the Comte de la Blache,
that Beaumarchais presented the act demanding its
execution. This was the moment for which the count had been so
long waiting. Already for years he had been saying of
Beaumarchais, "I hate that raan as a lover loves his
mistress." M. de Lomenie, after giving reasons natural enough for
the hatred of an heir presumptive for a person constantly
receiving benefits from an old man whose fortune he was to
inherit, has said, "The Comte de la Blache had very particu
lar motives for hating Beaumarchais. This latter was
closely united with another nephew of du Verney's, M. Paris
de Meyzieu, a man distinguished in every way, who had pow-

166 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
erfully aided his uncle in the founding of the Ecole Militaire,
but being very rauch less skillful in the difficult and pain
ful matter for a man of heart, to secure to himself a succes
sion to the property — had withdrawn from the contest allow
ing himself to be sacrificed to a more distant relative."
Beaumarchais, finding this sacrifice unjust, had not
ceased to combat the weakness of his old friend du Verney,
and to plead for M. de Meyzieu with a frankness and a
vivacity proved by his letters, of which I will only cite a
fragment, but which has relation precisely to the settle-^
ment In question.
"I cannot endure," he wrote to du Verney on the date of
March 9, 1770, "that In case of death you place me vis-a-vis
with M, le Comte de la Blache, whom I honor with all my
heart but who, since I have seen him familiarly at the house
of Madarae d'HautevIUe, never has given me the honor of a
salutation. You make hira your heir, I have nothing to say
to that, but if I must, in case of the greatest misfortune
which I could iraagine, be his debtor, I am your servant for
the arrangeraent, I will not dissolve our partnership. But
place rae vis-a-vis with my friend Meyzieu, who is a gallant
man, and to whom you owe, my good friend, reparation for
debts of long standing. It is not apologies which an uncle
owes to a nephew, but kindness and above all some benevolent
act, when he knows that he has done him wrong. I never
have hidden my opinion in this raatter from you. Put me vis
a-vis with hira. This is my last word ; you, or in your ab
sence Meyzieu, or else no dissolution. I have other motives in
relation to this last point, which I will reserve tlH the time
when I can give them by word of mouth. When do you wish
to see me? Because I notify you that from now until then,
things shall remain as they are."
It Is evident from this and similar letters that Beaumar-

Tfie Comte de la Blache 167
chais had no illusions as to the diflficulties of his situation.
With the increasing failure of the old man's faculties, his
cunning nephew so exercised his ascendency that it Avas with
the greatest difficulty that Beauraarchais could obtain an
interview Avith his old friend. Du Verney, It would seera, hid,
so far as possible, aH connection which he had with his
nephcAv. This state of affairs, M. de Lomenie assures us, ac
counted for the absence of the duplicate acts and all letters
in relation to the matter, Avhich alone could make a lawsuit
possible. When after du Verney's death, Beaumarchais presented
the act, demanding its execution, the Comte de la Blache
coolly replied that he did not recognize his uncle's signature
and that he believed It false.
The matter was taken to law. Not daring, however, di
rectly to accuse Beaumarchais of forgery, he demanded
that the act be annulled, declaring that it contained in it
self proofs of fraud. Again to quote Lomerile, "Thus
Beaumarchais found himself caught in the meshes of an
odious snare, because while not daring to attack him openly
for forgery, the Comte de la Blache did not cease to plead
indirectly this possibility and after an infamous discussion
he had the audacity to take advantage of this very act
•which he declared false and turned It against his adversary.
"Thus refusing to pay the 15,000 francs recognized by
the act signed by du Verney, he demanded of Beaumarchais
payment of 139,000 francs from which the act discharged
him." "In this way," said Master Caillard, a very ingenious
lawyer chosen by the Comte de la Blache, "justice will be
avenged, and honest citizens will see with satisfaction a simi
lar adversary taken In the snares which he has himself set."
Not to enter too deeply Into the tedious details of this

168 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
suit, we will content ourselves with a few pages taken from
the account of M. de Lomenie as giving a sufficiently clear
idea of its nature as a whole.
He says, "Let us suppose that Beaumarchais had wished
to fabricate a false act, would he have given it the form of
this one? It is a great sheet of double paper, very com-
pHcated details of the settlement Avritten by the hand of
Beaumarchais fill the first two pages, at the end of the sec
ond page it is signed on the right by Beaumarchais, and on
the left dated and signed by the hand of du Verney, the third
page contains a resume of the same settlement. What did
the lawyer of the Comte de la Blache say of this? He dis
cussed it with the facility of a lawyer. At times he in
sinuated that the signature of du Verney was false, then
when sumraoned to plead the falsity of the act he declared
that if It was true, that it belonged to a date earlier than
1770, 'at which tirae,' he said, 'the old du Verney had a
trembling hand, while the one at the foot of the act is a bold
writing from a hand firm and light.'
"Here the lawyer pretended not to see that just above the
signature was written in the same hand these words, 'At
Paris, the 1st of April, 1770,' that is to say that du Verney
had not only signed, but dated the act in question, which
obliged one to suppose that the old financier had amused him
self In his youth or in mature years In signing and dating
in advance, blank signatures for the period of his old age.
Repelled on this side the lawyer Insinuates that the paper
must be a blank signature signed and dated by du Verney
in 1770, secured and filled by Beaumarchais."
Feeling the weakness of his arguments, the lawyer carae
back to the clauses which were complicated, diffuse, and
mixed with observations foreign to the settlement In ques
tion; this was true, but in favor of Beaumarchais, because

Wms His Suit 169
had he been fabricating an act. It would have been brief,
methodical, and clear, while In regulating a long account
with an old man of eighty-seven this act must necessarily
correspond to the prolixity, or the fantasies of, this
advanced age.
But one will say, why, when he had only to contend
against such feeble arguments, was it possible for Beaumar
chais, after gaining his suit in the first instance to lose it
in the second, as we shall presently see him do?
The story is long and Involved, and raany pictures are
needed to convey the scene in all its intensity and intricacy.
A sentence dated February 22, 1772, rejects the demand
of the Comte de la Blache, and a second dated March 4th,
1772, orders the execution of the act. Upon this the adver
sary appeals to the grand chamber of Parliament. :
Although victorious in his struggle, Beaumarchais was
vilified by the crafty Caillard to the extent of the latter's
power. The credit and influence of the Comte de la Blache
excited against him a swarm of writers, and the gazettes,
especially the foreign periodicals, made the most of all the
atrocious calumnies which had been set going regarding his
character. The sudden death of his two wives served as a
pretext for the most infamous accusations. All the con
fusing details of this disastrous lawsAiit have been fully in
vestigated and the whole matter clearly exposed by M. de
Lomenie and we knoAV that the final decision rendered at AIx
In 1778 exonerated Beaumarchais from every semblance of
fault or dishonorable action. That which concerns us at this
time is to learn what effect all these infamous machinations
had upon a character which we have recognized already as
strong, elevated, and free.
From the bitterness of the attacks of his enemies, let us
turn to the refreshing and faithful picture AvhIch his de-

170 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
voted friend Gudin makes of him at this time.
He writes: "It was in the winter of 1771 that I met
Madame de Miron, .sister of Beaumarchais, at the home of a
woman of my acquaintance. She had been invited to a read
ing of one of my poems. In the beginning she showed no
interest, but as I read, her face became animated and at the
end she was as prodigal of her praise, as at first she had
been indifferent. She spoke to me of her brother. She
found me without prejudice for his dramas, but naturally
biased In regard to his character of which I had heard much
adverse criticism.
"Satisfied with my discourse, she resolved to conquer me
for her brother and accordingly invited me to dine with her
at a time when the abbe Delille was to read some verses still
unknown to the pubHc.
"Given to study and retirement, rather reserved in my
friendships, and not desiring to make new ones, I refused at
first ; she urged my acceptance with so much grace, however,
that I could not persist In my refusal.
"I went to her home, I found the abbe, I applauded his
verses as all Paris has since done, but I did not see the
brother of the mistress of the house.
"At last one evening, while I was visiting Madame de
Miron, he came in. She presented him to me and begged
me to recite some verses of the poem which had raade her
wish to interest me in him.
"He showed the same indifference as his sister had done
at the beginning, but glowed with even finer interest as I
proceeded. He wished to take me at once to sup with him
with IMadame le Comtesse de Mir. ... I refused abso
lutely, and did not yield to any of his solicitations although
they were very ardent. I did not wish that ray first step
should give him the idea of a frivolous man who could be

Meets Gudin de la BreneUerie 171
disposed of lightly.
"The next morning he called on me and brought me an in
vitation from Madame le Comtesse de Mir . . . and in
the evening he came for me. Tavo days later he Invited me
to his house, presented rae to his father, to the one sister
who lived with him, and whom I had never met.
"I saAv him as simple in his domestic circle as he Avas
brilliant in a salon. I was very soon certain that he was a
good son, good brother, good master, and good father be
cause he had still a little son, a young child whose Infantile
words were often repeated to us, which charmed me all the
more because it betrayed his paternal tenderness and showed
hoAV much more poAverful Avere his sentiments than his esprit.
"We soon learned to esteem each other from a similar
foundation of severe principles, hidden in his case under an
exterior of lightness and gaiety, by a vivid and constant love
of the good, the beautiful, the honest, by an equal disdain for
prejudice, and for all opinions ill-founded.
"We became Intimate friends through the similarities and
differences of our characters, and the congeniality of our
Interests, "The taste for letters, for the theatre, for the arts, the
same indulgence for the weaknesses of the human heart,
strengthened our union. We passed many evenings together,
now in the midst of a great number, now in more restricted
circles. Poetry, music, new scientific discoveries, all were
subjects of our discourse. I heard him blend witticisms,
graceful stories, the best pleasantries, all the charm of an
esprit free, abundant, and A'aried Avith the effusions of a
sensible, active, generous heart.
"He never criticised any work, on the contrary he always
brought out beauties which others had not noticed, extolled
talent, repelled scandal; he defended all those whose merit

172 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
he heard depreciated, and never Hstened to slander. 'I am,'
he used to say, 'an advocate of the absent.'
"I noticed that he never spoke evil of his enemies, even
of those whom he knew to be the most intent on ruining
him. One day when I had learned some most injurious de
tails in regard to the conduct of the man who had brought
suit against him, I expressed my astonishment that I had
not learned these facts from him, but rather frora a relative
of the man himself.
" 'Eh, my friend,' he replied, 'should I lose the time which
I pass with you In recalling the things which would only
afflict your spirit and mine. I try to forget the folly of
those about me, and to think only of what is good and use
ful ; we have so many things to say to each other, that such
topics should never find a place in our conversation.'
"And in fact there scarcely passed a day when we did not
express our pity for the sterility of spirit and the dryness of
heart of the raany people who have nothing to say unless they
talk scandal.
"B.eaumarchals was at this time secretary to the king,
lieutenant-general of the preserves of the king and enjoyed
an income of from 15 to 20 thousand francs a year. He
thought of nothing but to make use of his own talents,
to cultivate his friends, music, and the theater. I see by a
letter to the Duchess de  that he was already forming
a project for enlarging the range of the drama, so as to
give to the French scene more variety and interest. These
objects alone occupied him when I made his acquaintance.
"The suit in which he was engaged in the first place, gave
him no disquietude, he beHeved that he could not lose it, but
this suit was to be the stumbling block which was to destroy
his happiness, to tear from him the possibility of disposing
of hiraself according to his own will, or to live as his taste

Barbier de SSvUle Refused by the Comedie 173
dictated. "It precipitated him into a succession of events which
never permitted him for a moment to enter into tlie tranquil
career which he had proposed for himself. His life so fitted
for pleasure and the beaux-arts became a combat which never
ceased. It Is thus that events often dispose of men in spite
of themselves.
"During the delay accorded by law and which circum
stances required, Beaumarchais composed a coraic opera,
which he ornamented with couplets to the Spanish and
Italian airs which he had brought back with him from
Madrid. He read the piece to the Comedians of the so-
called Italiens, Avho were In possession of the right to play
this kind of production. That evening, supping with Made
moiselle iM  , femme d'esprit, whom avc shall see later, in
an assembly of several raen of rank, Beauraarchais told us
that his piece had been refused by the theater of Souz.
"We congratulated him, we knew his piece, we assured
him the comedians of the Theatre Fran9ais would be more
sensible, that he would only lose the couplets, and that the
Barbier de Seville would have raore success at the theater of
Moliere than at the Harlequin.
"Marmontel and Sedaine, who Avere of the company, know
ing very well all of the Comediens des Italiens, re
vealed to us the secret of the disgrace of the Barbier. They
told us that the principal actor, before showing himself on
the stage, had figured, razor in hand in the shops of the
wig-makers, and now he did not wish to produce anything
which Avould recall his origin. We laughed, we moralized and
It was decided that Beauraarchais should carry his work to
the Theatre-Fran^als."
It is this many-sided, this coraplex character of Beaumar
chais which makes him so difficult to understand. Immersed

174 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
\ In financial difficulties which would have overwhelmed an
i ordinary man, we find him composing an immortal dramatic
¦ production. StiU deeper plunged In distresses, and caught
in a net of harassing circumstances almost unbelievable, we
find him attacking single-handed one of the greatest wrongs
of the nation and pulling himself out of a quicksand to be
borne in triumph on the shoulders of the people of France.
In 1772, two years before the tune of the lawsuit brought
by the Comte de la Blache against Beaumarchais, by an arbi
trary act of the Chancellor Maupeou under the sanction of
the old king Louis XV, the ancient parliaments of the realm
had been dissolved and in their place a new one had been set
up, called the Parliament Maupeou. From the beginning it
met with very bitter opposition. To quote Lomenie, "The
nation had bowed Itself under the glorious scepter of Louis
XI \^, but that scepter fallen into the hands of Louis XV
no longer inspired respect. The spirit of resistance to arbi
trary power was general. In the absence of every other
guarantee, the parliaments presented themselves as the one
barrier which could be opposed to the caprices of a dis
orderly power, and whatever were the particular vices of
those bodies, judicial and political, every time that they
resisted the royal will they had AvIth them the sympathy
of the public.
"Supported by this, the parliaments saw themselves grow
ing stronger day by day. Closely united the one to the
other, they declared themselves 'the merabers of a single and
individual body, inherent in the monarchy, an organ of the
nation, essential depository of Its liberty, of its interests and
of its rights.'
"Every one of their combats with royalty terminated by
a victory, until at Idst a man issuing from their ranks, an
audacious and obstinate character, undertook to command

Maupeou and His Parliament 176
or crush them. This man Avas the Chancellor Maupeou.
"Sustained by Madame du Barry, who dominated the
King, the Chancellor issued the edict of December 7th, 1770,
Avhich changed the entire organization of the parliaments.
The one of Paris protested and repelled the edict. The Chan
cellor instead of following the ordinary methods dissolved
this parliament, confiscated tlic charges of the magistrates,
exiled them and installed a new parliament composed for the
most part of members of the Grand Council. The eleven
Parliaments of the provinces addressed the most vehement
remonstrances ; the one in Normandy went so far as to send
a decree, declaring the new magistrates intruders, perjurers,
traitors, and all the acts null that emanated frora that bas
tard tribunal. All the princes of the blood except one re
fused to recognize the judges installed by Maupeou; thir
teen peers adhered to the protestation. The cour des aides
protested equally by the eloquent voice of iMalesherbes. The
Chancellor resisted the storm, he prevented the dissenting
princes from being admitted to court ; he broke the cour des
aides, dissolved in turn all the parliaments of the provinces
and replaced them In the raidst of an unheard of fcrraenta-
tion. 'It Is not a man,' wrote Madame du Deffand, 'it Is
a devil; everything here is in a disorder of Avhich It Is, im
possible to predict the end ; It is chaos, it is the end of the
world.' "To dissolve these ancient and formidable bodies Avhose ex
istence seemed inseparable from the monarchy and whose
suppression delivered France to the regime of Turkey or
Russia, was truly a very hazardous enterprise.
"The chancellor took care to sweeten and color the act by
blending some very Important reforms, long desired by the
people. Thus the mass of the people little understanding the
gravity of the plan of Maupeou showed themselves indiffer-

176 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
ent, but the enHghtened classes of society refused to pur
chase a few needed reforms at the price of an Ignominious
servitude and sided unitedly with the destroyed parHaments.
"Very soon followed a deluge of sarcastic pamphlets
against the king, against his mistress, against the chancellor,
and the new parliament. This last, hastily formed of hetero
geneous elements. Into which several men but lightly
esteemed had been introduced, had not In the beginning found
either lawyers, attorneys, or litigants who wished to appear
before it. Nevertheless, Maupeou counting upon the
mobilite frangaise, opposed perseverance to the clamor, and
at the end of a year most of the lawyers were tired of keep
ing silence ; under the Influence of the celebrated Gerbler and
that of the same Caillard whom we have seen so violent
against Beaumarchais, they had taken up their functions.
"The dissenting princes demanded to be taken back Into
favor, the dispossessed magistrates of the dissolved parlia
ments consented to the liquidation of the charges against
them, the pamphlets diminished, and things came back to
their ordinary course. Maupeou held himself assured of
triumph and vaunted that he had saved the crown from the
registrar. "But he had deceived himself. When any large part of a
nation, honest and intelligent, feels itself wounded in Its
dignity, though the wound may close In appearance. It does
not heal; that AvhIch was in the beginning a flame became a
smouldering fire, which hidden under the ashes of an appar
ent non-resistance was in reality but waiting an opportunity
to break forth into a devouring element.
"It was reserved for Beaumarchais to fan this Into a
flame with a suit for fifteen louis, and to destroy both Mau
peou and his parHament."
It was then to this parliament andl Maupeou that the

MADAME DU BARRY

ine raniameni maupeou 177
Comte de la Blache made his appeal. The institution was
the more to his liking, since at its head presided a certain
counsellor by the name of Goezman who seemed especially
made for his purpose.
Wc shall have much to say of this same Goezman in a suc
ceeding chapter Avlien it comes to the question of the famous
lawsuit concerning the fifteen louis. At this time, however,
Beaumarchais's case was very strong and none of his friends
seriously supposed that the count would be able to turn the
suit against him.
It was at this crisis that a circumstance, one of the most
bizarre of all the strange happenings in the life of Beaumar
chais, suddenly placed him at the mercy of his bitterest
enemy. For a minutely detailed account of this Incident we have
Beaumarchais's own account as rendered to the lieutenant of
police after the matter had been taken up by the authori
ties. While Gudin on his side, who, as we shall see, had
his own part to play in this singular drama, gives a no less
circumstantial account of the whole proceeding.
When in 1855, M. de Lomenie published his important
work, the Incident about to be related was wholly unknown
to the public although as he tells us, "The author of the
Barbier de Seville had collected with care all the documents
relating to this strange affair. Upon the back of the bun
dle of papers Avas written with his own hand, 'Material for
the memoirs of my life.' "
As ]M. de Sartine, at that time lieutenant general of
police, later became a warm friend of Beaumarchais, the
latter was able to obtain all the letters deposited by each
one of the actors of this tragl-comlque scene.
We can do no better than follow the account of M. de
Lomenie with occasional touches from Gudin.

CHAPTER VIII
La Jeunesse — "Y-a-t-U de la justice?"
Bartholo— "De la justice? C'est bon pour les autres
miserables, la justice. Je suis maitre, moi, pour avoir
toujours raison." Le Barbier de Seville, Act II, Scene VII.
Beaumarchais and the Due de Chaulnes — Attempt Upon the
Life of Beaumarchais — ^Same Evening Gives the Prom
ised Reading of the Barbier de Seville — Victim of a Lettre
de Cachet.
T T will be remembered that Gudin in his history of Beau-
-*• marchais speaks of a meeting of literary men at the
table of a certain Mademoiselle Menard, femme d'esprit,
where the subject of the comic opera lately composed by
Beaumarchais was discussed. It was this sarae Mademoiselle
Menard who in the Avords of Lomenie Avas "the cause of an
Homeric combat between Beaumarchais, prudent and dex'
terous as Ulysses, and a duke and peer, robust and ferocious
as Ajax."
Mademoiselle Menard was a young and pretty actress, who
in June, 1770, had made her debut with success at the
Comedie Itallenne. In his Correspondence litteraire, of June,
1770, Baron von Grimrae, the great critic of the time, says
of her after a rather cold analysis : "Mademoiselle Menard
must be given a trial ; she seems capable of great application.
It is said that her first occupation was that of a floiver girl
178

J ne uuc ae i^na/ulnes 179
on the boulevards, but wishing to withdraw from that estate
AA'hich has degenerated a little from the first nobility of its
origin, since Glyserc sold bouquets at the doors of the temple
of Athens, she bought a grammar and applied herself to
a study of the language and its pronounciation, after which
she tried playing comedies. During her first attempts, she
has addressed herself to all the authors, musicians, and poets,
asking their counsels with a zeal and docility which has had
for recorapense the applause which she has obtained in her
different roles. M. de Pequigny, to-day the due de
Chaulnes, protector of her charms, has had her portrait
painted by Greuze ; so if we do not retain her in the theater
we shall at least see her at the next salon."
Acting on the wishes of her protector. Mademoiselle Me
nard had renounced the theater and was in the habit of re
ceiving at her house poets, musicians, and great lords, Beau
marchais among the rest.
"The due de Chaulnes," says Lomenie, "was a man notori
ous for the violence and extravagance of his character. The
history of Beaumarchais by Gudin contains details about
him in every way confirming the testimony of other
contemporaries." "His character," wrote Gudin, "was a peculiar mixture of
contradictory qualities; esprit without judgment, pride, with
such a lack of discernment as to rob him of dignity before
superiors, equals or inferiors, a vast but disorderly memory,
a great desire to improve himself, a still greater taste for
dissipation, a prodigious strength of body, a violence of
disposition which rendered him extreraely unreasonable and
robbed him of the power to think clearly, frequent fits of
rage which made of him a savage beast incapable of being
controlled. "At one time banished from his country for five years, he

180 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
spent the time of his exile in making a scientific expedition.
He visited the pyramids, lived with the Bedouins and brought
home many objects of natural history,"
To this portrait by Gudin, Lomenie adds the foHowing:
"In the midst of his disorderly and extravagant life, he had
conserved soraething of the taste of his father, a dis
tinguished mechanician, physicist, and natural historian who
died an honorary member of the Academy of Natural
Sciences, The son loved chemistry passionately and made
several discoveries. Nevertheless even here he displayed
many eccentricities. Thus, to verify the efficacy of a prepara
tion he had Invented against asphyxiation, he shut hiraself
up In a glass cabinet and asphyxiated himself, leaving to his
valet de chambre the care to come to his aid at the proper
moment to try his remedy. Happily his servant was punc
tual and no harm was done,
"The peculiar character of the duke rendered his liaison
with Mademoiselle Menard very stormy. At the same time
brutal, jealous, and unfaithful, he inspired in her little sen
timent other than fear. Suddenly becoming infatuated with
Beaumarchais, he introduced him to the young woman In
question," '
Gudin says, "One of the greatest wrongs that I have
known in Beaumarchais was to appear so amiable to women
that he was always preferred, which made him as many ene
mies as there were aspirants to please him,"
The due de Chaulnes, perceiving very soon that Made
moiselle Menard found Beauraarchais very agreeable, his
friendship turned to fury.
"Frightened by his violence," says Lomenie, "she begged
Beaumarchais to cease his visits. Out of regard for her, he
consented, but the bad treatment of the duke continuing,
she decided to take the desperate step of shutting herself up

The Due de Chaulnes 181
in a convent. When she believed that the danger was over
and that she would be safe in her own home, she returned
and inAdted her friends, Beaumarchais among them, to come
to see her."
The duke during his intiraacy with Beaumarchais had
received many favors from him, notably iraportant suras of
money which, of course, he never repaid. It was at the
moment of the return of Mademoiselle Menard to her horae
that Beaumarchais wrote the following letter to the duke.
"Monsieur le Due,
"Mademoiselle Menard has notified me that she has re
turned to her home and has Invited rae to come to see her
along with all her other friends, when I can make It con
venient. I judge that the reasons which forced her to the
retreat now have ceased. She tells rae she is free and I
congratulate both of you sincerely. I expect to see her
sometime to-raorroAV. The force of circumstances has then
done for you what my representations were unable to accom
plish. I have known by what pecuniary efforts you have
tried again to bring her to be your dependent, and with what
nobility she has refused your money.
"Pardon me if I raake certain refiections, they are not
foreign to the end which I have In view in writing this. In
speaking to you of Mademoiselle Menard I forget my per
sonal injuries. I forget that after making it clear to you
that my attachment for you alone Inspired the sacrifices
which I made, and that after having said to me very disad
vantageous things about her, you have changed and said
things a hundred times worse to her about me. I pass also
in silence the scene, horrible for her — and disgusting to me,
where you so far forgot yourself as to reproach me with be
ing the son of a watchmaker. I, who honor myself in my

182 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
parents in the face of those even, who imagine they have the
right to outrage their oAvn. You must feel. Monsieur le due,
how much more advantageous my position Is at this moment
than your own, and except for the anger which makes you
unreasonable, you would certainly appreciate the moderation
with" which I repelled the outrage against him whom I have
always made profession of loving and honoring with all my
heart. But if my respectful regards for you have not gone
so far as to make me fear you, then it is because it Is not in
my power to fear any man. BeHeve me, Monsieur le due, I
have never tried to diminish the attachment of this generous
Avoman for you. She would have despised me if I had at
tempted to do so. You have had, therefore, no enemy but
yourself. Recall all that I have had the honor to say In
regard to this subject and give back your friendship to him
Avhom you have not been able to deprive of his esteem for you.
If this letter does not appeal to you, I shall feel that I have
done my duty to the friend whom I have never offended,
whose injuries I have forgotten, and to whora I come now for
the last time. , , ."
The duke did not reply to this letter and matters re
mained at a standstill until one morning the infatuated duke
took it into his head to kill Beaumarchais,
"Fatality," says Gudin, "was the cause that I who never
left my study in the morning unless it was to go and turn
over the pages of the books or ancient manuscripts in the
Biblloteque du Roi, had gone out that morning by request of
ray mother, it being the llth of February, 1773, My com
mission for her finished and finding myself near the lodging
of Mademoiselle Menard whom I had not seen for a long
time, I mounted to her apartments,
" 'It is a great while since I have seen you,' she said, 'I

The Due de Chaulnes 183
feared you no longer had any friendship for me.' I assured
her of my regard and seated myself in an armchair. Soon
she burst into tears as if her heart could not contain its grief,
and began to recount the violences of the duke and spoke
of a very insulting remark which he had made about Beau
raarchais. At that moment the duke entered the room, I
ro.so and gave him my place.
" 'I weep,' she said, 'and I beg M. Gudin to induce Beau
marchais to justify himself for the ridiculous accusation you
have made against him.'
" 'What need is there for a scoundrel like Beaumarchais
to justify himself?'
" 'He is a very honest man,' she said, shedding more tears.
" 'You love him,' cried the duke. 'You humiliate me. I
declare to you that / Tsnll kUl him!'
"The duke sprang up and rushed from the room. We all
rose and cried out. I ran to prevent his escape, but he
evaded me. I turned back into the room, I cried to the
women that I would warn Beauraarchais and prevent the
corabat. "I was beside myself, I left and ran to his house. I met
his carriage in the Rue Dauphine. I threw myself in front
of the horses, stopped them, mounted on the steps of his car-
rosse, and told hira that the due de Chaulnes was hunting
for him and wished to kill hira.
" 'Come horae with rae, I will tell you the rest.'
" 'I cannot,' he answered, 'the hour calls me to the tribunal
of the varenne du Louvre, where I must preside, I will come
to you as soon as the audience is finished.'
"His carriage started and I went back home. Just as
I was mounting the steps of the Pont-Neuf I felt my
self violently pulled by the skirts of my coat, I fell back
ward and found myself in the arms of the due de Chaulnes

184 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
who, using his gigantic strength, picked me up like a bird,
threw me Into a fiacre, cried to the coachman, 'Rue de Conde,'
and said to me with horrible oaths that I should find for hira
the raan he sought to kill.
" 'By what right,' I said, 'Monsieur le due, you who are
always crying for liberty, do you take mine from me?'
" 'By the right of the strongest. You wIH find for me —
Beaumarchais or — '
" 'Monsieur le due, I have no arms, you will perhaps wish
also to assassinate me?'
" 'No — I will only kill that Beaumarchais.'
" 'I do not know where he is and if I did, I would not teH
you while you are in the fury of your present rage.'
" 'If you resist, I will give you a blow.'
" 'And I will return it.'
" 'What, you would strike a duke !' With that he threw
himself upon me and tried to seize my hair. As I AVore a wig
it remained in his hand, which made the scene very amusing
as I perceived from the laughter of the populace outside
the fiacre, all the doors of which were open. The duke who
saw nothing, seized rae by the neck and wounded me on my
throat, my ear, and my cheek. I stopped his blows as best
I could and called the guard with all my might. The duke
grew calmer and we arrived at the home of Beaumarchais.
"The duke jumped from the carriage and pounded on the
door. I sprang from the other side of the carriage and
knowing that my friend would not be found, I escaped to my
own home by the side streets, there to aAvait the coming of
Beauraarchais. "I. waited in irapatlence, — he did not come, I grew uneasy,
fear seized me, I gave orders that he should await me, I ran
to his home. Here is what happened and which is to be found
in his petition to the marshals of France."

The Due de Chaulnes 185
"Exact recital of what passed Thursday, the llth of
February, 1773, between M. le due de Chaulnes and my
self, Beaumarchais.
"I had opened the audience of the capitainerie, Avhen I
saw M. le due de Chaulnes arrive with the most bewildered
air that could be imagined and he said aloud that he had
something very pressing to communicate to me and that I
raust corae out at once. 'I cannot. Monsieur le due, the serv
ice of the public forces me to terminate decently what I
haA'e begun.' I had a seat brought for him ; he insi.sted ; every
one was astonished at his air and tone. I began to fear that
his object would be suspected and I suspended the audience
for a moment and passed Avith him into a cabinet. There
he told me with all the force of the language des holies, that
he Avished to kill me at once and to drink my blood, for which
he was thirsty.
" 'Oh, is it only that, Monsieur le due? Permit then, that
business go before pleasure.' I wished to return ; he stopped
me, saying that he would tear out my eyes before all the
world if I did not instantly go out with him.
" 'You will be lost. Monsieur, if you are rash enough to
attack me publicly.'
"I re-entered the audience chamber assuming a cold
manner. "Surrounded as I was by the officers and guards of the
capitainerie, after seating le due de Chaulnes, I opposed
during the two hours of the audience, a perfect sang-froid to
the petulant and insane perturbation AA^th which he walked
about troubling the audience and asking of all, 'Will this
last much longer?'
"Finally the audience was over and I put on my street
costume. In descending, I asked M. de Chaulnes, what could
be his grievance against a man whom he had not seen for six

186 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
months. " 'No explanation,' he said to me, 'let us go instantly and
fight it out.'
" 'At least,' I said, 'you will permit me to go home and
get a sword? I have only a mourning sword with me In the
carriage.' " 'We are passing the house of M. le Comte de Turpin,
who will lend you one and who will serve as witness.'
"He sprang into my carriage. I got In after him, while
his equipage followed ours. He did me the honor of assur
ing me that this time I would not escape him, ornamenting
his sentences with those superb imprecations which are so
familiar in his speech. The coolness of my replies augmented
his rage.
"We arrived as M. de Turpin was leaving his home. He
mounted on the box of my carriage.
" 'M. le due,' I said, 'is carrying me off. I do not know
why he wants us to cut one another's throats, but in this
strange adventure he hopes that you will wish to serve as
witness of our conduct.'
"M. de Turpin replied that a pressing matter forced him
to go at once to the Luxembourg and would detain him there
until four o'clock in the afternoon. I perceived that M. de
Turpin had for his object to allow time for the rage of Mon
sieur le due to calm Itself. He left us. M. de Chaulnes
wished to take me to his home. 'No, thank you,' I replied,
and ordered my coachman to drive to mine.
" 'If you descend I will poniard you at your own door.'
" 'You will have the pleasure then, because it is exactly
where I am going.' Then I asked him to dine with me.
"The carriage arrived at my door, I descended, and he
followed rae. I gave my orders coldly, the postman handed
me a letter, the duke seized it from me before my father and

The Due de Chardnes 187
all the domestics. I tried to turn the matter into a joke, but
the duke began to SAvear. My father became alarmed, I re
assured him and ordered dinner to be served in my study."
At this point avo return to the account by Gudin Avliich
is much less detailed than Beaumarchais's recital.
"The duke followed him, and on entering the study though
wearing a sword of his own, he seized one of Beaumarchais's
which was lying on the table and attempted to stab him, but
found himself seized and enveloped before he had time com
pletely to draw the sword from its case. The men struggled
together like two athletes, Beaumarchais less strong, but
more master of himself, pushed the duke toward the chim
ney and seized the bell cord. The domestics came running
in and seeing their master assailed, his hair torn and his
face bleeding, they attacked the duke. The cook arming
himself with a stick of wood was ready to break the skull
of the madman. Beauraarchais forbade them to strike, but
ordered that they take away the sword which the duke held
in his hands. They so far disarmed him but did not dare
to take the sword which he still wore at his side. In the
struggle, they had pushed and pulled each other from the
study to the steps, here the duke fell and dragged Beaumar
chais with him. At this moment I knocked at the street
door. The duke immediately disengaged himself and thrcAv
open the door. My surprise can be imagined.
" 'Enter,' cried the duke, seizing me, 'here is another who
Avill not go out of here,' his mania seemed to be that no one
should leave the house until he had killed Beaumarchais.
"I joined my friend and tried to make him enter the study
with me ; the duke opposed himself to us with violence and
drew his own sword. Beaumarchais seized him by the throat
and pressed him so closely that he could not strike. Eight
of us carae instantly to his aid and disarmed the duke. A

188 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
lackey had his head cut, the- coachman his nose Injured and
the cook was wounded in the hand. We pushed the duke into
the dining-room which was very near the street door and
Beaumarchais went up stairs.
"As soon as the duke ceased to see his enemy he sat down
by himself at the table and ate with a furious appetite."
Here Beaumarchais shall continue with the account : "The
duke again heard a knocking at the door and rushed to open
it. He found M. the commissioner Chenu, who, surprised
at the disorder in which he found the establishraent, and at
my appearance as I descended to greet him, inquired the
cause of the confusion. I told him in a few words. . . .
At my explanation the duke thrcAV himself once more upon
me striking me with his fists, unarmed I defended myself as
best I could before the asserably Avho soon separated us.
M. Chenu begged me to reraain in the salon while he took
charge of the duke, who had begun to break glass and tear his
oAvn hair in rage at not having killed me. M. Chenu at last
persuaded him to go home and he had the impertinence to
have my lackey whom he had Avounded, dress his hair. I
went to my room to have rayself attended to and the duke
throAving himself into my carriage rode away.
"I have stated these facts simply, without Indulging in
any comments, employing as far as possible the expressions
used, and endeavoring to state the exact truth in recounting
one of the strangest and most disgusting adventures which
could come to a reasonable man."
Gudin ends his account with a very characteristic picture
of Beaumarchais.
"Anyone else, after an equally violent scene, would have
been overwhelmed with anxiety and fatigue, would have
sought repose, and would have been anxious in regard to
precautions against the repeated violence of a great lord, but

Gives Reacting oj tsaroier de Seville 189
Beaumarchais, as cheerful and assured as if he had passed
the most tranquil day, was not willing to deny himself a rao
raent of pleasure. That very evening, at the risk of encoun
tering the duke, he Avent to the home of one of his old friends,
M. Lopes, where he was expected to give a reading of his
Barbier de SevUle.
"Upon his arrival he recounted to them the adventures of
the day. Everyone supposed that after such an exciting ex
perience, there would be no feeling on his part for comedy.
But Beaumarchais assured the ladies that the scandalous
conduct of a madman should not spoil their evening's pleas
ure and he read his play with as rauch composure as if noth
ing had happened. He was as calm, as gay, and as brilliant
during supper as usual, and passed a part of the night play
ing on the harp and singing the Spanish seguedillas or the
charming scenes he had set to music which he accompanied
with so much grace upon the instrument which he had
perfected. "It was thus that in every circumstance of his life he gave
himself entirely to the thing which occupied him without any
thought of what had passed or was to follow, so sure was
he of all his faculties and his presence of mind. He never
needed preparation upon any point, his intelligence was
always ready, and his principles of action faultless."
As might be expected, the scandalous adventure made a
great deal of noise. It was taken up by the marshals of
France, judges in such cases between gentlemen, and a guard
was sent to the home of each one of the adversaries. Lo
menie says, "In the Interval the duke de la Vrilllere, minister
of the house of the king, ordered Beaumarchais to go Into the
country for some days, and as the latter protested energet
ically against such an order the execution of which, under
the circumstances, would have compromised his honor, the

190 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
minister had directed him to stay at his home until the mat
ter had been taken before the king.
"The marshals then successively called each combatant in
turn to appear before them. Beaumarchais had no trouble
in proving that his only wrong consisted in being permitted
the friendship of a pretty woman, and the result of the in
vestigation having been unfavorable to the due de Chaulnes,
he was sent on the 19th of February by a lettre de cachet
to the chateau of Vincennes. The Marshals of France then
sent for Beaumarchais a second time and declared hira free,
"All this was just, but Beaumarchais, not over confident
in human justice, went to the duke de la VriUiere to assure
himself that he was free. Not finding the nobleman at home
he addressed a note to Sartine, lieutenant-general of police,
to ask the same question. This latter replied that he was
perfectly at liberty, then for the first time Beaumarchais
ventured to stir abroad. But he counted even then prema
turely on the justice of the court. The very small mind of
the due de la VriUiere was offended that the tribunal of the
marshals of France should discharge arrests given by hira
and so to teach the tribunal a lesson and to show his au
thority, on the 24th of February he sent Beaumarchais to
For-l'Eveque." As may be imagined, this was a terrible blow to a man
of his active temperament and especially at this time when
his enemy the Comte de la Blache was capable of using the
advantage thus acquired to complete his ruin. Nevertheless
his first letter from prison shows his usual serenity of mind.
He wrote to Gudin : "In virtue of a lettre sans cachet caUed
lettre de cachet signed Louis and below Philippeaux, recom
mended — Sartine, executed — Buchot, and submitted Beau
marchais, I am lodged, my friend, since this morning at
For-l'Eveque, in an unfurnished room at 2160 livres rent

At For-l'Eveque 191
where I am led to hope that, except what is necessary I shall
lack nothing. Is it the family of the duke whom I have
saved a criminal suit who have imprisoned me? Is it the
ministry whose orders I have constantly followed or antici
pated ? Is it the dukes and peers of the realm with whom I ara
In no way connected? This is what I do not know, but the
sacred narae of 'King' Is so beautiful a thing that one cannot
multiply it or employ it too frequently apropos. It is thus
that in every country which is governed by police they tor
ment by authority those whom they cannot inculpate with
justice. Wherever mankind Is to be found, odious things
happen and the great wrong of being In the right is ahvays a
crime In the eyes of power, which wishes to punish unceas
ingly, but never to judge."
The two rivals were thus very securely lodged for the pres
ent and Mademoiselle Menard, the unwilling pretext of all the
trouble, was quite safe from her tormentor. Before the ren
dering of the sentence, however, which confined the due de
Chaulnes to the prison of Vincennes, In the fear Avhich the
violence of his character inspired, this "beautiful Helen,"
says Lomenie, "went and threw herself at the feet of M. de
Sartine, imploring his protection." The next day she wrote a
letter comraunicating her fixed resolve to retire to a convent.
Other letters follow and four days after the terrible scene
which has been described. Mademoiselle Menard entered the
couvent des Cordelieres, faubourg Saint-M arceau, Paris.
M, de Sartine had entrusted the very delicate, not to say
hazardous mission of seeing the young woman In question
safely lodged in a convent, to a worthy priest, I'abbe Dugue,
This very respectable, very good and very naif abbe, wrote
the same evening a lengthy letter to the lieutenant general of
police in which he showed himself very anxious not to com
promise his own dignity as well a? not to incur the enmity of

192 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
a great duke still at liberty, whose character was universally
known. After explaining the difficulties he had encountered, and
his just uneasiness in finding himself entangled in what to
him was a very embarrassing affair, he humbly begged that
the duke be prevented from disturbing the young woman, the
circumstances of whose history he has been forced to hide
from the good sisters of the Cordelieres. If the interference
of the duke could be preA'ented, he hoped that the repose,
joined to the sweetness of the appearance and character of
this "affligee recluse" would work In her favor In this home
of order and prevent his passing for a liar, or even worse,
as though being in fault for Irregular conduct.
"I left the ladles," he continues, "well disposed for their
new pcnsionaire, but I repeat, what disgrace for me. If jeal
ousy or love, equally out of place, find her out and penetrate
even to her parlor there to exhale their scandalous or their
unedlfying sighs."
The good abbe's fears in regard to the young Avoman were,
however, groundless, for as we have seen, by the 19th of
February the due de Chaulnes was safe in the fortress of
Vincennes. Lomenie continues : "This affligee recluse, as the good
abbe Dugue said, was not at all made for the life of a con
vent, she had scarcely enjoyed the existence within its pro
tecting walls a fortnight before she felt the need to vary
her impressions, and she abruptly returned to the world,
tranquilized by the knowledge of the soHdity of the walls of
the chateau de Vincennes Avhich separated her frora the due
de Chaulnes."
Beaumarchais, inactive at For-l'Eveque, having heard of
MademoiseUe Menard's return to the world wrote her a most
characteristic letter full of brotherly advice in which is

At For-l'Eveque 193
shown his tendency to regulate the affairs of those in whom
he feels an interest, as Avell as a certain chagrin perhaps,
that the young Avonian in question should enjoy her liberty
when he, Beaumarchais, Is forced to reraain inactive at
For-l'Eveque. He wrote: "It Is not proper that anyone should attempt
to curtail the liberty of others, but the counsels of friend
ship ought to have some weight because of their disinterested
ness. I learn that you, Mademoiselle, have left the convent
as suddenly as you entered It. What can be your motives for
an action which seems imprudent ? Are you afraid that some
abuse of authority will force you to remain there? Reflect,
I beg you, and see if you are more sheltered in your own
home, should some powerful enemy think himself strong
enough to keep you there? In the painful condition of your
affairs having no doubt exhausted your purse by paying
your pension quarter in advance, and furnishing an apart
ment in the conA'cnt, ought you to triple your expense Avith
out necessity? The voluntary retreat where sorrow and
fear conducted you. Is It not a hundred tiraes more suited
to you than those lodgings frora which your feelings should
wish to separate you by great distance ? They tell me that
you weep. Why do you do so? Are you the cause of the
misfortunes of M. de Chaulnes or of mine? You are only the
pretext, and if in this execrable adventure anyone can be
thankful, it ought to be you who have no cause to reproach
yourself and who have recovered your liberty from one of
the most unjust tyrants and madmen who ever took upon
theraselves the right of Invading your presence.
"I must also take into account what you owe the good and
worthy abbe Dugue, who to serve you, has been obliged to
dissimulate your narae and your trouble in the convent.

194 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
where you were sheltered on his word. Your leaving, which
seems like a freak, does It not compromise him with the su
periors of the convent, in giving him the appearance of be
ing connected with a black intrigue, he who put so much
zeal and compassion into what he did for you? You are
honest and good, but so many violent emotions may have
thrown your judgment into some confusion. You need a wise
counsellor who wiU make It his duty to show you your situa
tion just as It Is, not happy, but bearable.
"Believe me, my dear friend, return to the convent where
I am told you have made yourself loved. While you are
there, discontinue the useless establishment which you keep
up against all reason. The project which it Is supposed that
you have of returning to the stage Is absurd. You should
think of nothing but tranquIHzing your mind and regaining
your health. In a word, whatever your plans for the future,
they cannot and ought not to be indifferent to me. I should
be informed, for I dare say that I am the only man whose
help you should accept without blushing. In remaining In
the convent it will be proved that there is no intimate connec
tion between us, and I shall have the right to declare myself
your friend, your protector, your brother, and your coun
selor. Beaumarchais."
But all these remonstrances were in vain. Mademoiselle
Menard persisted in remaining In the world. Beaumarchais
resigned himself as she became very useful in soliciting his
release. Her name, however, very soon disappears from the
papers of Beaumarchais. His own affairs take on so black
an aspect that he had Httle time to busy himself with those
of others. As for the due dfe Chaulnes before leaving
prison he addressed a humble letter to M. de Sartine in

At For-l'Eveque 196
Avhich he promised never again to torment Mademoiselle Me
nard nor to interfere with Beauraarchais, asking only that
the latter keep himself at a distance.
Thus ends the faraous quarrel whose consequence had so
profound an effect upon the career of Beaumarchais as we
shall see in the next chapter.

CHAPTER IX
"La Jeunesse — Mais quand une chose est vraie. .
Bartholo — Qttand une chose est vraie! si je ne veux
qu'eUe soit vraie, je pretends qu'elle ne soit pas vraie. II n'y
aurait qua permcttre a tons ces faquins-la d'avoir raison,
vous verrez bientdt ce que deviendrait Vautorite."
"Le Barbier de Seville," Act II, Scene VII.
Beaumarchais at For-l'Eveque — Letter to his Little Friend
— Second Trial in the Suit Instituted Against Him by the
Count de la Blache — Efforts to Secure an Audience with
the Reporter Goezman — Second Judgment Rendered
Against Beaumarchais — He Obtains his Liberty — Loudly
Demands the Return of his Fifteen Louis.
A LTHOUGH Beaumarchais's first letter from For-
•*' *¦ I'Eveque sounded philosophical, his situation was cruel
in the extreme. Lomenie says : "This imprisonment Avhich
fell in the midst of his suit against the Comte de la Blache
did him frightful harm; his adversary profiting by the cir
cumstance, worked without relaxation to blacken his char
acter before the judges, multiplying his measures, his recom
mendations, his solicitations; and ardently pressing the de
cision of his suit, while the unhappy prisoner whose fortune
and honor were engaged in this affair, could not even obtain
permission to go out for a few hours to visit the judges In his
tum, "M. de Sartine showed him the greatest good-will but
196

Still Imprisoned at For-l'Eveque 197
he Avas unable to do more than mitigate his situation, his
liberty depending on the rainister.
"Beaumarchais had begun by pleading his cause before
the Duke de la VriUiere, as a citizen unjustly imprisoned.
He sent him memoir after memoir proving ably that he had
done no wrong; he demanded to know why he had been de
tained, and when M. de Sartine warned him In a friendly
way that this tone would lead to nothing, he replied Avith
dignity, 'The only satisfaction of a persecuted man is to
render testimony that he is unjustly dealt with.' "
While he was consuming himself in vain protestations, the
day for the judgment of his suit approached. To the demands
of M. de Sartine soliciting permission for Beaumarchais
to go out for a few hours each day the due de la VriUiere
replied always, "That, man Is too insolent, let hira follow his
affair through his attorney!" and Beaumarchais, indignant
and heart-broken, Avrote to M. de Sartine :
"It is completely proved to me that they desire that I
shall lose my suit, if it is possible for me to lose it, but I
admit that I was not prepared for the derisive answer of the
due de la VriUiere to solicit my affair through my attorney,
he who knoAvs as well as I, that it is forbidden to attorneys.
Ah, great heavens ! cannot an Innocent man be lost without
laughing in his face ! Thus, Monsieur, have I been grievously
insulted, justice has been denied me because my adversary is
a man of quality, I have been put in prison, I am kept there,
because I have been insulted by a man of quality. They
even go so far as to blame me for enlightening the police as
to the false impressions they have received, while the im
modest gazettes Les Deux-Ponto and HoUande unworthily
dishonor me to please my adversary. A little more and they
would say that it was very insolent in me to have been out-

198 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
raged in every way by a man of quality, because what is
the meaning of that phrase, 'He has put too much boasting
into this affair?' Could I do less than demand justice and
prove by the conduct of my adversary that I was in no
way wrong? What a pretext for ruining an offended man,
that of saying, 'He has talked too much about his affair.'
As if it were possible to talk of anything else ! Receive ray
sincere thanks, Monsieur, for having notified me of this re
fusal and this obsei-vation of M. the due de la VriUiere, and
for the happiness of the country may your power one day
equal your sagacity and your Integrity ! My gratitude
equals the profound respect with which I am, etc.,
"Beaumarchais.
This March llth, 1773"
But the correspondence of Beaumarchais with M. de Sar
tine did not advance matters in the least. What M. the
due de la VriUiere exacted before everything else was that
he cease to be insolent, that Is to demand justice, and that
he ask for pardon.
Beaumarchais resisted this for about a month, when on
the 20th of March he received a letter without signature,
written by a man who seemed to Interest hiraself in the situa
tion and who endeavored to make Beaumarchais understand
that under an absolute government, when anyone has in
curred disgrace at the hands of a minister, and that minis
ter keeps one In prison when one has the greatest possible
interest to be free, it is not the thing to do to plead one's
cause as an oppressed citizen but to bow to the law of force
and speak like a suppliant.
What would Beauraarchais do? He was on the brink of
losing a suit raost important for his fortune and his honor,
his Hberty was in the hands of a raan unworthy of esteera,

Humbles Himself Before the Due de la VriUiere 199
because the due de la VriUiere was one of the ministers
the most justly disdained by history, but the situation was
such that this man disposed at will of his destiny. Beau
marchais resigned himself at last, humiliated himself. See hira
in the part of suppliant.
"Monseigneur,"The frightful aft'air of M. the due de Chaulnes has be
come for me a succession of misfortunes without end, and the
greatest of all Is that I have incurred your displeasure in
spite of the purity of my Intentions. Despair has broken me
and driven me to measures which have displeased you, I dis
avow them Monseigneur, at your feet, and beg of you a gen
erous pardon, or if it seems to you that I merit a longer
imprisonment, permit me to go during a few days to instruct
my judges In the most Important affair for my fortune and
my honor, and I submit after the judgment to whatever pain
you may Impose. All my family Aveeping join their prayers
to mine. Everyone speaks, Monseigneur, of your indulgence
and goodness of heart. Shall I be the only one who implores
you In vain. You can with a single word fill with joy a
host of honest people whose gratitude wiU equal the very
profound respect with which we are all, and I in particular,
Monseigneur, your, etc., "Beaumarchais,"
From For-l'Eveque, March 21, 1773,"
The due de la Vrilllere was satisfied in his petty vanity,
so a reply was soon forthcoming. The next day, March
22nd, the minister sent to M. de Sartine the authorization
to allow the prisoner to go out during the day, under the
conduct of an agent of police, but obliging him to eat and
sleep at For-l'Eveque,

200 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
In the meantlrae, however, another disgrace was threaten
ing him. Some enemy had taken advantage of his absence
to attack his rights as lieutenant-general des chasses.
"From the depths of his prison," wrote Lomenie, "he re
claimed them immediately In a letter to the due de La Val
liere where he appeared proud and imposing as a baron of
the middle

"Monsieur le due,
"Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, lieutenant-
general at the court of justice of your capitainerie, has the
honor of representing to you that his detention by order of
the king has not destroyed his civil estate. He has been very
much surprised to learn that in violation of the regulation
of the capitainerie of May 17th which says that every offi
cer who does not bring valid excuse for not being present
at the reception of a new officer avIU be deprived of his droit
de bougies, etc., etc. The exactitude and zeal with which
the suppliant has always fulfilled the functions of his charge
to the present day makes him hope. Monsieur le due, that
you will be so good as to maintain him In all the rights of
the said charge against every kind of enterprise or infringe
ment. When M. de Schomberg was in the Bastille the king
permitted him to do his work for les Suisses which he had
the honor to command. The same thing happened to the
M. the due du Maine.
"The suppliant is perhaps the least worthy of the officers
of your capitainerie but he has the honor of being its lieu
tenant-general and you will certainly not disapprove. Mon
sieur le due, that he prevents the first office of that capi
tainerie to grow less under his hands or that any other offi
cer takes upon himself the functions to its prejudice.
Caron de Beaumarchais."

L,etter oj L:onstant 201
In striking contrast to this picture of Beaumarchais de
fending so proudly his rights before a great noble, is an
other, also drawn by his own hand, In a letter to a child of
six years In which all the warmth and goodness of his heart,
as well as the delicac_y of his sentiments, manifest them
selves. We already have mentioned the fact that as secretary to
the king, Beaumarchais was the colleague of M. Lenormant
d'Etioles, the husband of jMadame de Pompadour. After
the death of his first wife in 1764, he had married a second
time and he now had a charming little son, six and a half
years old. Beaumarchais, intimate with the family, com
pletely had won the heart of this Httle boy whose pretty
ways were a constant reminder of the child he .had lost.
Learning that his friend was In prison, the child sponta
neously wrote the following letter :
"Neuilly, March 2nd, 1773.
"Monsieur, "I send you my purse, because in prison one is always
unhappy. I am very sorry that you are in prison. Every
morning and every evening I say an Ave Maria for you. I
have the honor to be. Monsieur, your A'ery humble and A'ery
obedient servitor Constant."
Beaumarchais instantly replied:
"]My good little friend Constant, I have recelA'ed Avith
much gratitude your letter and the purse which you joined
to It. I have made a just division of what It contained among
the prisoners, ray companions, according to their different
needs, while I have kept for your friend Beaumarchais the
best part, I mean the prayers, the Ave Marias, of which I

202 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
certainly have need, and so have distributed to the poor
people who suffer imprisonment all that the purse contained.
Thus intending to oblige only a single man you have ac
quired the gratitude of many. This Is the ordinary fruit of
such good actions as yours.
"Bonjour, my little friend Constant, Beaumarchais."

And to the chUd's mother he wrote at the same time: "I
thank you very sincerely, Madame, for having sent me the
letter and the purse of my little friend Constant. These
are the first outbursts of the sensiblHty of a young soul
which promise excellent things. Do not give him back his
purse, in order that he may not think that such sacrifices
bring a similar recompense, but later you may give it to
him that he may have a reminder of the tenderness of his
generous heart. Recompense him now In a way that wiU
give him a just idea of his action without allowing him to
pride himself upon It. But Avliat am I thinking of to join
my observations to the pains that have caused to germinate
and to develop so great a quality as benevolence at an age
when the only morality is to report everything to oneself.
Receive my thanks and my corapliments. Permit that M.
I'abbe Leroux participate In them. He has not satisfied hira
self Avith teacliing his pupils to decline the word A'Irtue,
lie inculcates the love of it. He is a man full of merit and
more fitted than anyone to second your views. This letter
and the purse have caused me the joy of a child. Happy
parents ! You have a son capable at the age of six pf this
ictlon. And I also had a son, I have him no more, and yours
gjlves you already such happiness. I partake in It with aU
ny heart, and I beg you to continue to love him a little who
s the cause of this charraing outburst of our Httle Constant.

riie (JounseiLor uoezman 203
One cannot add anything to the respectful attachment of
him who honors himself, Madame, etc. Beaumarchais."
From For-l'Eveque, March 4, 1773"
"And this," says Lomenie, "is the man whom the Comte
de la Blache charitably calls a finished monster, a venomous
species of which society should be purged, and at the mo
ment when the count says this, it Is the opinion almost uni
versally adopted. It is in vain that Beaumarchais follows
his guard and returns every evening to his prison, passing
his day in hastening from one to another of his judges, the
discredit attached to his name followed him everywhere.
"Under the infiuence of this discredit, and upon the re
port of the Counsellor Goezman, the parliament decided at
last between him and M. de la Blache, and gave, April 5th,
1773, a strange judgment from a legal point of view. This
judgment, declared nul and of no effect the act made be
tween the two majors, saying that there was no need of let
tres de recision, that Is to say, that the question of fraud,
surprise or error being set aside, Beaumarchais found him
self Indirectly declared a forger although there was against
him no inscription of forgery."
In the words of Bonnefon, "Precisely the counsellor desig
nated as rapporteur in the affair of Beaumarchais by la
Blache was one of the least scrupulous members of that
strange parliament. A learned legist, he had begun his ca
reer as judge of the superior council of Alsace, and the chan
cellor Maupeou, in quest of magistrates Avho could be
bought, had raised him to his new functions.
"Valentine Goezman was not overly scrupulous in regard
to the means of conviction employed and if he kept his
doors well closed to all litigants it was only to make them

204 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
open all the wider by the money of those who solicited hfe
audiences. "Needy himself he had married a second AvIfe, young and
coquettish, even less delicate than her husband as to .the
choice of means. 'It would be impossible,' she was heard
to say, 'it would be Irapossible for us to live from what Is
given us, but we know how to pick the chicken without mak
ing it cry out.' "
It Avas a certain publisher, Avho according to Lomenie",
"hearing that Beaumarchais was in despair at not being able
to find access to his reporter, sent him word that the only
means of obtaining the audience and assuring the equity of
the judge was to make a present to his wife, who demanded
two hundred louis."
But of this strange proceeding, let us allow the victim to
step forward and speak for himself. In the exposition raade
in the first of those famous memoirs of which Ave shall soon
speak, Beaumarchais wrote : "A few days before the one ap
pointed for the judgment of my suit, I had obtained from
the minister perraission to solicit my judges under the ex
press and rigorous conditions of going accompanied by a
guard, the sleur Santerre, named for this purpose, and of
going only to the judges, returning to the prison for all ray
meals and to sleep, which exceedingly embarrassed my raove-
ments and shortened the tirae accorded for my solicitations.
"In this short Interval I presented myself at least ten
times at the office of Monsieur Goezman without bcino- able
o
to see him. I was not very much, affected by this. M. Goez
man was of the number of my judges but there Avas no press
ing interest between us. On the first of April however when
he was charged with the office of reporter of my suit he be
came essential to me.
"Three times that afternoon I presented myself at his

The Counsellor and Madame Goezman 205
door always with the Avritten formula, 'Beaumarchais prays
Monsieur to be so good as to accord him the favor of an
audience, and to leave orders with the door keeper setting
the hour and day.' It Avas in vain. The next morning I
was told that Monsieur Goezman would see no one, and that
it was useless to present myself again. I returned in the
afternoon ; the same reply.
"If one reflects that of the four days which were left me
before the decision, one and a half had already been spent
in vain solicitations and that twice a friend of Monsieur
Goezman had been to him and vainly pleaded for an audience
for me, one can conceive of my disquietude.
"Not knowing what to do, on returning I entered the
home of one of my sisters to take council and to calm my
mind. It was then that the sieur DairoUes, lodging at my
sister's, spoke of a certain publisher, Le-Jay, who perhaps
might procure for me the audience which I desired. He saw
the man and was assured that by means of a sacrifice of
money an audience would be promptly given."
At this point let us break the narrative of Beauraarchais
while we listen for a moment to, Gudin. "I was with him
when he was told that If he wished to give money to the AvIfe
of the reporter he could obtain the audiences he desired, and
that this was only too necessary in our miserable manner
of gaining justice. I remember very well the anger which
seized him at this proposition and the pride with which he
rejected It.
"But his friends and faraily as well as myself, alarmed
at what his enemies were doing to ruin hliri, united our soli
citations and tore from him rather than obtained his con
sent." And Beaumarchais, after giving in great detail the above
scene, continues, "To cut the raatter short, one of the friends

206 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
present ran home and brought two rolls of fifty louis each,
which I did not possess, and gave them to my sister, and
these were finally delivered to Madame Goezman while I
returned to prison."
The details which follow are too numerous to be given
here. It Is sufficient to say that though the reporter pro
mised an audience for nine o'clock that same evening, Beau
marchais on arriving found that he Avas not expected. He
was, however, this time not to be rejected and finally suc
ceeded in forcing admittance. It Avas the moment when
Madame and Monsieur Goezman were preparing to seat
themselves at table. A few moments' conversation con
vinced Beaumarchais that the judge's mind was made up and
he returned to his prison, more alarmed than ever. His
desire for a satisfactory audience was augmented rather
than diminished. It was the fourth of April, the following
day the final decision was to be given. Through the sieur
DairoUes and Le-Jaj' Madame Goezman demanded a second
hundred louis and promised this time to secure the audience.
Beaumarchais did not possess the money but offered a Avatch
set with diamonds which was of equal value. She accepted
the watch, but demanded fifteen louis extra as a gratifica
tion for her husband's secretary. Beaumarchais, desperate,
gave them, although as he told us, with a very bad grace.
The audience was promised for seven o'clock.
Beaumarchais presented hiraself, but in vain. This time
he was unable to force an entrance and returned without see
ing the judge.
He continues: "The reader, tired at last of hearing so
many vain promises, so raany useless steps, avIU judge how
beside myself I was to receive the one and to take the other.
I went back to prison, rage in my heart. Now came a new
course of Intermediaries, this time the curious reply which

The Counsellor and Madame Goezman 207
was brought to me cannot be omitted. 'It is not the fault of
the lady If you haA'e not been received. You may present
yourself to-morrow. But she is so honest that if you can
not obtain an audience before the judgment she assures you
that you shall receive again all that she has received of
you.' "I argued evil from this new announcement. Why did the
lady engage herself to return the money? I had not asked
for it. I made the most of the melancholy reflections on
this subject. But although the tone and the proceeding
seemed absolutely changed, I was none the less resolved to
make a last effort to see my reporter the next morning; the
only Instant of which I could profit before the judgment."
An Interested friend had succeeded In penetrating to the
presence of Goezman the night before and the judge prom
ised to see Beauraarchais the next morning. The latter says :
"If ever an audience seemed sure, this one certainly did,
promised on the one hand by the reporter while his wife
received the price on the other. Nevertheless, in spite of
the assurances of all, we were no happier than on former
occasions. . . . Santerre and I remained for an hour and a
half, but the orders were positive, we were not allowed to
cross the threshold.
"But I had lost my suit, the evil was consummated. The
same evening, sieur DairoUes returned to my sister the two
rolls of fifty louis each and the watch. As for the fifteen
louis, he said since they were required by the secretary
of M. Goezman, Madame Goezman believed herself discharged
from returning them.
"This conduct of the secretary was an enigma to rae, I
wished to fathora It. In the beginning he had modestly re
fused ten louis voluntarily offered him. I begged the friend
who finally had Induced the secretary to accept the ten loUls

208 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
to Inquire if he had received the fifteen louis given to Madame
Goezman for him. He replied that they had never been
offered to him and if they had been, he would not have ac
cepted them. . . .
"Stung by the dishonest means employed to retain the
fifteen louis, believing even that the sieur Le-Jay whom I
did not know at all perhaps had wished to keep them, I
demanded of him through the sieur DairoUes what had be
come of them.
"He aflSrmed that Madame Goezman had refused to give
thera back, and assured him that It had been arranged that
In any case they were lost to me. He could not endure
that it should be supposed that he had kept them, the lady
herself was not to be seen, but I might write to her.
"The 21st of April, that is, seventeen days after the judg
ment, I wrote her the folloAving letter.
" 'I have not the honor, Madame, of being personally
known to you and I should be very far from Importuning
you, if after losing my suit, when you Avere good enough
to return to me the two rolls of louis and my watch, you had
at the same time returned the fifteen louis, which the com
mon friend who negotiated between us left you in superero
gation. " 'I have been so horribly treated in the report of Mon
sieur, your husband, and my defence has been so trarapled
under foot before him that it is not just that to the immense
loss which this report has cost me should be added that of
fifteen louis which it Is impossible should have strayed in your
hands. If injustice must be paid for, it should not be paid
by him who has so cruelly suffered.
" 'I hope you will be so good as to respect my demand,
and that you will add to the justice of returning me these

The Counsellor and Madame Goezman 209
fifteen louis that of believing me, with the respectful con
sideration which is due to you
Madam, your, etc' "
Bonnefon says : "To this demand the wife of the counsel
lor grew Indignant and cried aloud. Beaumarchais was not
to be Intimidated and maintained his demand. It was then
that the counsellor intervened and complained first to Mon
sieur the due de la Vrilllere and then to M. de Sartine;
badly instructed perhaps and feeling sure of an easy tri
uraph over an eneray already half-vanquished, he brought
a suit for calurany before the parliament.
"Beaumarchais did not draw back. The counsellor ac
cused him of attempt at corruption ; his presence of mind
did not desert him. He replied to everything with a vivacity
and an apropos truly remarkable. Listen to him.
". . . 'It is time that I speak. Let me wash myself from
the reproach of corruption by a calculation and some very
simple reflections.
" 'It cost me a hundred louis to obtain an audience of
M. Goezman. Be so good as to follow the trace of that
money and then judge. If from the distance where I re
mained frora the reporter it was possible that I had formed
the mad project of corrupting him.
" 'In ceding to the necessity of sacrificing one hundred
louis which I (one person) did not possess; a friend (two
persons) offered them to me, my sister (three) received
them from his hands, she confided them to sieur DairoUes
(four) ; who gave them to the sieur Le-Jay (five) to be
given to Madame Goezman (six) who kept them, and finally
Monsieur Goezman (seven), whom I could see only at that
price and who knew nothing about the whole affair. See
then from M, Goezman to me a chain of seven persons of

210 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
which he says I hold the first Hnk as corrupter, while he
holds the last as incorruptible. Very good. But if he is
judged Incorruptible how will he prove that I am cor-
ruptor?' . . ."
Monsieur Lomenie, entering into more detail, says of Goez
man: "He must have been convinced that his wife had seri
ously compromised herself. Compromised himself through
her, he had to choose between several different measures ; all
of them, in presence of a litigant discontented and fearless,
offered great disadvantage for his reputation ; the one which
he adopted was Incontestably the most daring, but also the
most dishonorable.
"Starting from the Idea that Beaumarchais had not the
force to resist hira, he iraagined that in taking the initia
tive and attacking hira while maneuvering In such a way
that the truth might not be made known, he might be able to
ruin him who had given the fifteen louis, and save her who
had received them. It will be seen that the stratagem of
Goezman was baffled and his crime cruelly punished."
But to return to the decision given by the parliament on
the report of Goezman April 5th. Lomenie says: "At the
same time that this decree dishonored Beaumarchais it was a
rude blow to his fortune. The Parliament had not dared
award to the Comte de la Blache as he had demanded, the
passing of the act of settlement declared by It nul ; the ini
quity would have been too glaring; but it condemned his
adversary to pay fifty-six thousand livres of debt annulled
by the act of settlement, the interests of the debt and the
costs of the suit.
"It was enough to crush him for at the same time the
Comte de la Blache seized all his goods and revenues, other
pretending creditors with equally false pretentions, united
their persecutions with those of the Comte de la Blache,

Indomitable Spirit 211
and the man thus attacked deraanded in vain, with loud
cries that the doors of his prison be opened.
" 'I ara at the end of my courage,' he wrote April 9,
1773, to M. de Sartine. 'The opinion of the public is that
I am entirely sacrificed, my credit has fallen, my business
is ruined, my family of which I am the father and the sup
port is in despair. Monsieur, I have done good all ray life
without ostentation and I have never ceased to be torn to
pieces by those eArlUy disposed.
" 'If my home were known to you, you would see me in
the midst of Its members, a good son, a good brother, a good
husband, and a useful citizen ; I have assembled only bene
dictions about me, while ray eneraies calumniate me at a dis
tance. " 'Whatever vengeance one may wish to take of me for
that miserable affair of Chaulnes, will It then have no lim
its? It is well proved that my Imprisonment makes me lose
a hundred thousand francs. The form, the ground, every
thing makes one shudder in that iniquitous sentence, and it
is Impossible for me to rise above It so long as I am kept
in this horrible prison. I have courage to support my own
misfortunes ; but I have none against the tears of my re
spectable father, seventy-five years of age, who is grieving
himself to death for the abject state to which I have fallen.
I have none against the anguish of my sisters, of my nieces,
who already feel the horror of my detention and know of
the disorder which has come to my affairs because of it.
All the activity of my being is again turned Inward, my
situation kills me, I am struggling against an acute malady
of which I feel an agonizing premonition, through loss of
sleep and disgust with food. The air of my prison destroys
me,' "It was In this state of deep depression and misery when

212 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
the soul of Beaumarchais seemed overwhelmed and all his
manhood slipping from him, that the petty detail of the
fifteen louis carae to stir his mind once more to action, and
while his sisters wept and his father prayed, his proud and
unconquerable spirit rose triumphant out of the abyss into
which for a moment It had fallen, and with fresh courage
gleaming In his eyes he began pacing the floor of his prison,
already 'meditating his memoirs,'
"The minister de la VriUiere allowed himself at last to
be touched, and on the 8th of May, 1773, after two months
and a half of detention without cause, he gave the prisoner
his liberty,
"It is here that out of this lost process sprang suddenly
another more terrible still, which should coraplete the ruin
of Beaumarchais, but which saved him and made him pass
in a few raonths frora the state of abjection and of misery
where to use his own expression, 'He was an object of dis
gust and pity to himself, to a state where he Is acclaimed
the vanquisher of the hated parliament and the favorite of
the nation,' "
"He was," says Grimm, "the horror of Paris a year ago ;
everyone upon the word of his neighbor, believed him ca
pable of the greatest crimes; all the world dotes on hira
to-day," It remains for us now to explain how this change
of opinion came about.

CHAPTER X
"Mais que dira-t-on quand on apprendra que ce Beaumar
chais, qui jusqu'a present n'est connu que par son inaltSra-
ble galte, son imperturbable phUosophie, qui compose d. la
fois un air gracieux, un malin vaudeville, une comedie foUe,
un drame touchant, brave les puissants, rit des sots et
s' amuse aux depens de tout le monde?"
Marsolier — "Beaumarchais a Madrid," Act IV, Scene V
The Goezman LaAvsuit — The Famous Memoirs of Beaumar
chais.
A^TE have come at last to the turn of the tide In the
" * career of Beaumarchais, which in his case Is no ordi
nary tide but a tidal wave so gigantic in force that he is
carried by it to such a height of popularity as fixes upon
him for the time the attention of Europe.
"The degree of talent which he displayed," says La Harpe,
"belongs to the situation. It came from his perfect accord
with the time in which he lived and the circumstances in
which he found himself. The secret of all great success lies
in the power of the man to see with a comprehensive glance
what he can do with himself and with others."
Already we have had occasion to note that In this harmony
between Beaumarchais and the circurastances of his life lies
the secret of his genius. He Is no moralizer, but he sees things
clearly and in just proportion and he knows how to take
advantage of his own position as well as of the weakness of
213

214 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
his adversaries.
In relation to the lawsuit of which we now write. La
Harpe further says, "What would have disconcerted or ren
dered furious an ordinary person did not move the spirit of
Beaumarchais. Master of his own indignation and strong
with that of the public, he called upon It to witness the fraud
which has been employed against him." At first many cry
out that it is ridiculous to make such a fuss about fifteen
louis ; his family, his friends, Gudin among the number, im
plore him to desist; wiser than they, he Instinctively feels
that in the very pettiness, the absurdity of the charge, lies
its gigantic force.
Again quoting La Harpe, "It was a master stroke, this
suit about the fifteen louis; and what joy for the public,
which in reading Beauraarchais saw In his different memoirs
which rapidly succeeded one another, only the hand which
took upon itself to revenge the people's wrongs. The facts
did not speak, they cried !"
When Beaumarchais found himself actually charged with
a criminal accusation capable of sending him to the public
Infamy of the pillory or the galleys, unable to find a law
yer willing to plead his cause, it was then that the whole
power of his genius was revealed to him. Instantly he
realized that he was to be his oAvn lawyer, and that from the
magistracy before him, it was to the people that he must
appeal, "that judge of judges," and we see him flinging
forth one factum after another, while all the force of his
soul, the gaiety of his character, the brilliancy of his wit,
returned to hira In overabundant measure. The family and
friends, lately so depressed, rose with the rising of his cour
age, lent to him the whole force of their beings and formed
the constant inspiration of his ever-increasing success.
In a few weeks his first memoir had attracted the atten-

ine r amous Memoirs 215
tion of all France, while in less than three days after the
publication of the fourth, raore than six thousand copies
had been sold. At the ball or the opera, people tore thera
from one another's hands, and in the cafes and foyers of
the theaters they were read out loud to enthusiastically ad
miring crowds.
What could be more surprising? Judicial factums or
memoirs universally recognized as being the dryest and most
uninteresting of Avritlngs corae to be preferred to all others?
It was, as Voltaire said, after reading the fourth memoir,
"No comedy was ever more amusing, no tragedy more touch
ing," and LIntiUiac taking up this judgment and applying
it to the memoirs has made perhaps the most brilliant of the
many criticisms which this subject has called forth.
"The judgment of Voltaire," he says, "reveals to us the
most original of their merits, that of being a tragi-comedy
In five acts. The unity of the subject Is placed in evidence
by this question which is so often raised. Who Is culpable
of the crime of corruption — the judge whose surroundings
put his justice at auction, or the litigant thus constrained
to scatter gold about the judge?
"The five memoirs mark the phases of the debate. The
first is a perfect exposition of the subject destined to soothe
the judges. After having made a resume of the preceding
incidents, and taken his position, Beaumarchais engages the
offensive and orders his Intrigue by light skirmishes in the
form of episodes. Then he opens a dramatic perspectlA'e
upon the sudden changes of the contest.
"From the first to the second memoir during the entre-act
the action has advanced. A rain of ridiculous and arrogant
factums, of false testimonies and infamous calumnies has
poured down upon the victim of the piece. The black in
trigue is knotted, the scenes press varied and picturesque.

216 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
At first it is that of the registrar, then Madame Goezman
comes before us with Insults but ends with artful pretty
faces. After this comic prelude, the two principal charac
ters engage In the background, in a dramatic contest.
" 'Give me your hand,' cries Beaumarchais, and illumi
nating the scene, he ousts his crafty adversary, seizes him,
drags him frightened like a thief in the night to the nearest
lamp post, that Is to say, the crude illumination of the foot
lights, crying in his face the Invective : 'And you are a magis
trate ! To what have we corae, great heavens !'
"SIrailar to the third act of a strongly intrigued play, the
third memoir throws the adversaries on the scene and en
gages them in a furious fray. We have just seen the judge
imprudent enough to descend from the tribunal to the arena,
he lies there panting under the grip of his adversary. It Is
then that fly to his aid 'that swarm of hornets.' The image
is piquant, the scene, does it not renew the parabase des
Guepes? 'Six memoirs at once against me!' cries the valiant
athlete in an outburst of manly gaiety. He takes up the glove,
salutes them all around with an ironic politeness, and then
sends all of thera, Marin, Bertrand, Arnaud, Baculard, even
to Falcoz, Avho in vain tries to tum in a whirligig upon an
absurdity, to bite the dust by the side of Goezman. It is
the moment to bring up the reserves. They arrive In ser
ried ranks. Here coraes a president and a whole host of
counsellors. 'My, what a world of people occupied to sup
port you, Monsieur!'
"A daring offensive alone can disengage Beaumarchais,
He instantly makes It, and foUowing his favorite tactics, he
wears it as an ornament, an accusation of forgery well di
rected against Goezman changes the roles ; this Is the grand
counter raoveraent of the piece,
"A sudden stupor has broken up the aUies, their adver-

The Famous Memoirs 217
sary knows how to profit by their confusion, and throws out
his petition of mitigation. It is the fourth act. He pre
pares briefly and wisely the fifth. Beaumarchais with an af
fected and deadly moderation, suras up the facts, fortifies
himself in the conquered position and prepares the suprerae
assault. "At last in the fourth memoir he gives out the fifth act
of the peace.
"Without ceding in the least to the third memoir in point
of composition, the fourth in spite of an occasional 'abuse
of force,' according to La Harpe, surpasses it by its heat and
brilliancy, "There reigns above everything else an ease that Beau
marchais announces from the beginning, 'This meraoir,' he
says, 'Is less an exaralnation of a dry and bloodless ques
tion, than a succession of reflections upon my estate as
accused,' "It is the best of his dramas, a mSlange of mirth and
pathos, where are centered and dissolved Avith an authorita
tive cleverness, all the elements of interest and of action
which he draws from the heart of his subject and which
are raultiplied by his fancy and his fears. In the beginning,
an InA'ocatlon, the prelude of a heroique-comique drama, then
thanking a host of honest people who applaud and whose
aid he skilfully declines, the hero springs with one bound
into the fray.
"He directs his finishing blows to each one of his adver
saries, and making a trophy of their calumnies, he awards
hiraself an eloquent apology which he modestly entitles,
'Fragments of my voyage in Spain.' The episode of Cla-
A'ico, thanks to the touching Interest which It excites, crowns
the memoir like the recitals which unravel the plot In classic
plays, and whose discreet eloquence leads the soul of the

218 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
auditor to a sort of final appeasement.
"If the action is dramatic, the characters are no less so.
First Madame Goezman advances, a scowl upon her face, but
at a gracefully turned compliment from her adversary, 'at
once a sweet smile gives back to her mouth its agreeable
forra.' "
And so with the rest. "But the most vivid of all his por
traits is that of the principal personage, the author him
self, this propagandist ahvays en scene, who Is never weary,
whom one sees or whom one divines everywhere, aniraating
everything with his presence, the center of all action and
interest. He Is endowed with such a beautiful sang-froid,
which acts under all circurastances, and such vivid sensi
bility that everything paints Itself in his memory, every
thing fixes itself under his pen. So that he appears to
us in the most various attitudes ; here the soul of gallantry,
advancing to offer his hand to Madame Goezman ; there of
modesty lowering his eyes for her, or again, hat in hand
very humbly inclining before the passage of some mettle
some president."
But as Gudin assures us, "The courage of Beaumarchais
was not insensibility. The tone of his memoirs showed his
superiority but he was none the less deeply affected. I
have seen him shed tears, but I have never seen him cast
down. His tears seemed like the dew which revivifies. The
hour of combat gave him back his courage. He advanced,
dauntless, against his enemies ; he felled them to the ground
and caused to react upon them the outrages with which
they attacked him. In their despair they published that he
was not the author of his memoirs. 'We know,' they cried,
'where they are coraposed and who composes them.'
"It was this accusation which gave to Beaumarchais the
opportunity for one of his wittiest retorts. 'Stupid people,

The Ffimous Mem.oirs 219
why don't you get your own written there?' "
Gudin Avas even accused of Avriting them, — faithful Gudin,
whose history of France in thirty-five volumes never found
a publisher, and "whose prose," says Lomenie, "resembled
that of Beaumarchais about as the gait of a laboring ox re
sembles that of a light and spirited horse."
Rousseau when he heard the accusation cried out, "I do
not know whether Beaumarchais writes them or not, but I
know this, no one writes such memoirs for another."
Voltaire In the depths of his retreat read the memoirs with
eager interest. Personal reasons had made him in the be
ginning a supporter of the parliament Maupeou. Little
by little, he changed his opinion ; "I am afraid," he wrote,
"that after all that brilliant, hare-brained fellow Is in the
right against the whole world." And a little later, "What
a man! He unites everything; jesting, gravity, gaiety,
pathos, — every species of eloquence without seeking after
any; he confounds his adversaries; he glA'es lessons to his
judges. His naivete enchants me."
As to the most atrocious calumnies circulated against him,
La Harpe who knew him well, although never intimately, has
said : "I have not forgotten how many times I heard re
peated by persons who did not believe in the least that they
were doing wrong, that a certain M. de Beaumarchais who
was much talked about had enriched himself by getting rid
successively of two wives who had fortunes. Surely this
is enough to make one shudder. If one stops to reflect that
this is what is called scandal (something scarcely thought
sinful) and that there was not the slightest ground for such
a horrible defamation. He had, it Is true, married two
widows with fortunes, which is surely very permissible for
a young man Avith none. He received nothing from the one,
because in his grief he forgot to register the contract of

220 Beaumarchais and the War of Anierican Independence
marriage duly, and this alone which rendered the crime
useless was sufficient to prove his innocence.
"He Inherited something from the second who was a very
charming woman, whom he adored. She left him a son,
whom he lost soon after his wife's death. I do not know
why no one ever accused him of poisoning the child, that
crime was necessary to complete the other. It is evident,
even If he had not loved his wife, that In keeping her alive
he had everything to gain, as her fortune was in the main
hers only during life.
"These are public facts of which I am sure, but hatred
does not look for the truth, and It knows that It will not be
required of It by the thoughtless. Where are we, great
Heavens, If a man cannot have the misfortune to inherit
from his wife without having poisoned her? . . ."
When Voltaire, who had heard the calumny, read the
memoirs of Beaumarchais, he said, "This man is not a pois
oner, he is too gay."
La Harpe adds, "Voltaire could not know as I do, that he
was also too good, too sensible, too open, too benevolent to
commit any bad act, although he knew very well how to write
very amusing and very malicious things against those who
blackened him."
Compelled to defend himself and to prove himself inno
cent of a crime so horrible that Its name could scarcely be
forced to pass his lips, he replies with a gentleness, but a
power of eloquence which confounds his adversaries. "Cow
ardly enemies, have you then no resource but base insult?
Calurany machinated In secret and struck out in the dark
ness? Show yourselves then, but once, if for nothing more
than to tell me to my face that it is out of place for any
man to defend himself. But all honest people know very
well that your fury has placed me in an absolutely privi-

The Famous Memoirs 221
leged class. They will excuse rae for taking this occasion to
confound you, Avhere forced to defend a moment of my life
I am about to spread a luminous daylight over the rest.
Dare then to contradict me. Here is my life in a few words.
"For the last fifteen years I honor myself with being the
father and the sole support of a nuraerous family, and far
from being offended at this avowal which is torn from me,
my relatives take pleasure in publishing that I have always
shared my modest fortune with thera without ostentation
and without reproach.
"0 you who calumniate me without knowing me, come
and hear the concert of benedictions which faU upon me from
a crowd of good hearts and you will go away undeceived.
"As to my wives, from having neglected to register the
contract of marriage, the death of the first left me destitute
in the rigor of the term, overwhelmed with debts and with
pretentions which I was unwilling to follow, not wishing to
go to laAv with the relatives, of whom, up to that moment,
I had no reason to complain. My second Avife in dying car
ried with her more than three-fourths of her fortune, so
that my son, had he lived, would have found himself richer
from the side of his father than that of his mother. . . .
"And you who have known me, you who have followed rae
without ceasing, O ray friends, say, have you ever known
in me anything but a man constantly gay, loving with an
equal passion study and pleasure, inclined to raillery but
without bitterness, welcoming it against himself when it was
well seasoned, supporting perhaps with too much ardor his
own opinion when he believed it to be just, but honoring
highly and without envy everyone whom he recognized as
superior, confident about his interests to the point of ne
glecting them, active when he is goaded, indolent and stag
nant after the tempest, careless In happiness but carrying

222 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
constancy and serenity Into misfortune to the point of as
tonishing his most intimate friends. . . .
"How Is It that, with a life and intentions the most hon
orable, a citizen sees hiraself so violently torn to pieces?
That a man so gay and sociable away from home, so solid
and benevolent in his family, should find himself the butt of
a thousand venomous calumnies ? This is the problem of my
life. I search in vain for its solution."
It was by such outbursts of feeling that Beaumarchais
won the hearts of all except those who for personal reasons
were bent upon his ruin. But as the admiration of the one
side increased, the fury of the other was proportionally
augraented. Under the able guidance of M. de Lomenie, let
us examine a few of the adversaries who presented them
selves, and from the few, the reader may judge of the rest.
First of all Is Madame Goezman, "who," says Lomenie,
"wrote under the dictates of her husband and threw at the
head of Beauraarchais a quarto of seventy-four pages, brist
ling with terms of law and Latin quotations.
"Beaumarchais sums up in a most spirituelle manner the
profound stupidity of the factum when he cries out, 'An
ingenuous woman is announced to rae and I ara presented
with a German publicist.'
"But if the memoir of Madame Goezman is ridiculous in
form, it Is In matter of an extrerae violence. 'My soul,' it
Is thus that Madame Goezman begins, 'has been divided be
tween astonishraent, surprise, and horror in rep,ding the libel
of sieur Caron. The audacity of the author astonishes me,
the number and atrocity of his impostures excite surprise,
the idea he gives of himself fills me with horror.' When we re
member that the honest lady who speaks has in her drawer
the fifteen louis, whose reclamation excites the astonishment,
surprise, and horror, one is inclined to excuse Beaumarchais

The Famous Memoirs 223
for having permitted himself certain liberties of language.
It is very well known with what mixture of ironic politeness
and pressing argumentation he refutes, irritates, embar
rasses, compliments, and confounds Madam Goezman.
"Who has not burst into laughter on reading that excel
lent comic scene where he paints himself dialoguing with
her before the registrar? The scene is so amusing that one
would be tempted to take it for a picture drawn at fancy.
This Is not the case however." . . .
A few extracts from this comic scene will give the reader
an idea of la force de tete of the pretty woman attempting
to face so subtle an adversary as Beaumarchais.
"Confrontation of rayself with Madarae Goezman.
"No one could Imagine the difficulty we had to meet one
another, Madame Goezman and I. Whether she was really
indisposed as many times as she sent word to the registrar,
or whether she felt the need of preparation to sustain the
shock of a meeting so serious as that with me, nevertheless
we at last found ourselves facing each other.
"Madame Goezman, summoned to state her reproaches if
she has any to formulate against me, replied, 'Write that
I reproach and recuse monsieur because he is my capital
enemy and because he has an atrocious soul, knoAvn for such
in Paris, etc' The phrase seemed a little masculine for a
lady, but on seeing her fortify herself, leave her natural
character, inflate her voice to utter these first injuries, I
decided that she felt the need of beginning her attack by a
vigorous period and so I did not mind her bad temper.
"Her reply was written verbatim and I was questioned In
my turn. Here is my answer: 'I have no reproach to make
against madame, not even for her little bad humor which
dominates her at this moment ; but many regrets to offer for
the necessity of a criminal process in order to present to

224 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
her my homage. As to the atrocity of my soul I hope to
prove to her by the moderation of my replies and by my
respectful conduct that her counsel has evilly Informed her
in ray regard.'
"And it was written down. This is the general tone that
prevailed during the eight hours that we passed together
the twice that we met."
After several pages of this interrogation, Beaumarchais
gives us, "The Confrontation of Madame Goezman With
Me." From which Ave give the following extracts :
"I took the liberty of saying, 'To-day, Madame, It is I
who hold the attack, we shall first take up your Interroga
tions.' "I took the papers to run them over.
" 'What? This Monsieur here, has he the liberty to read
all that I have been made to write?'
" 'It Is a right, Madame, which I shall use with all pos
sible deference. In your first Interrogation, for instance, to
the sixteen consecutive questions upon the same subject, that
Is, to know whether you received one hundred louis from
Le-Jay to procure an audience for le sieur Beaumarchais
I see to the great honor of your discretion that the sixteen
replies are not charged with any superfluous ornaments.
" 'Questioned as to whether you have received one hun
dred louis in two roUs?'
"You reply, 'That Is false.'
" 'If you put them In a case ornamented with flowers!"
" 'That is not true.'
" 'If you kept them until the day after the suit?'
" 'Atrocious lie.'
" 'If you did not proraise an audience to Le-Jay for the
same evening?'
" 'Abominable calumny.'

The Famous Memoirs 225
" 'If you had not said to Le-Jay, money is not necessary,
your word is sufficient?'
" 'Diabolical invention,' etc., etc. Sixteen negations fol
lowing one another In relation to the same subject.
"And A'et you admit freely at the second interrogation
that 'It Is true that Le-Jay presented one hundred louis,
that I put them aAvay in an armoire and kept thera a day and
a night, but simply to accommodate that poor Le-Jay, be
cause he was a good man and did not realize the conse
quences, and because the money might make him tired In
carrying it about.' (What goodness, the sums were in
gold!) " 'As these replies are absolutely contrary to the first,
I beg you madame to be so good as to tell us which of the
two interrogations you decide to hold to in this Important
matter ?'
" 'Neither to the one nor to the other. Monsieur, all that
I said there means nothing, and I shall only hold to my
verification which Is the only thing that is true.' All this
was written doAvn.
" 'It must be admitted, Madame,' I said to her, 'that the
method of recusing this your own testimony after having
recused that of every one else would be the most convenient
of all if it could only succeed. In waiting for the parlia
ment to adopt it let us see what Is said of the one hundred
louis in your verification.'
"Madame Goezman here assured us that she begged
Le-Jay to take away the money with hira and that when
he was gone she, was astonished to find It in a case decorated
Avith flowers which was on the mantel piece. She sent three
times during the day to that poor Le-Jay begging him to
come and get his money, which he did not do until the day
after.

226 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
" 'Observe, IMadame, that in the first instance of all, you
have rejected the one hundred louis with indignation, then
put them aside with complaisance, while in the last case it is
without your knowledge that they remained with you. Here
are three narrations of the same act, what is the true version
I beg you?'
" 'I have said to you. Monsieur, that I shaU hold to my
verification,' etc., etc., etc."
Then comes the question of the fifteen louis : "I begged
her to be so good as to teU us clearly and Avithout equivoca
tion whether she had not required fifteen louis of Le-Jay for
the secretary, and if she had not put them In the bureau
when Le-Jay gave her the money.
" 'I replied clearly and without equivocation that Le-Jay
never spoke to me of the fifteen louis, neither did he give
them to me.'
" 'Observe, Madame, that there would be more merit in
saying, 'I refused them,' than In maintaining that you know
nothing about them.'
" 'I maintain. Monsieur, that no one ever spoke to me of
them. Would there have been any sense of offering fifteen
louis to a woman of my quality, after having refused a hun
dred the day before?'
" 'The day before what, Madame ?'
" 'Eh, monsieur, the day before the day  ' ( she stopped
suddenly and bit her Hp,)
" 'The day before the day,' I said to her, 'on which no
one ever spoke to you about the fifteen louis, n'est-ce-pas?'
" 'Stop this,' she said, rising furious to her feet, 'or I
wIU give you a box on the ears, I've had enough of those
fifteen louis! With aU your despicable Uttle tourrmres de
phrases you try to confuse me and make me blunder, but I
tell you in truth that I shaU not answer vou another word,'

The Famous Memoirs 227
And her fan assuaged by redoubled strokes the fire which
had mounted to her face , , , She was like a lioness feeling
that she had just escaped being taken,
"After Madame Goezman came Bertrand who began with
Illis epigram taken from the Psalms 'Judica mc, Deus, ef dis-
cerne causam meam de gcnte non sancta, et ab hominc iniquo
ct doloso erue me.' "
Beaumarchais aA'enged himself on le grand Bertrand by
inflicting upon him the celebrity of ridicule. Here, as else
where, the shade of the physiognomies is perfectly grasped.
It is in vain that Bertrand attempted to deal terrible blows,
in A'ain that he committed to writing such phrases as, "cynic
orator ; buffoon ; brazen-faced sophist ; unfaithful painter
Avho draAvs from his oAvn soul the filth with AvhIch he tar
nishes the robe of innocence ; evil, from necessity and from
taste ; his heart hard. Implacable, vindictive ; light-headed
from his passing triumph ; and smothering without remorse
human sensibility . . ." instead of paA'ing back anger for
anger, Beaumarchais contented himself with painting his
enemy. He painted him talkatlA'e, shrewd for gain, unde
cided, tiraid, hot-headed, but more stupid than bad, In a
Avord exactly as he showed himself in the four grotesque
memoirs with wliich he has enriched this famous suit.
The fourth champion who precipitated himself upon Beau
marchais, the head lowered to pierce him through by the
first blow, Avas a novelist of the time, amusing enough in a
melancholy way, who prided himself as he said, upon having
V embonpoint du sentiment. It is d'Arnaud-Baculard, who,
to be agreeable to the judge Goezman, wrote a letter con
taining a false statement and who, after being very politely
set right In the first memoir of Beaumarchais, replied in
this style:
"Yes, I was on foot and I encountered in the rue de

228 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Conde, the sieur Caron en carrosse — dans son carrosse,"
and as Beaumarchais had said that d'Arnaud had a somber
air, he grew indignant and cried, 'I had an air, not somber
but penetrating. The somber air goes only with those who
ruminate crime, who work to stifle reraorse and to do evil —
There are hearts in which I tremble to read, where I measure
all the somber depths of heU. It Is then that I cry out, 'thou
sleepest, Jupiter! for what purpose then hast thou thy
thunderbolts.?'" "One sees," said Lomenie, "that if d'Arnaud on his side
was not mediant, it was not from lack of will. The reply
of Beaumarchais perhaps will be found interesting; there It
will be seen with what justice he gave to each one his deserts,
and what attractive serenity he brought into the combat.
He began by reproducing the phrase of d'Arnaud about the
carrosse. " 'Dans son carrosse, you repeat with great point of ad
miration, who would not believe after that sad, 'yes I was on
foot' and that great point of admiration which runs after
ray carrosse, that you were envy itself personified. But I,
who know you to be a good man, I know that the phrase
dans son carrosse, does not signify that you were sorry to
see me In my carrosse, but only that you were sorry that I
did not see you In yours.'
" 'But console yourself. Monsieur, the carrosse In which
I rode was already no more mine when you saw me In it.
The Comte de la Blache already had seized It with all ray
other goods. Men called a hautes armes, with uniforms, ban
doliers and menacing guns guarded it, as well as all my fur
niture ; and to cau.se you, in spite of myself, the sorrow of
seeing me in my carrosse it was necessary that same day that
I had that of demanding, my hat in one hand and a gros ecu
in the other, the permission to use it, of that company of

The Famous Memoirs 229
officers, Avhich I did, ne vous deplaise, every morning, and
while I speak with such tranquillity the same distress reigns
in my household.
"'How unjust we are! We are jealous of and we hate
such and such a one whora we believe happy, who would
often give something over, to be In the place of the pedes
trian who detests hira because of his carrosse. I, for ex
ample; could anything be worse than my actual situation?
But I ara something like the cousin of Heloise, I have done
my best to cry ; the laugh has to escape frora sorae corner.
This is what makes me gentle with you. My pliilosophy is,
to be, if I can, contented with myself and to let the rest go
as it pleases God.'
"And at the end, after the honey comes the sting. 'Par
don, Monsieur, if I have not replied by an express writing
to you alone, to answer all the injuries of your memoir,
pardon, If, seeing you measure in ray heart the somber
depths of hell, and, hearing you cry, "Tu dors, Jupiter; a
quoi te sert done ta foudre?" I have replied lightly to so
much bombast. Pardon, you were a school boy, no doubt,
and you remember that the best blown up balloon needs only
the stick of a pin.' "
But It is impossible without becoming wearisome to draw
forth all the characters and to allow them to pass in re
view. Let us turn our attention for a few moments to the
sublime invocation of the fourth memoir, and with it a few
observations of M. de Sainte-Beuve, taken from his admirable
criticism of the memoirs of Beaumarchais in his famous
"Causeries de Lundi."
In this invocation the orator supposes himself to be speak
ing Avith God, "that Beneficent Being who watches over all."
The Supreme Being deigns to speak even to him, saying, "I
am He who Is all. Without me thou didst not exist. I gave

230 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
thee thy body, healthy and strong, I placed in it the most
active of souls. Thou knowest the profusion with which
I have poured sensibility Into thy heart, and gaiety into thy
character; but, filled as I see thee with the happiness of
thinking, of feeling, thou wouldst be too happy if some sor
row did not balance the state of thy fortune, therefore I
will overwhelm thee with calamities without number, thou
shalt be torn by a thousand enemies, deprived of liberty, of
thy property, accused of rapine, of forgery, of imposture, of
corruption, of calumny, groaning under the opprobrium of
a criminal lawsuit, attacked upon every point of thy ex
istence by absurd, 'they say' and tossed about to the scrutiny
of public opinion . . ."
Then he prostrates himself before the Supreme Being ac
cepting his whole destiny and saying, "Being of all Beings,
I owe to Thee 'all things, the happiness of existence, of think
ing, of feeHng. I believe that Thou hast given us the good
we enjoy and the evil we suffer in equal measure; I believe
that Thy justice has wisely compensated all things for us
and that the variety of pains and pleasures, fears and hopes,
is the fresh wind which sets the vessel in motion and causes
it to advance upon its way. . . ."
In relation to the above Sainte-Beuve says: "I have wished
to cite this fresh and happy image which impresses us like
a raorning breeze, which in spite of everything reached him
across the bars of his prison. This was the true Beaumar
chais, truer than he ever painted hiraself elsewhere.
"In his invocation he continues to address hiraself humbly
to the Supreme Being, begging, since he must have enemies
that they be given him according to his choice, with the
faults, the stupid and base animosities which he designates,
and then with admirable art and vivifying brush, he sketches
one after another all his adversaries, giving them an un-

The Famous Memoirs 231
mistakable resemblance. 'If,' he says, 'my misfortune must
begin by an unforseen attack by a greedy legatee, for a just
debt, for an act founded on the reciprocal esteem and the
equity of the contracting parties, accord me for adversary,
a man, miserly, unjust and known so to be' — and he desig
nates the Comte de la Blache so vividly that every one has
named him already. It is the same for the counsellor Goez
man, for his wife, and for their acolytes, but here his ardent
spirit outstrips Its bounds, it can no longer be contained —
at the end of each secondary portrait the name escapes of
itself and this name is an additional comic touch, 'Supreme
Goodness — Give me Marin ! Give me Bertrand ! Give me
Baculard !'
''The whole idea," says Sainte-Beuve, "the manner of its
conception and execution, with so rauch breadth, superiority
of gaiety and irony, all with one stroke, one breath, com
poses one of the most adrairable pieces of eloquence which
our oratorical literature can offer."
It was by such outbursts as these, that the nation was
aroused from the semi-torpor into which It had fallen after
the subsidence of the resistance offered to the establishment
of the new parliament. With one voice Beaumarchais was
hailed as the deliverer of the rights of the people, and the
saying, "Louis the XV founded the parHament which fifteen
louis destroyed," was the slogan of a new era of public ac
claim for justice and equity. In every country of Europe
Beauraarchals's meraoirs were read, and they excited the live
liest admiration. In the memoirs of Goethe it is told how
at a social gathering where those of Beaumarchais were be
ing read aloud, a young woman suggested to the poet that
the incident of Clavico raight be converted Into a drama,
where Beaumarchais should come upon the scene. From
Philadelphia even came warm expressions of Interest, while

232 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
from every corner of France letters of congratulation, of
sympathy and admiration poured upon the hero of the hour.
A few extracts wIU be suflScIent to give an Idea of the
reigning enthusiasm. The wife of one of the presidents of
the ancient parliament, Madame de Meinleres, wrote after
reading the fourth memoir : "I have finished. Monsieur, that
astonishing memoir. I was angry yesterd.ay at the visits
which interrupted that delicious reading and when the cora
pany was gone, I thanked them for having prolonged my
pleasures by interrupting them. On the contrary, blessed
forever be le grand cousin, the sacristan, the publicist
and all the respectables who have been worth to us the rela
tion of your trip to Spain. You really owe a reward to those
people. Your best friends could never have done for you,
by their praises or their attachment, what your enemies
have done In forcing you to talk about yourself. Grandison,
the hero of the most perfect of romances, does not come to
your foot. When one follows you to the home of that Cla
vico, that M. Whall's, to the ambassador's, to the King's
presence, the heart palpitates and one trembles and grows
indignant with your indignation. What magic brush is
yours, Monsieur! What energy of soul and of expression,
what quickness of esprit! What Impossible blending of
heat and prudence, of courage and of sensibility, of genius
and of grace!
"When I saw you at Madame de Sainte-Jean's you seemed
to me as amiable as the handsome man that you are, but
these qualities are not what make a man attractive to an
old woman such as I. I saw too that you had gifts and
talents, that you were a man of honor and agreeable in
every way, but I would never have dreamed, Monsieur, that
you were also a true father of your family, and the sublime
author of your four memoirs. Receive my thanks for the

The Famous Memoirs 233
enthusiasm into which your writings have throAvn me and
the assurances of the veritable esteem with which I have
the honor to be. Monsieur, etc. "Guichard de Meinleres.
This 18th of February, 1774."
A second letter from the same pen, speaks In even stronger
terras. "Whatever the result of your quarrel Avith so many ad
versaries, I congratulate you. Monsieur, to have had it.
Since the result of your writings is to prove that you are
the most honest man in the world. In turning the pages of
your life no one has been able to prove that you have ever
done a dishonorable deed, and assuredly you have made your
self known as the raost eloquent raan. In every species of
eloquence which our century has produced. Your prayer to
the Supreme Being is a chef-d'ceuvre, the ingenious and as
tonishing blending of which produces the greatest effect,
I admit with Madame Goezman that you are a little malin
and following her example, I pardon you, because your
malice is so delicious. I hope. Monsieur, that you have
not a sufficiently bad opinion of me to pity me for having
read eight hundred pages when you have written thera. I
begin by devouring them, and then return on my steps. I
pause, now at a passage worthy of Demosthenes, now at one
superior to Cicero, and lastly a thousand quite as amusing
as Moliere ; I am so afraid of finishing and having nothing
more to read afterwards, that I recommence each paragraph
so as to give you time to produce your fifth memoir, where
without doubt we shall find your confrontation with M.
Goezman ; I beg you simply to be so good as to notify me
by la petite poste the day before, that the publisher may

234 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
send copies to the widow Lamarche ; it is she who furnishes
them to me. I always take a number at a time for us and
for our friends, and I am furious always, when, not know
ing in time of their publication, I send too late, and word
is brought me that I must wait until the next day."

CHAPTER XI
"Apres le bonheur de commander aux hommes, le plus
grand honneur. Monsieur, n'est-il pas de les juger?"
Preface du Barbier de SevUle.
The Preparation of the Memoirs — Aid Rendered by Family
and Friends — ^The Judgment — Beaumarchais Blame —
Enters the Secret Service of the King — Gudin Relates the
Circurastances of the Meeting between the Civilly De
graded Man and Her Who Becarae His Third Wife — The
Pere Caron's Third Marriage.
BUT while public opinion was expressing itself so loudly
In his favor, the situation of Beaumarchais was In re
ality cruel in the extreme.
The breaking up of his household had necessitated the
separation of the members of his family. His father went
to board with an old friend, while Julie retired temporarily
to a convent. The two sisters whose acquaintance we made
while Beaumarchais was in Madrid, had returned to France,
the elder a widow with two children; All of these were de
pendent upon the generosity of the brother and unele. Ma
dame de Miron, the youngest sister, had died during the
same year, so that it was at the home of the next to the old
est member of the family, Madarae Lepine, that the family
reunions were held.
M. de Lomenie has drawn an adrairable picture of these
gatherings, where eager and devoted friends raet to discuss,
235

236 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
suggest, and criticise Avith Beaumarchais the composition
of his memoirs.
He says: "His coadjutors are his relatives and nearest
friends. First of aU It is the elder Caron, who AvIth his sev
enty-five years of experience, gives his advice about the
memoirs of his son. It is Julie, whose literary aptitudes we
are already acquainted with. It is M. de Miron, the brother-
in-law of Beaumarchais, homme d'esprit, of whom we have
spoken elsewhere, who furnishes notes for the satirical parts ;
It is Gudin, who very strong In ancient history, aids in com
posing several erudite portions and whose heavy and pale
prose grows supple and takes color under the pen of his
friend. It is a young and very distinguished lawyer named
Falconnet who superintends the drawing up by the author
of parts where it is as a question of law. It is at last a
medical doctor from the Provence, named Gardanne, who
especially directs the dissection of the Provengaux his com
patriots, Marin and Bertrand."
This Is the Httle phalanx that Madame Goezman, In her
meraoirs, calls a "clique infame," and which the grand Ber
trand, less ferocious and more reasonable names simply, la
bande joyeuse.
They were In fact very joyful, all those spirituels bour
geois, grouped around Beaumarchais, combating with him
a crowd of enemies, and not without running personal risk,
because Julie notably was formally denounced by Goezman.
There was a printed petition of this judge directed especially
against her, although it had no consequences. All of them,
however, underwent interrogations, confrontations, and
verifications, but they came out none the worse for it and
their gaiety supported the courage and the ardor of the man
to whom they were devoted heart and soul. Beaumarchais,
forced to live en camp volant at the mercy of the sheriffs,

^',

The Composition of the Memoirs 237
of the Comte de la Blache and the persecutions of the judge
Goezman, was always on the wing but he came to the home
of Madame Ijcpine near the Palais de Justice to prepare
Avith his friends his means of defense and attack. It is in
this house that the elements of each memoir Avcre discussed.
All the first draughts were Avritten by the hand of Beau
marchais, all the brilliant portions are rcAvrltten by him
three or four times. Like all who wish to write well, he
corrects and rewrites many tiraes, he cuts out, amends, con- '
centratcs and purifies. If at times he alloAvs himself to be
too easily satisfied, he has friends prompt to censure liim
who do not spare him.
M. de Miron especially criticises in detail and Avith per
sistent candor. "Beaumarchais profited frora all these aids,
so that If his memoirs against Goezman do not present from
the nature of the subject all the Interest of the 'Barbier de
Seville' or the 'Mariage de Figaro,' they are none the less,
so far as style is concerned, the most remarkable of all his
works, the one where the good qualities of the author are
the least mixed with faults. They contain portions of a
really finished perfection."
Monsieur de Loraenie assures us further, that a certain
passage, which is cited at times as being one of the most
graceful of the meraoirs. Is due largely to Julie. He quotes
at length the rough draughts of the passage in question as
it appeared in Its different stages, at first rather dry as
Avritten by Beaumarchais, then colored and animated by the
brush of Julie, finally very skillfully retouched by her
brother. It is where the plaideur replies to the attack of
Madame Goezman upon the ancestry and profession of his
father. The printed text Is as follows :
"You begin your chef-d'oeuvre by reproaching me Avith the
condition of my ancestors ; alas madame, it Is too true that

238 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
the last of all united to several branches of industry a con
siderable celebrity in the art of watchmaking. Forced to
pass condemnation on that article I admit with sorrow that
nothing can wash from rae the just reproach which you make
me of being the son of my father. . . . But I pause,
because I feel him behind me, who, watching while I write,
laughs while he embraces me. Oh you, who reproach me
Avith my father, you have no idea of his generous heart. In
truth, watchmaking aside, there is no one for whom I would
exchange him ; but I knoAv too well the value of time which he
taught me to measure to waste It by similar trifling."
Supported as Beaumarchais was by the constant affection
of those nearest to him the loss oi his fortune and the dis
solution of his household were the least of the calamities
weighing upon him. He had known, as we have seen, how to
gain the support of the nation at large, but he remained still
completely at the mercy of the parliament which he had so
hopelessly offended in daring to open up before the whole
world those proceedings which it was never Intended should
be exposed to the light of day. It was of this period that
La Harpe says, "Afterwards prosperity came of Itself, it was
during the combat and the oppression that his glory was
gained." The unique character of this contest as well as its sub
limity lies in this, that it Is not simply a personal matter in
which he was engaged. The blows he dealt so deftly had be
hind them the force of a nation eager to avenge Itself, a
nation whose favorite weapon was ridicule. Never was that
weapon wielded by "a hand more intrepid and light. It
seemed to amuse him to lead before the public so many
personages like animals for combat." "Simpletons," says
La Harpe, "are by no means rare and they bore us ; to put
them before us in a way to make us laugh so heartily and

Judgment Delayed 239
so long, to make them amusing to the point of finding pleas
ure in their st-upldity, is surely no common talent, it is that
of good satire and good comedy."
This was the talent of Beaumarchais. The public laughed,
it is true, but the simpletons thus led forward did not laugh,
nor did the chancellor Maupeou. They were waiting, rage
in their hearts, for the day of vengeance which was not
far off.
Begun in August, 1773, the suit hatd gone on until Febru
ary of the following year, "The day of judgment," says
Lomenie, "arrived on the 26th of February, 1774, In the
raidst of universal interest,
" 'We are expecting to-raorrow,' wrote Madarae du Def
fand to Horace Walpole, 'a great event, the judgraent of
Beaumarchais, . , , M. de Monaco has Invited him for
the evening to read us a comedy de sa fafon, which has for
the title le Barbier de Seville. . . . The public Is crazy
over the author who is being judged while I write, , It is
supposed that the judgment will be rigorous and it may hap
pen that instead of supping with us he will be condemned to
banishment or to the pillory; this Is what I will tell you
to-morrow,' "Such is the dose of interest wliich Madame du Deffand
takes in people. What a pity for her if the accused had
been condemned to the pillory. She would have lost the
reading of the Barbier. She lost It anyway. For twelve
hours the deliberation of the judges prolonged itself. Beau
marchais addressed to the prince of Monaco the following
note which belongs with the letter of Madarae du Deffand.
" 'Beauraarchais, infinitely sensible of the honor which the
Prince of Monaco wishes to do him, replies from the Palace
where he has been nailed since six o'clock this morning, where
he has been interrogated at the bar of justice, and where

240 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
he Avalts the sentence which is very long in coming; but, in
whatever way things turn, Beaumarchais who Is surrounded
by his family at this moment cannot flatter himself to escape
them until he has received either their congratulations or
their condolence. He begs therefore that the Prince of
Monaco will be so good as to reserve him his kindness for
another day. He has the honor of assuring him of his very
respectful gratitude.
" 'This Saturday, February 26th, 1774.' "
"The evening before the judgment," says Gudin, "he ar
ranged his private affairs, passed the night at work, and
went to the gate of the palace before It was day, saw the
judges pass before him and submitted to his last interroga
tion. When It was finished and It only remained to the
judges to decide, Beaumarchais returned to the home of his
sister who lived near the Palais de Justice. Fatigued from
so much labor and very certain that there was nothing left
for him to do In that critical time, he went to bed and slept
as profoundly as though no one In the universe were occu
pied Avith the thought of him. I arrived and found him sunk
In a sleep such as only comes to a pure, strong soul, and a
truly superior mind, because at such a moment it would have
been considered pardonable In anyone to have felt the
anguish of anxiety. He slept while his judges watched, tor
mented by the furies. Divided among themselves, they de
liberated in tumult, spoke in rage, wishing to punish the
author of the memoirs but foreseeing the clamor of the public
ready to disavow them. At last after almost fifteen hours
of contradictory opinions and violent debates, they aban
doned reciprocally their victims.
"The lady of the fifteen louis was bldmee and Beaumar
chais was condemned also to blame which seemed a contradic
tion. The magistrate, husband of the woman, was put out of

Bldm.e by the Parliament 241
coAirt which was equivalent to blame for a magistrate, who
thus remained incapable of filling any function of the
magistracy. "I Avas by his side Avith all the family when a friend came
running, terrified to tell him this absurd judgment. He did
not utter an angry word or raake a gesture of indignation.
Master of all his movements as of his raind, he said, 'Let us
see what there yet remains to be done.' "
Loraenie says: "The penalty of blame was an ignominious
one which rendered the condemned incapable of occupying
any public office, and he was supposed to receive the sen
tence on his knees before the court, while the president pro
nounced the words, 'The court blames thee and declares thee
Infamous.' "
Gudin says, "This sentence had been so badly received by
the multitude assembled at the doors of the chamber, the
judges had been so hissed on breaking up the audience, al
though many of them took themselves out of the way by
passing through the long corridors unknown to the public,
which are called les detours du palais, they saw so many
marks of discontentment that they were not tempted to exe
cute to the letter the sentence which attracted to them only
the blame universel."
Before speaking of the veritable triumph which the public
accorded to Beaumarchais in return for this cruel sentence,
let us finish with the parliament Maupeou.
"It was not destined," says Lomenie, "long to survive this
act of anger and vengeance. In striking with civil death a
man AA'hom public opinion carried In triuraph. It had struck
its own death-blow. The opposition which had slept, now
roused, let Itself loose upon the parliaraent with redoubled
fury. Pamphlets In prose and verse took on a new virility,
the end of the reign assured its fall, and one of the first acts

242 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
of the new king, Louis XVI was to establish the old parlia
ment." Louis XV died in May, 1774, the old parHament
was re-established in August of the same year.
"There were not lacking those," says Bonnefon, "who
called the destruction of the parliament Maupeou, the Saint-
Bartholomew of the ministers."
The Spanish ambassador, quick at repartee, added, "that
In any case It was not the massacre of the Innocents."
But to return to Beaumarchais. "All the gentleraen at
court," says Gudin, "all the most distinguished persons of
Paris, inscribed themselves at his door. No one spoke of
anything but of him."
"It was at the very moment," says Beaumarchais, "when
they declared that I was no longer anything, that everyone
seemed the most eager to count me for something. Every-
Avhere I was welcomed, sought after; offers of every nature
were showered upon me." The Prince of Conti was the first
to set the example.
"We are of a sufficiently illustrious house," he said, "to
show the nation what Is her duty toward one who has de
served so well of his country." He left his name the same
day at the door of the man whom the parliament had at
tempted to degrade, inviting him to a princely festival the
next day where some forty or more of the greatest person
ages of the realm were present. The Duke of Chartres showed
a like attention. It was in the midst of all these ovations
that M. de Sartine wrote to him:
" 'I counsel you not to show yourself any more publicly.
What has happened is Irritating to* many people. It is
not enough to be blamed, one must be modest as well. If
an order came from the king I should be obliged to execute
It In spite of myself. Above everything do not write any
thing, because the king wishes that you publish nothing more

Effects of Sentence 243
upon this affair.' "
Gudin says : "Determined as was Beaumarchais to break
this iniquitous sentence, he Avas yet conscious that the
royal poAver was a rock against which prudence might
well fear to throw herself. He therefore took the wise policy
of submitting to the weakness of the king, to obey him and
to keep silent."
"Wishing, however, to show to the world," says Lintilhac,
"that his silence was not cowardice, he withdrew from France
and retired into an obscure place in Flanders."
"It could not be expected," says Bonnefon, "that Beau
raarchais would rest tranquilly under the blow of a condem
nation which struck him with civil death and ruined his
career." His first thought was to appeal for a second judg
ment. But he feared lest the parliament might confirm
the sentence by a second act and foreseeing that it was
already doomed, his great desire was to secure from the king
a reprieve, Avhich would allow hira the right of appeal, no
matter how long the period of time elapsed since the decree
was issued.
Several days after the judgment he wrote to his friend La
Borde, banker at court and particular friend of Louis XV.
"They have at last rendered it; this abominable sentence,
chef-d'cEuvre of hatred and iniquity. Behold me cut off
from society and dishonored in the midst of my career. I
know, my friend, that the pains of opinion should trouble
only those who raerit thera; I know that iniquitous judges
have all power against the person of an Innocent man and
nothing against his reputation. All France has inscribed
itself at my door since Saturday ! The thing which has raost
pierced my heart on this sinister occasion is the unhappy
impression which has been given the king concerning me. It
has been said to him that I was pretending to a seditious

244 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
celebrity ; but no one has told him that I only have defended
myself, that I never ceased to make my judges feel the con
sequences which might result from this ridiculous suit.
"You know my friend that I always have led a quiet life,
and that I should never have written upon public matters if
a host of powerful enemies had not united to ruin me. Ought
I to have allowed myself to be crushed without attempting
self-justification? If I have done it with too much vivacity
is that a reason for dishonoring me and my family, and
cutting off from society an honest subject whose talents
might perhaps have been employed usefully for the service of
the king and the state? I have courage to support a mis
fortune which I have not merited, but my father with his
seventy-five years of honor and work upon his head and
who is dying of sorrow, my sisters who are women and weak,
their condition is what kills me, and renders me Inconsolable.
Receive, my generous friend, the sincere expression of the
ardent gratitude Avith which I am, etc. "Beaumarchais."
A second letter to La Borde, written from his retreat in
Flanders, shows that the much desired reprieve had been
granted him. He wrote, "The sweetest thing in the Avorld to
my heart, my dear La Borde, is the generosity of your sin
cere friendship. Everyone tells me that I have a reprieve;
you add to this the news that it is the king's free will that
I obtain it. May God hear your prayers, my generous
friend!" To be sure the king had granted the reprieve but he set a
price upon this favor. "Judging from the very dexterity
which Beauraarchais had displayed in the Goezman affair,"
says Lomenie, "Louis XV felt that he had need of such skiU
and promised letters pf reUef to put hira In a position to

Meets His Third Wife 245
recover his civil estate, if he should fulfill with zeal and suc
cess a difficult mission to which the king attached a great
Importance. So it was that the vanquisher of the Parliament
Maupeou presently went to London in the capacity of secret
agent of the king."
But before entering into a consideration of this ncAV phase
of adventure, let us ask the faithful historian, Gudin, to
relate to us a charraing incident which carae at the moment
of the triuraph of Beauraarchais, to add sweetness to its
brilliancy. Gudin wrote:
"The celebrity of Beaumarchais attracted to him the at
tention of a woman endowed Avith wit and beauty, a tender
heart and a firmness of character capable of supporting him
in the cruel combats that were destined to come to him. She
did not know him at all, but her soul, touched by reading
his memoirs, by the fame of his courage, called to that of
this celebrated man. She burned with a desire to see hira. I
was with him when, under the frivolous pretext of busying
herself with music, she sent a man of her acquaintance, and
of that of Beaumarchais, to beg him to lend her his harp
for a short tirae. Such a demand under such circumstances
disclosed her intentions. Beaumarchais comprehended, he re
plied, 'I lend nothing, but If the lady wishes to come with
you I will hear her play and she may hear me.' She came,
I was witness to their first Interview.
"I already have said that it was difficult to see Beaumar
chais without loving him. What an impression must he have
produced when he was covered with the applause of the whole
of Paris ; when he was regarded as the defender of an op
pressed liberty, the avenger of the public. It was still more
difficult to resist the charm attached to the looks, the voice,
the bearing, the discourse of Mademoiselle de Willermawlaz.
The attraction of the first moment was augmented from hour

246 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
to hour, by the variety of their agreeable accomplishments
and the host of excellent qualities which each discovered in
the other as their intimacy increased. Their hearts were
united from that moment by a bond which no circumstance
could break and which love, esteem, time, and the law ren
dered indissoluble."
Of the charming woman here described who subsequently
becarae the third wife of Beauraarchais we shall have occasion
to speak later. For the present, his situation was such that
marriage was out of the question, their union was not sol
emnized until later. Their one and only daughter, Eugenie,
was born in 1777. She was the darling of her father, the
source of his deepest happiness and the cause of his cruelest
suffering. It was for her that we shall find him, old and
broken in health, setting hiraself with alraost juvenile vigor,
at the tirae of his return frora exile after the Reign of Ter
ror, to gather together the shattered remains of his fortune.
At the moment of his triumph In 1774, flattered, praised,
and loved as we have seen him, this condition was offset not
only by the judgraent of parliament which ruined his career,
but by a domestic trouble which was at that moment pre
paring for him.
His father's health had been so shattered by the terrible
strain through which he had been obliged to pass by the suc
cession of calamities which had befallen his son that in the
end the vigor of his mind became impaired.
It was thus that shortly before his death in 1775, at
seventy-seven years of age, without the knowledge of his
son, he united himself in marriage with the woman who had
been provided for him, as caretaker. M. de Lom6nIe says
of this Individual, "She was a cunning old maid, who
made him raarry her in the hope of being ransomed by
Beaumarchais.

Death of the Pere Caron 247
"Profiting by the wealcness of the old man, she had had
assigned to her in their contract of marriage, the dowry and
the part of a child. However, the elder Caron left no fortune.
The portion which he had received from his second wife had
gone towards partly covering the advances made to him by
his son who in addition gave him a lifetime pension. A
written settlement guaranteed Beaumarchais ; but the third
wife of the elder Caron, speculating upon the celebrity of the
son and his repugnance to a suit of such a nature at the very
moment Avhen he had scarcely recovered himself from the
suit Goezman, threatened to attack the settlement and to
make a noise. !
"For the first time in his life," continues Lomenie, "Beau
marchais capitulated before an adversary and disembar
rassed himself by means of 6,000 francs of the person in
question, a person, by the way, very subtle, very dating,
and assez spirituelle, to judge from her letters.
"Upon the package of documents relating to this affair I
find written in the hand of Beauraarchais these words :
'Inf amie de la veuve de mon pere pardonnee' (Infaray of the
widow of ray father, pardoned). It is to the influence of this
rusee commere that we must attribute the only moment of
misunderstanding between the father and the son during an
intimate correspondence which embraced the last fifteen
years of the life of the former ; and it must be added that the
misunderstanding lasted but a raoraent, because the letter of
the father on his death-bed which has already been cited
proves that harmony had been completely re-established be
tween them at the time of the death of the elder Caron
towards the end of August, 1776."

CHAPTER XII
"11 n'y a pas de conte absurde qu'on ne fasse adopter aux
oisifs d'une grande vUle, on s'y prenant bien."
Le Barbier de SevUle, Act II, Scene VIII
Jeauraarchais Goes to London in Quality of Secret Agent
of Louis XV — Theveneau de Morande and His Gazetler
Cuirasse — The King Dies — Beaumarchais's Second Mis
sion Under Louis XVI — Playing Figaro upon the Stage
of Life — Visits the Empress of Austria — Is Imprisoned
at Vienna — Addresses Memoir to the King — Confers
with the Ministers upon the Recall of the Parliaments.
IF at the end of a cultivated education and a laborious
youth, my parents could have left me an entire liberty as
;o the choice of a vocation, my invincible curiosity, my domi-
lant taste for the study of mankind and its great Interests,
my insatiable desire to learn new things, and to form new
combinations, would have led me to throAV mA'self Into pol
itics." So Beaumarchais had written in 1764, at a time
when his Intimacy with the diplomatic circle of the court of
Madrid had opened up a vista of possible future usefulness
in the world of politics and of vast business enterprises, con
nected with matters of national Importance. When his
hopes In both these directions had been blighted, we have
seen him returning home, bent only upon giving up his ap
pointments at court and retiring with Pauline to the West
Indies, there to lead the Hfe of a planter. This dream hav-
248

Enters Secret Seriice of Louis XV 249
ing Hkewise dissolved, his next thought was to find consola
tion in Hterature. Happy at last In his second raarriage,
prosperous and rich, hi.s ambition limited itself for a time to
the foUoAving of a literary career. Suddenly robbed of aU
these blessings by the untimely death of his wife and Infant
son, attacked by poAverful enemies, forced to defend his
honor and his life, we have followed him to where he noAv
stands, a civilly degraded man, powerless In the grasp of
overwhelmingly adverse circumstances.
As we already have seen in this narrative, Beaumarchais
was no stranger to adversity, whose only effect upon his
character seems to have been to rouse him to ever greater
and greater efforts to overcome the obstacles that would
have seemed to another insurmountable. So In this case we
find him turning at once the whole force of his being to out
side conditions in order to discover Avhat still remains to
be done.
The path which opened before him was one that could have '
presented Itself only under such conditions of abuse of au
thority and of misrule as characterized the declining years
of Louis XV, a condition which allowed justice to be given
over into the hands of the infamous parHament of Avhich it
has just been question, and which tolerated by the side of
the King of France a woraan, Madame du Barry, Avho had
begun her career as a girl of the streets.
In the occult diplomacy of the court of Louis XV there
was need enough for secret agents, and it was In this ca
pacity that we find our civilly degraded man entering upon
that new phase of his career which was so soon to place
him where he could take a hand In directing the destinies of
nations. In speaking of this, M. de Loraenie has said, "The history
of the secret missions of Beaumarchais Is instructive if we

250 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
would attempt to understand absolute governments. The
weak side of liberal governments, and the consequences
of the abuse sometimes made of liberty, have of late
years been sufficiently exposed for it to be interesting
to see what went on behind the scenes of absolute power,
, , , and to note by what complicated ways an unjustly
condemned man was obliged to pass to obtain his rehabili
tation, and how in revenge, this same man, stricken with
civil death by a tribunal, was able to become the confidential
agent of two kings and their ministers, and little by little
make himself so useful that he reconquered his civil state and
obtained control of a great transaction, one worthy of him
self and of his Intelligence," This transaction was of course
no other than his intervention in the cause of American
Independence, But now In regard to his secret mission, it wIU be re
raerabered that after the parliament had pronounced its
crushing sentence, silence had been imposed upon him by
the authority of the King, Strange as It may seem, Louis
XV was not unfriendly to the petulant man who had so
warmly defended hiraself. He had followed the suit with
interest, had read the raemoirs, and even amused himself at
the expense of the magistracy, which he had himself estab
lished in defiance of the whole nation. The indolence and
levity of the King's character showed themselves clearly in
this attitude- So long as things lasted tant que lui he was
satisfied to amuse himself in any way that offered, regardless
of the future. One day he said to La Borde (first valet de
chambre of the King and friend of Beaumarchais), "They
say that your friend has a superior talent for negotiation;
if he could be successfuUy and secretly employed in an affair
which interests me, his own affairs would be the better for
it." The matter which weighed upon the old king, the set-

Goes to London 251
tlement of which was to be the price of the rehablHtatlon of
Beauraarchais, Avas one that had been troubling hira for raore
than a year.
There was at this time, established in London, a certain
French adventurer, Theveneau de Morande, who, says Lo
menie, "had taken refuge in England, where, speculating
upon scandal, he composed coarse libels which he clandes
tinely introduced Into France, and In which he defaraed, out
raged and calumniated without distinction, every name, more
or less known, which presented Itself under his pen. He
had published amongst other works, under the Impudent title
of le Gazetier cuirasse, a collection of atrocities, perfectly in
accord with the impudence of the title. Profiting from the
terror he Inspired, he sent from time to time across the Chan
nel,, demands for money, from those who feared his attacks.
. . . For a manufacturer of this kind, Madame du Barry
was a mine of gold; so he wrote to that lady announcing
the near publication (except in case of a handsome ransom)
of an interesting work of which her life was the subject,
under the alluring title of Memoires secrets d'une femme
publique. Anyone else but Madame du Barry might have
disdained the Insults of the pamphleteer, or have brought
him to justice before the English tribunals; it can easily be
understood that Madame du Barry could take neither of
these alternatives. Alarmed and furious, she communicated
her anger and her fears to Louis XV."
The King began by demanding George III to give up the
adventurer. The Enghsh Government had no desire to har
bor such a character and replied that If the French King did
not wish to pursue legally the pamphleteer, he might arrest
him, but only on condition that it was done with absolute
secrecy and without arousing the susceptlblHtles of the Eng-
Hsh populace. Louis XV then set about preparing for his

252 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
capture. Theveneau de Morande was on the alert, and having been
warned, he forestalled the King by posing publicly as a per
secuted political refugee, placing himself under the protec
tion of the London public. He had not misjudged the tem
per of the people amongst whom he had sought refuge.
Furious at the thought of such a desecration of English laAv,
a band of supporters of Morande lay in wait, so that the
secret agents on arriving In London were known and fol
lowed. They were on the point of being seized and thrown
into the Thames when they learned of their betrayal, and
so were obliged to hurry with all possible speed back to
France, with their object unaccomplished.
Gloating over his triumph, the unprincipled adventurer
hastened on his publication, becoming daily more Insolent
in his demands. Louis XV sent numerous agents across the
channel to attempt to treat with him, but all to no purpose,
for the wily Morande, posing now before the public as a de
fender of public morality, retained the protection of the
people and thus escaped the agents in question. Things
were at this pass when the thought occurred to the King
of employing the talents of Beaumarchais In terminating this
difficult negotiation.
The sentence of the Parliament Maupeou, It will be re
membered, had been rendered the 26th of February, 1774 ;
early in March the civilly degraded man started for London,
and as his own name was too widely known through his
meraoirs to admit of secrecy, he assumed that of Ronac,
anagram of Caron. The firmness, tact, and above all the
persuasiveness of his character, enabled him in a few days
completely to gain the confidence of Morande, so that he re
appeared almost immediately at Versailles to the unbounded
astonishraent of the King, bringing a specimen of the libel.

ueam oj i^owis XV 253
and prepared to receive final orders for the termination of
the affair. The King sent him back to London in quality
of his confidential agent to see that the entire scandalous
publication was destroyed by fire, and the future silence of
Morande secured. Both objects were speedily accomplished.
Immediately following the destruction of the Memoirs of
Mme. du Barry, Beaumarchais wrote to Morande, "You have
done your best. Monsieur, to prove to me that you return
in good faith to the sentiments and the conduct of an hon
est Frencliman, from which your heart reproached you long
before I did, of having deviated ; it is In persuading myself
that you have the design of persisting in these praiseworthy
resolutions, that I take pleasure In corresponding Avith you.
What difference In our two destinies ! It happened to fall
Into ray way to arrest the publication of a scandalous libel;
I work night and day for six weeks ; I travel nearly two
thousand railes. I spend 500 louis to prevent innumerable
evils. You gain at this work, 100,000 francs and your tran
quillity, while as for me, I do not even knoAV that my travel-*
Ing expenses will be repaid."
When Beaumarchais arrived In Paris he hastened to Ver
sailles to receive the reward of his activity. He found the
old King attacked by a fatal disease, and In a few days he
was no more. "I admire," he wrote the sarae day, "the
strangeness of the fate which follows me. If the King had
lived In health eight days longer, I would have been rein
stated In the rights which iniquity has taken from me, I
had his royal word."
A few days later he wrote to Morande, "Restored to my
family and friends, my affairs are quite as little advanced
as before my voyage to England, through the unexpected
death of the King. I seize the first instant of repose to
write to you and to compHment you, iMonsIeur, very sincerely

254 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
upon your actual condition. Each one of us has done his
best; I to tear you from the certain misfortune which men
aced you and your friends, and you to prove a return with
good faith to the sentiments and conduct of a true French
man, . , , There only remains to me for total recom
pense the satisfaction of having fulfilled my duty as an hon
est man and a good citizen, , . , What consoles me is
that the time of Intrigue and cabal is over. Restored to
my legal defense the new King will not Impose silence on
my legitimate reclamations ; I shall obtain, by force of right,
and by title of justice that which the late King was only
willing to accord me as a favor." (Quoted from Lintilhac,
Beaumarchais et ses ocuvres; p. 62.)
Here as elsewhere, true to the instincts of his nature, he
accepted the Inevitable, while looking about him to see what
reraained to be done. Realizing that the service accom
plished for Louis XV could have small interest for the vir
tuous young monarch just ascending the throne, he had no
thought for the moment of pressing for his rehabilitation,
but preferred to wait until some opportunity offered for
making himself useful, and If possible necessary, to the young
King. In November of the same year, he had the satisfaction of
seeing the parliament abolished which h&d degraded him.
More than this, his opinion was sought as to the best means
to be employed in the re-establishment of the ancient magis
tracy. Gudin, In his life of Beaumarchais says, "The min
isters were divided in opinion as tO' the best means to employ
in recalling the parliaments; they consulted Beaumarchais,
and demanded of him a short, elementary memoir, where his
principles should be exposed In a way proper to instruct
every clear mind. . . . He obeyed and gave them under
the title of — Idees elementaires sur le rappel du parlement —

LOUIS XVI

Called to Confer with the Ministers 256
a memoir, which contains the most just ideas, the purest
principles upon the establishment of that body, and the limi
tations of its powers. . . ." The Ministers, however, did
not dare to follow the simpUcity of the principles he laid
down. After much discussion the parliaments were recalled,
and though the liberties of the people received but slight
attention, "Everyone was too flattered by the return of the
ancient magistracy, to think of the future."
In the midst of his correspondence with the ministers over
this matter of public import, Beaumarchais did not forget
his oAvn private interests. He Avrote to M. de Sartine, "I
have cut out the fangs of three monsters in destroying two
libels, and stopping the impression of a third, and in return
I have been deceived, robbed, imprisoned, my health is de
stroyed; but Avhat is that If the King is satisfled? Let him
say 'I am content,' and I shall be completely so, other recom
pense I do not wish. The King Is already too much sur
rounded by greedy askers. Let him know that In a corner
of Paris he has one disinterested servitor — that Is all I ask.
"I hope that you do not wish me to remain blame by
that vile Parliament which you have just buried under the
debris of Its dishonor. All Europe has avenged me of its
odious and absurd judgment, but that is not enough. There
must be a decree to destroy the one pronounced by it. I
shall not cease to work for this end, but with the moderation
of a man who fears neither intrigue nor injustice. I expect
your good offices for this important object.
"Your devoted "Beauraarchais."
Gudin^ after quoting this letter, adds "According to the
imraemorial custom of all courts, they were rauch more eager
to make use of the zeal of a servitor than to render him jus-

256 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
tice. Nevertheless they repealed the prohibition to play his
Barbier de Seville."
This was near the end of 1774. Already Beauraarchais
again had been appealed to, to suppress another scandalous
publication, the appearance of Avhich was announced imme
diately after the accession of Louis XVI to the throne of
France. It had for title. Avis a la branche espagnole sur ses
droits a la couronne de France, a defaut d'heritiers (Advice
to the Spanish branch, upon its claims to the crown of
France in default of heirs.) Although In appearance poht
ical. It was In reality a libel directed against the young queen
Marie Antoinette. In a memoir addressed to the King after
the suppression of the publication, Beaumarchais accounts
for Its appearance In the following manner, he says, "As
soon as your Majesty had mounted the throne, several
changes made, several courtiers disgraced, having caused
strong resentments to germinate, suddenly there appeared in
England and Holland a new libel against you. Sire, and
against the Queen. I went with all haste, and an express
order of your Majesty augmenting ray courage, I followed
up the book and the editor to the point of extinction."
"All that was knoAvn of this paraphlet," says Loraenie,
"was that its publication was confided to an Italian naraed
Guillaume Angelucci, who In England went under the name
of William Atkinson, and who used a host of precautions to
insure his Incognito. He had at his disposition enough
money to enable hira to produce two editions at the sarae
time, one in England and the other in Holland. In order to
ensure success to his enterprise and still more no doubt, to
heighten the importance of the role he was about to play,
Beaumarchais in accepting this second undesirable mission
had demanded a Avritten order from the King, bearing the
royal signature. This had been refused. Beaumarchais

Works for His Rehabilitation 257
started for London without delay, but had by no means
given up the idea of obtaining the written order which
seemed to him so important."
"I have seen the Lord Rochford," he wrote to M. de
Sartine, "and found him as affectionate as usual, but when
I explained to him this aff'air, he remained cold as Ice. I
turned and returned it in every way, I Invoked our friend
ship, reclaimed his confidence, warmed his amour-propre by
the hope of being agreeable to our King, but I could judge
from the nature of his replies that he regarded my com
mission as an affair of police, of espionage. In a word of
sous-ordre. "You should do the Impossible to bring the King to send
me an order or mission signed by him, in about the terms
which I have Indicated at the end of this letter. This need
is as delicate, as It is essential for you to-day. So many
agents have been sent to London in relation to the last libel,
they were often of so questionable a character, that anyone
who seems to belong to the same order, cannot expect to be
looked upon except with contempt. This is the basis of
your argument with the King. Tell him of my visit to the
Lord. It is certain that one cannot decently expect that
minister, however friendly he may be, to lend hiraself to the
service of ray raaster, if that master puts no difference be
tween the delicate and secret mission with which he honors
an honest raan, and an order with which a police officer
is charged."
M. de Sartine seemed to have been convinced, at all events
he succeeded in inducing the young king to copy with do
cility the model which Beauraarchais had drawn up, and
which ran as follows:
"The sieur de Beaumarchais, charged by my secret or
ders, will start for his destination as soon as possible; the

258 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
discretion and vivacity which he wiU put Into their execu
tion wiU be the most agreeable proofs which he can give
me of his zeal for my service. "Louis
"Marly, July 10, 1774."
Beauraarchais, exultant, wrote at once to the minister,
"The order of my master is stUl virgin, that Is to say, it has
been seen by no one; but if it has not yet served me in
relation to others. It has none the less been of a marvelous
help to myself, in raultlplying my powers and redoubling my
courage." He even went so far as to address the King personally.
He wrote, "A lover wears about his neck the portrait of
his mistress; a miser, his keys; a devotee, his reliquary —
while as for me, I have had made a flat oval case of gold. In
Avhich I have enclosed the order of your Majesty, and which
I have suspended about my neck with a chain of gold, as the
thing the most necessary for my work, and the most precious
for rayself."
Satisfied at last in his ambition to have in his possession
a written order from the King, Beaumarchais set about ar
ranging with redoubled zeal for the suppression of the pub
Ucation mentioned before. "He succeeded," says Lo
raenie, "through great supply of eloquence, but also through
great supply of money. For 1,400 pounds sterling, the Jew
renounced the speculation. The manuscript and four thou
sand copies were burned In London. The two contractors
then betook themselves to Amsterdam for the purpose of de
stroying the Holland edition. Beaumarchais secured the
written engagement of Angelucci, and then free from care,
he gave hiraself up to the pleasure of visiting Amsterdam
en tourist."
Up to this point the authority of M. de Lomenie seems to

Loses Reward of His Labors 259
hold good upon this mission of Beaumarchais, which of late
yc.irs has given rise to much bitter controversy. "This ob
scure affair Angelucci — Atkinson," says Lintilhac, "has
caused as much ink to floAV in the last twenty years, as the
clicfs-d'cEuvre of our author."
We shall not attempt here to enter Into the intricacies of
this case, and shall scarcely blame our hero, even supposing
Ave should find him playing a bit of comedy, very much a la
Figaro, upon the stage of real life ; for it is necessary to re
call the fact that under the cloak of philosophic acceptance
of his fate, Beaumarchais Avas all the while, at heart, a des
perate man. The death of the old King at the raoraent
Avhen he had every reason to expect a speedy restitution to
his rights as citizen, had been a cruel blow Avhich left hira
in a state of inward desperation. When we consider the in
tense mental excitement In which he had been living from
the day of his frightful adventure with the due de Chaulnes,
his imprisonment, the loss of his property, the dissolution
of his family, the execration of his enemies, the adulation of
a nation ; when we consider all this and the events imrae
diately following, our wonder is, not that Beauraarchais lost
for a time his sense of proportion and the true relation of
things, but rather that he had not been a thousand tiraes
over, crushed and broken by the overwhelraing combination
of circumstances against which he had struggled.
There is no doubt that now, at the moment of the termi
nation of his mission, his one idea was to exaggerate to the
utmost the apparent value of what he had accompHshed, so
that it would seem worth the price which he desired for It, In
the eyes of the young master whom he served. It was no
favor that he wanted ; he desired nothing but to be allowed
to work, but his rehabilitation he must have at whatever
cost. He knew only too well that to the young King it was.

260 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
after all, a matter of supreme indifference whether or not
he, Beaumarchais, regained his civil rights. The affair of the
libel even, had scarcely penetrated his consciousness ; that
was a matter for the ministers to attend to. Beaumarchais
felt, therefore, that something must be done to force himself
tlpon the attention of the royal pair, both so young and so
unconscious, not to say heedless, of the duties of their sta
tion ; the young Queen thinking of nothing but the arause
ment of the hour, the King asking only to be relieved from
the responsibilities of state and of individual action. How
was Beauraarchais then to arouse in them sufficient interest
to cause them to give a moment's attention to his wrongs?
The spirit of adventure which always animated him, his taste
for intrigue, his talent of mis tn scene, all combined to aid
him in what he undertook. He decided before he returned
to France, to present hiraself therefore before the Empress
of Austria, sure that by his talents, his address, and show
of fervent zeal in the interest of his Queen, he would win
the tender heart of that tenderest of mothers. To give a
show of reason to his appearance before the Empress, and
to enhance the interest he might arouse, he imagined a wild
and romantic story, the heroic part of which he was himself
to have acted. On his way down the Danube, he wrote a
detailed account of this supposed happening, sending sev
eral copies to friends — among others to Gudin, who were
asked to inform his extended circle of acquaintances, of this
rare .new adventure which had befallen him. It may be stated
briefly as foUows : After having destroyed the Hbel in Lon
don and Amsterdam, and reHeved from aU further responsi
bility, he supposed himself suddenly to have discovered that
the wily Angelucci had retained a copy of the libel, and
that he had gone on to Nuremberg with the intention of
there issuing another pubHcation. Furious at this breach

Goes to Vie7ina 261
of faith, Beaumarchais hurriedly followed after, stopping
neither night nor day. He overtook Angelucci in the forest
of Neustadt, not far from Nuremberg. The rattling of the
chaise attracted the attention of the Jcav, who, turning
round, recognized his pursuer, and being on horseback,
dashed into the forest, hoping thereby to make good his
escape. Beaumarchais, hoAvever, springing from the chaise,
foUoAved after on foot. The density of the forest enabled
hira to overtake Angelucci, whom he dragged from his horse.
In the depths of his traveling sack, the infamous libel was
discovered. Then he let Angelucci go. As Beaumarchais
Avas returning to the highway, he was fallen upon by two
robbers Avho attacked him savagely and from whom he de
fended himself Avitli braA'ery. He Avas dellA'ered from them
by their taking fright at the noise of the postilion, Avho, unp
easy at the long delay, had come to see what had happened
to the traveler. The latter Avas found, with face and hands
badly Avounded. He passed the night in Nuremberg, and
next morning, without waiting to have his wounds dressed,
he hastened on to Vienna.
So much for the romance — what follows is authentic
history. In a proces-verbal, under date of September 7, 1774, held
by the Burgomaster of Nuremberg, under order of Marie
Therese, Empress of Austria, the bourgeois Conrad Gruber,
keeping the Inn of the Coq Rouge at Nuremberg, explained
how M. de Ronac arrived at his inn, wounded in the face and
hands, the evening of August 14th, after a scene in the woods,
and he added "that It was remarked that M. de Ronac
seemed to be A'ery uneasy, that he had risen very early in
the morning, and Avandered all over the house, in such a way
that from this and his general manner. It appeared that his
wits were a little disordered."

262 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
As we said, Beaumarchais Iraraediately hastened on to
Vienna. Once arrived in the capital, the question was, how
to penetrate to the august presence of the Empress. Abso
lutely without recommendation of any sort, traveling as an
inconspicuous M, de Ronac — anyone but Beaumarchais
would have renounced so wild and impossible a project from
the beginning. In a very lengthy memoir addressed to Louis
XVI by Beaumarchais after his return to France, the latter
gives a minute account of this most singular adventure. The
following extracts will enable us to follow hira:
"My first care at Vienna was to write a letter to the Em
press. The fear that the letter might be seen by other eyes
prevented me from explaining the motive of the audience
which I solicited. I attempted simply to excite her curiosity.
Having no possible access to her, I went to her secretary,
M. le baron de Neny, who, on ray refusing to tell hira what I
desired, and judging from my slashed face, took me for a
wild adventurer. . . . He received me as badly as was
possible, refused to take charge of my letter, and would
have entirely rejected ray advances had I not assumed a
tone as proud as his own, and assured him that I made him
responsible to the Empress for all the evil which his refusal
might make to an operation of the greatest iraportance, if
he did not Instantly take ray letter and give it to the sover
eign. More astonished by ray tone than he had been by my
face, he took my letter unwillingly, and said that for all that,
I need not hope that the Empress would see me. 'It is not
this. Monsieur, that need disquiet you. If the Empress re
fuses me an audience, you and I will have done our
duty.' . . .
"The next day I was conducted to Schoenbrunn, and into
the presence of Her Majesty. ... I first presented to
the Empress the order of your Majesty, Sire, of which she

Admitted to Presence of Empress 263
perfectly recognized the writing. . . . She then per
mitted me to speak. . . . 'Madame,' I said, 'it Is here
less a matter of state interest, properly speaking, than the
efforts which black intrigues are making in France to de
stroy the happiness of the King.' Here I recited the details
of my negotiation, and the incidents of ray voyage to Vienna.
"At every circumstance, the Empress, joining her hands In
surprise, repeated, 'But, Monsieur, where have you found so
ardent a zeal for the interests of my son-in-law, and above
all, of ray daughter?'
" 'Madame, I was the most unfortunate man of France
during the last reign; the queen In that terrible time did not
disdain to show an interest in my fate. In serving her to
day, I am only acquitting an immense debt ; the more diffi
cult the enterprise, the raore my ardor is inflamed. . . .'
" 'But, Monsieur, what necessity had you to change your
name ?'
" 'Madame, I am unfortunately too weU known in Europe
under ray own name to permit me to employ It while under
taking so delicate and Important a mission as the one In
which I am engaged.'
"The Empress seemed to have a great curiosity to read the
work AA'hose destruction had caused me so much trouble.
The reading immediately followed our explanation. Her
Majesty had the goodness to enter with me into the most
intimate details of this subject; she had also that of listening
a great deal to what I had to say. I remained with her
more than three hours and a half, and I implored her not to
waste a moment in sending to Nuremberg and securing the
person of Angelucci.
"The Empress had the goodness to thank me for the ar
dent zeal which I had shoAvn ; she begged me to leave the
pamphlet Avitli her until tlie next day. 'Go and repose your-

264 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
self,' she said, with Infinite grace, 'and see that you are
promptly bled. . . .' "
Whatever pleasing effect the ardor and enthusiasm of
Beaumarchais may have produced upon Marie Therese, it
was soon dispelled by the ChanceUor Kaunitz, to whom she
at once showed the libel, and related the adventure as she had
heard It from Beaumarchais. Kaunitz not only pronounced
the whole story an invention, but at once suspected that
Beaumarchais himself was the author of the libel, and that
the Jew Angelucci was a fabrication of his own brain. At the
ChanceUor's Instigation, Beaumarchais was at once arrested
and kept in custody until the raatter could be cleared up.
To continue the narrative as given by Beaumarchais in his
report to the King:
"I returned to Vienna, my head still hot with the excite
ment of that conference. I threw upon paper a host of ob
servations which seemed to me very Important relative to
the subject In question ; I addressed them to the Empress.
. The same day at nine o'clock I saw enter my room,
eight grenadiers, bayonets and guns, two officers with naked
swords, and a secretary of the regency bringing me word
which invited me to allow myself to be arrested, reserving
all explanations. 'No resistance,' said the officer to me.
" 'Monsieur,' I replied coldly, 'I sometimes have resisted
robbers, but never Empresses.' I was made to put all my
papers under seal. I demanded permission to write to the
Empress, and was refused. All my effects were taken from
me, knives, scissors, even to my buckles, and a numerous
guard was left In my room, where It remained thirty-one
days or forty-five thousand, six hundred and forty minutes;
because, while the hours fly so rapidly for happy people that
they scarcely note their succession, those who are unfor
tunate count time by minutes and seconds, and find it flows

^Arrested in Vienna 265
sloAvly when each one Is noted separately. . . .
"One may judge of ray surprise, of my fury! The next
day the person who arrested me came to tranquilize me.
'Monsieur,' I replied, 'there Is no repose for me until I have
written to the Empress. What happened to me is incon
ceivable. GiA'e me paper and pens or prepare to chain me,
for here is surely enough to drive one mad.'
"At last permission was given me to write ; M. de Sartine
has all my letters ; read them, and the nature of my sorrows
will be seen. ... I wrote, I supplicated — no reply. 'If
I am a scoundrel, send me back to France, let rae there be
tried and judged. . . .'
"When, on the thirty-first day of ray detention, I was set
at liberty, they told me that I might return to France or re
main in Vienna, as I wished. And if I should die on the
way, I would not have remained another quarter of an hour
in Vienna. A thousand ducats were presented to me which I
firraly refused. 'You have no money, all your belongings are
In France.'
" 'I will give my note and borrow what is absolutely neces
sary for my journey.'
" 'Monsieur, an Empress does not make loans.'
" 'And I accept no favors but from ray raaster ; he ia
sufficiently great to recorapense me if I have served hira
well.' " 'Monsieur, the Empress will think that you are taking
a great liberty to refuse her favors.'
" 'Monsieur, the only liberty which cannot be taken from
a very respectful but cruelly outraged man Is the liberty to
refuse favors. For the rest, my master will decide whether
I ara right or wrong in this conduct, but as to ray decision —
it reraains as I have said.'
"The same evening I left Vienna, and traveling day and

266 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
night, I arrived the ninth day, hoping at last for an ex
planation. All that M. de Sartine has been willing to say
to me Is : 'Que voulez-vous? The Empress took you for an
adventurer. . . .'
"Sire, be so good as not to disapprove of my refusal to
accept the money of the Empress, and permit me to return
it to Vienna. I should, however, be willing to accept an
honorable word, or her portrait, or any similar token which
I could oppose to the reproach which is everywhere made
me of having been arrested In Vienna as a suspicious char
acter. ... I await the orders of your Majesty.
"Caron de Beaumarchais."
The money was subsequently returned, and In Its place a
valuable diamond ring was sent by the Empress. This ring
shone on its possessor's finger, from henceforth, on all occa
sions of ceremony. As for the suspicions of Kaunitz, which
have been shared by many, we can do no more than refer the
reader to the special literature on this subject. The story of
the brigands Is unquestionably an invention, as for proofs
of forgery, or real guilt of any kind, — after the most ex-
hausth'e investigations, none has ever been found.
In his edition of the History of Beaumarchais, by Gudin,
1888, Maurice Tourneux In a lengthy note points out the
fallacies in the story of this adA'enture as told by Gudin.
After speaking of the most recent accusations against Beau
marchais, he says, "But it raust be admitted, this Is to ven
ture upon a series of very serious as well as practlcaUy
gratuitous accusations."
Lintilhac does not hesitate to assert that Angelucci did
exist, and that not a line of the libel is from the pen of
Beaumarchais. As this is the most recent study of the sub
ject Avhich has appeared. It attempts to answer all the

Returns to Paris 267
arguments set forth by the adversaries of Beaumarchais, and
through before unpublished documents, to prove the fallacy
of all their conjectures. (See Beaumarchais et ses oiuvres,
by E. LlntUhac, Paris, 1889.)
What is, however, of vital importance for the life of Beau
marchais, and above all for the very Important role which he
is about to play In the War of American Independence, is
that the adventure just related did not In the least bring
upon him the dislike of Marie Antoinette, who had ahvays
protected him, or of Louis XVI, or his ministers. On the
contrary, he had hardly returned when he found himself
summoned to confer with the heads of the government upon
the recall of the parliaments. A greater honor could
scarcely have been paid to the sound judgment of the man
who passed for the wittiest, the most fascinating. In a word
the most brilliant man of his time. While conferring with
the ministers upon weighty matters of state, Beaumarchais
took pains at the same time to obliterate as far as possi
ble from the public mind the impression made by the news
of his imprisonment at Vienna. Imraediately on his arrival,
he launched forth a song which he had composed for this
purpose, a song which became at once universally popular,
and which rencAved the admiration of the people for its
author. The song In question begins with the following stanza :
"Toujours, toujours, il est toujours le meme,
Jamais Robin,
Ne connut le chagrin,
Le temps sombre ou serein,
Les jours gras, le careme;
Le matin ou le soir;
Dites blane, dites noir,
"Toujours, toujours, U est toujours le meme."

268 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
In previous chapters, we have spoken already of the in
timacy' of Beaumarchais with Lenormant D'Etioles. The
latter's fete happening a few days after Beaumarchais's re
turn from Vienna, he suddenly appeared unannounced In the
midst of the gay festival, to the unbounded joy of his old
friends. As the entertainment progressed, Beaumarchais ab
sented himself for half an hour, returning with a song in
dialect, which he had just composed In honor of his host.
A young man present sang it before the company. Its suc
cess was complete, and along with the one previously men
tioned, It soon spread all over Paris. This song contained
a verse which recalled In a very pleasing way, the personal
affair which was of such great Importance to the author,
and which had served to make him popular. He was thus
kept fresh in the public mind and its sympathetic interest
was conserved. "Mes chers amis, pourriez-vous m'enseigner
J'im bon seigneur don cha'un parle?
Je ne sais pas comment vous I'designer
C'pendent, on dit qu'U a nom Charle .
L'hiver passe j'eut un mandit proces
Qui m'donn-a bien d'la tablature.
J'm'en vais vous I'dire: Us m'avons mis expres
Sous c'te nouvelle magistrature ;
Chariot venait, jarni.
Me consolait, si fit;
Ami, ta cause est bonne et ronde . . .
Est ce qu'on blame ainsi le pauvre monde?"

CHAPTER XIII
Le Barbier De Seville —
"J'ai done eu la faiblesse autrefois. Monsieur, de faire des
drames qui n'etaient pas du bon genre; et je m'en repens
beaucoup. "Pressc depuis, par les evenements, j'ai hasardc de mal-
heureux Tnemoires que mes ennemis n'ont pas trouves de bon
style; j'en ai le remords cruel.
"Aujourd'hui je fais glisser sous vos yeux, une comedie
fort gaie, que certains maitres de gout n'estiment pas du
bon ton; et je ne m'en console point.
"Je ne voudrais pas jurer qu'U en fut seulement question
dans cinq ou six siecles; tant notre nation est inconstante et
leger e." Preface du Barbier de Seville.
The Character of Figaro — The First Perforraance of Le
Barbier de Seville — Its Success after Failure — Beaumar
chais's Innovation at the Closing of the Theatre — His
First Request for an Exact Account frora the Actors —
Barbier de SevUle at the Petit Trianon.
A SIDE from Beaumarchais's participation In the affairs
-^ *¦ of the War of American Independence, the chief title to
glory which his admirers can claim for him is his creation
of the character of Figaro.
"Certainly no comic personage," says Gudin, "has more
269

270 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
the tone, the esprit, the gaiety, the inteUigence, the light
ness, that kind of Insouciance and Intrepid self-confidence
Avhich characterizes the French people."
So long and lovingly had Beaumarchais carried about
with hinf this child of his esprit, that the two at last prac
tically had become one. Gudin says, "The handsome, the
gay, the amiable Figaro, daring and phUosophical, making
sport of his masters and not able to get on without them,
murmuring under the yoke and yet bearing it with gaiety"
Is no other than Beaumarchais in person. "Welcomed in
one city, imprisoned in another, and everywhere superior
to events, praised by these, blamed by those, enduring evil,
making fun of the stupid, braving the wicked, laughing at
misery and shaving all the world, you see me at last In Se-
vlUe." "Le Comte — 'Who gave thee so gay a philosophy?'
"Figaro — 'The habit of misfortune, I hasten to laugh
at everything for fear of being obliged to Aveep.' {'Le Barbier
de SeviUe,' Act I, Scene II)
or again —
"Le Comte — 'Do you write verses, Figaro?'
"Figaro — 'That is precisely ray misfortune, your Excel
lency. When it became knoAvn to the ministers that I sent
enigmas to the journals, that madrigals were afloat of my
making, in a word that I had been printed alive, they took
it tragically, and deprived me of my position under the
pretext that the love of letters is incompatible with I'esprit
des affaires.' "
When Figaro re-appears a few years later, we shall see
all his characteristics intensified in proportion as the ex
periences and success -of Beaumarchais had heightened his
daring and address.
We raust not make the mistake however of identifying

MARIE ANTOINETTE

His Creation Figaro 271
Beaumarchais Avith his creation, for to create Figaro re
quired one greater than he. There is undoubtedly a strongly
developed Figaro side to Beaumarchais's nature and it is this
Avhich always had prevented him from being taken seriously,
and which made him an unfathomable being even to those
very persons who depended upon and profited most by his
rare gifts.
With such limitless resources, such power of combination,
such Insight, Incapable of taking offense at any injury, so
generous, forgiving, laughing at misfortune, how could he
be taken seriously? With Beauraarchais, as with Figaro,
it is the very excess of his qvialltles and gifts which alarms.
As one of his biographers has said, "What deceives is, that
in seeing Figaro display so much esprit, so much daring,
we involuntarily fear that he avIU abuse his powers in using
thera for evil; this fear Is really a kind of homage; Figaro
in the piece, like Beaumarchais in the world, gives a handle
to calumny but never justifies It. The one and the other
never Interfere except for good, and if they love intrigue it
is principally because it gives them occasion to use their
esprit." The first conception of Figaro dates very far back In
the history of Beaumarchais. Already before his return
from Spain the character was beginning to take form in
his mind. Its first appearance was in a farce produced at
the Chateau d'Etioles. We have spoken already of its re
jection by the Comedie des Italiens, after It had assumed
the form of a comic opera. Made over Into a drama. It
had soon after been accepted by the Thedtre-Franfais.
It will perhaps be remembered that foUowing the frightful
adventure with the due de Chaulnes, Beauniarch:iis had
spent the evening of that same day in reading his play to a
circle of friends. It had at that time passed the censor and

272 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
had been approved. Permission for its presentation had
been signed by M. de Sartine, then lieutenant of police, and
it was advertised for the thirteenth of February of that
year, 1773. The affair with the Duke happened on the
llth, two days before the piece was to be performed. The
difficulties which Immediately followed were of a nature to
cause the performance to be postponed indefinitely.
A year later, however, when the great success of the
memoirs of Beaumarchais had made him so famous, "the
comedians," says Lomenie, "wished to profit by the circum
stance. They solicited permission to play the Barbier de
SevUle." But the police, fearing to find in it satirical allusions to
the suit then in progress, caused a new censorship to be
appointed, before permission could be obtained. Their re
port was, "The play has been censored with the greatest
rigor but not a single word has been found which applies
to the present situation."
The representation was announced for Saturday, the
12th of February, 1774. Two days before this date, how
ever, came an order from the authorities which prohibited
the presentation. The noise had gone abroad that the piece
had been altered and that it was full of allusions to the suit.
Beaumarchais denied this rumor in a notice which termi
nates thus :
"I implore the court to be so good as to order that the
manuscript of my piece, as It was consigned to the police
a year ago, and as It was to be performed, be presented;
I submit myself to all the rigor of the ordinances If In the
context, or in the style of the work, anything be found
which has the faintest allusion to the unhappy suit which
M. Goezman has raised against roe and Avhich would be con-

First Presentation of Le Barbier 273
trary to the profound respect which I profess for the par
liament. "Caron de Beaumarchais"
The prohibition Avas not removed and the piece was not
presented until after the return of the author from Vienna
in December, 1774.
''He then obtained permission," says Loraenie, "to have
his Barbier played. Between the obtaining of the permis
sion and the presentation he put himself at his ease; his
comedy had been prohibited because of pretended allusions
Avhich did not exist; he compensated himself for this unjust
prohibition by inserting precisely all the allusions which
the authorities feared to find In It and which were not there.
He reinforced it with a great number of satirical generali
ties, with a host of more or less audacious puns. He added
a good many lengthy passages, increased it by an act and
overcharged it so completely that It fell flat the day of its
first appearance before the public."
The defeat was all the more striking because of the fame
of the author ; the public curiosity so long kept in abeyance
had brought such a crowd to the first presentation as had
never before been equalled in the annals of the theater.
"Never," says Grimm, "had a first presentation attracted
so many people." The surprise of himself and his friends
was extreme, for Beaumarchais instead of applause received
the hisses of the parterre. Anyone else might have been
discouraged, or at least disturbed by so unexpected a turn,
not so Beaumarchais.
In his oAvn account of the defeat, wittily told In the fa
mous preface to the Barbier, published three months later,
he says, "The god of Cabal is Irritated; I said to the
comedians with force, 'Children, a sacrifice here Is neces-

274 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
sary,' and so giving the devil his part, and tearing my manu
script, 'god of the hissers, spitters, coughers, disturbers,' I
cried, 'thou must have blood, drink my fourth act and may
thy fury be appeased.' In the instant you should have
heard that infernal noise which made the actors grow pale,
and falter, weaken In the distance and die away." But Beau
raarchais did raore than simply renounce an act, he set in
stantly to work to rearrange and purify the whole play.
"Surely it is no comraon thing," says Lomenie, "to see
an author pick up a piece justly fallen, and within twenty-
four hours . . . transform it so that It becomes a charm
ing production, full of life and movement. . . ,"
At Its second production, "everyone laughed, and ap
plauded from one end to the other of the piece; its cause
was completely gained." (Gudin)
What Beaumarchais did, was to restore the piece to about
the form which had been approved and signed by the cen
sors. Some of the best of the satirical portions which are to
be found in the printed play, nevertheless, were inserted be
fore the first presentation, these he dared to retain in the
final form.
In accounting for Its fall, Gudin says, "A superabund
ance of esprit produced satiety and fatigued the audience.
Beaumarchais then set about pruning his too luxuriantly
branching tree, pulled off the leaves which hid the flowers —
thus allowing one to taste all the charm of Its details."
As raight be expected, the success of the play after its
first presentation produced a storra of opposition ; critics
and journals vied with each other to prove to the public
that they had again been deceived. Gudin says, "His facil
ity ¦ to hazard everything and receive applause awakened
jealousy and unchained against him cabals of every kind."

Le Barbier de SSville 276
In the brilliant preface already alluded to, AvhIch Beau
marchais published with the play after its success was es
tablished, -he alloAved himself the pleasure of mocking, not
only at the journalists and critics, but at the public Itself.
"You should have seen," he wrote, "the feeble friends of
the Barbier, dispersing themselves, hiding their faces, or
disappearing; the women, always so brave Avhen they pro
tect, burying themselves In hoods, and lowering their con
fuses! eyes ; the men running to make honorable araends for
the good they had said of my piece and throwing the pleas
ure which they had taken in It upon my execrable manner
of reading things. Sorae gazing fixedly to the right when
they felt me pass to the left, feigned not to see me, others
more courageous, but looking about to assure theraselves
that no one saw them, drew me into a corner to ask, 'Eh?
how did you produce such an illusion? Because you must
admit ray friend that you have produced the greatest plati
tude in the world.' "
Beaumarchais could afford to indulge In such pleasantries,
for his piece was not only continuing to draw vast crowds,
but it had begun already a triumphant progress over
Europe. In St. Petersburg alone it went through fifty rep
resentations. But the revenge of Beaumarchais did not stop here ; most
of the cuttings which he had been forced to make In the
play, the witticisms, jests and tirades were far too good
to be lost. He saved them for future use and made the
public laugh over and applaud what it first hissed. When
Figaro made his second appearance, on the mad day of
his marriage, he used them nearly aU, Beauraarchais's re
venge then was complete. But whUe waiting for this, he
had the audacity to make the comedians themselves mock
at their OAvn playing, as we shaU see presently.

276 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
The story of the Barbier de SevUle is of the simplest:
"Never," says Lintilhac, "did any one make a better thing
out of nothing,"
A young nobleman, the count Almaviva, tired of the con
quests which Interest, convention, and vanity make so easy,
has left Madrid to follow to Seville a charming, sweet, and
fresh young girl Roslne, with whom he has never been able
to exchange a word owing to the constant oversight of her
guardian, the Doctor Bartholo, who Is on the point of mar
rying her and securing to hiraself her fortune. In the words
of Figaro, the doctor is a "beautiful, fat, short, young, old
man, slightly gray, cunning, sharp, cloyed, who watches,
ferrets, scolds and grumbles all at the same time and so
naturally inspires only aversion in the charming Rosine."
The count, on the contrary, Is a sympathetic figure, who,
although disguised as a student and only seen from afar,
has already won the heart of the young girl,
Figaro, the gay and resourceful barber to Bartholo has
long ago succeeded in making himself Indispensable to the
latter and to his whole household, while at the same time
taking advantage of the avarice and cunning of the doctor
and turning thera to his own account. It is he who recog
nizes the disguise of the student, his old master, the count
Almaviva, loitering under Rosine's windoAV, and offers
his services in outwitting the doctor whose arrangements
are made for the consummation of his marriage on that
self-same day.
It is no easy matter which he here undertakes, for Avith
all his resourcefulness, Figaro has to deal with a suspicious
old man, subtle and cunning, who is almost as resourceful
as himself.
The count obtains entrance to the house as a music
teacher sent by Rosine's usual instructor whonj the count

Le Barbier de Siville 277
announces as ill,
A most amusing scene ensues Avhen Basile, the true in
structor, appears, unconscious that he has a substitute and
where, by the quick wit of the others, even the old doctor
Is made to laugh him out of the house, before the situation
is spoiled. Basile goes, utterly mystified by the whole pro
ceeding, but carrying with him "one of the irresistible ar
guments Avith which the count's pockets are always filled."
The erabroglio thickens. Although Bartholo is con
stantly on his guard and suspicious of everyone, especially
of Figaro, the latter succeeds in getting the key to Rosine's
lattice frora the old man's possession, almost under his very
eyes, and then shows it to him, but at a moment when Bar
tholo is too much taken up with watching the new music
teacher to notice the key, or the gesture of Figaro,
In the end. It is by the very means which Bartholo has
taken to outwit the others, that the count succeeds in re
placing him by the side of Roslne, and leading her before
the notary, who arrives, after he has been sent for by Doc
tor Bartholo, The ceremony is concluded, as the doctor
arrives on the scene. The fury of the latter Is appeased,
however, when he learns that he raay keep the fortune of
Rosine, while the count leads her off triumphant, happy in
the "sweet consciousness of being loved for himself."
It is to be sure an old, old story, but raade into some
thing quite new by the genius of the author. The situation
of Basile in the third act, as already described, is abso
lutely without precedent, while numerous other scenes offer
a comique difficult to surpass,
"The style lends wings to the action," says Lintilhac,
"and Is so full and keen that the prose rings almost like
poetry while his phrases have become proverbs,"
Perhaps the most remarkable passage of the whole play

278 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
is that upon slander, which Beaumarchais puts into the
mouth of Basile,
"Slander, sir ! You scarcely know what you are disdain
ing, I have seen the best of men almost crushed under it.
Believe me, there is no stupid calumny, no horror, not an ab
surd story that one cannot fasten upon the Idle people of
a great city if one only begins properly, and we have such
clever folks !
"First comes a slight rumor, skimraing the ground like
a swallow before the storm, pianissimo. It murmurs and Is
gone, sowing behind its empoisoned traits,
"Some mouth takes It up, and piano, piano, It slips adroit
ly Into the ear. The evil Is done. It germinates. It grows. It
flourishes, it makes Its way, and rinforzando, from mouth
to mouth It speeds onward ; then suddenly, no one knows
how, you see slander, erecting Itself, hiss, swell, and grow
big as you gaze. It darts forward, whirls, envelops, tears up,
drags after It, thunders and becomes a general cry ; a pub
lic crescendo, a universal chorus of hatred and proscrip
tion," The Barbier de SevUle had gone through thirteen pre
sentations when the time arrived for the closing of the thea
ter for the three weeks before Easter, It was a time-hon
ored custom on this occasion for one of the actors to come
forward after the last performance was over, and deliver a
discourse which was called the compliment de cloture.
"Beaumarchais," says Lomenie, "lover of innovation in
everything, had the Idea of replacing this ordinarily ma
jestic discourse by a sort of proverb of one act, which should
be played In the costumes of the Barbier." In explaining
the composition of the proverb he says further, "It has not
been sufficient for Beaumarchais to restore to the Theatre
Franfais some of the vivid gaiety of the olden time, — he

Le Barbier de SevUle 279
wished for more, he desired not only that the people be
raade to laugh immoderately, but that one should sing in
the theater of Messieurs les comediens du roi." This was
an enormity and essentially contrary to the dignity of the
Comedie Frungaise. Nevertheless, as Beaumarchais had an
obstinate avIU, the comedians to please him undertook to sing
at the first representation the airs Introduced into the Bar
bier; but whether the actors acquitted themselves badly at
this unaccustomed task, or Avhether It was that the public
did not like the innovation, all the airs were hissed without
pity and it had been necessary to suppress them in the next
presentation. There was one air In particular to which
the author was strongly attached ; it was the air of spring
sung by Rosine in the third act, "Quand dans la plaine,"
etc. The amiable actress. Mademoiselle Dollgny, who had
created the role of Roslne, little used to singing in public,
and still less to being hissed, refused absolutely to recom
mence the experiment and Beaumarchais had been forced
to resign hiraself to the sacrifice of the air.
But as In everything he onlj' sacrificed himself provision-
ally. At the approach of the day of the cloture, he proposed
to the comedians to write for them the compHment which It
was the custom to give, but on condition that they sing his
famous air which he proposed to bring Into the compHraent,
that was to be played by all the actors of the Barbier.
As MaderaoiseUe DoHgny stiU refused to sing the bit in
question, Beaumarchais suppressed the rdle of Rosine, and
replaced it by the introduction of another actress raore
daring, who sang very agreeably, namely, Mademoiselle
Luzzi. This amusing proverb in the style of the Barbier had
a great success and the delicious Httle spring song as sung

280 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
by Mademoiselle Luzzi recelA'ed at last Its just applause.
In the scene in which it was produced the daring author
has dialogued thus :

Scene III
MUe. Luzzi — "Very well, gentlemen, isn't the compliment
given yet?"
Figaro — "It's worse than that, it isn't made."
MUe. Luzzi — "The compliment?"
Bartholo — "A raiserable author had promised me one, but
at the instant of pronouncing It, he sent us word to serve
ourselves elsewhere,"
MUe. Luzzi — "I am In the secret, he Is annoyed that you
suppressed in his piece his air of spring."
Bartholo — "What air of spring? What piece?"
MUe. Luzzi — "The little air of Rosine in the Barbier de
SevUle." Bartholo — "That was well done, the public does not want
any one to sing at the Comedie-Franfaise."
MUe. Luzzi — "Yes, Doctor, in tragedies ; but when did
it Avish that a gay subject should be deprived of what might
Increase its agreeableness? Believe me, gentlemen. Mon
sieur le Public likes anything which amuses him."
Bartholo — "More than that is It our fault if Rosine lost
courage?" Mile. Luzzi — "Is It pretty, the song?"
Le Comte— "WIU you try it?"
Figaro — "In a corner under your breath."
MUe. Luzzi — "But I am like Rosine, I shall tremble."
Le Comte — "We will judge if the air raight have given
pleasure." MUe. Luzzi sings.

Le Barbier de Seville 281
"Quand dans la plaine
L' amour ramene
Le printemps
Si cheri des amants,
Tout reprend I'etre
Son feu penetre
Dans les fieurs
Et dans les jeunes caurs.
On voit les troupeaux
Sortir des Jiameaux;
Dans tous les coteaux
Les cris des ague aux
Retentissent ;
lis bondissent;
Tout fermente.
Tout augment e;
Les brebis paissent
Les fieurs q%i naissent;
Les chiens fideles
VeUlent sur elles;
Mais Lindor enfiamme
Ne songe guere
Qu'au bonheur d'etre aime
De sa bergere."
Le Comte — "Very pretty, on my honor."
Figaro — "It is a charming song."
Beaumarchais was so far content. He had proved his
point and had triumphed over friends and eneraies alike.
A far more difficult matter remained, however, to be settled.
It was one that would have frightened a less intrepid char
acter than that of our author, but obstacles, as we have
seen In many previous instances, only served to strengthen

282 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
his determination to conquer, which in this instance, as in
most others, he did in the end.
When Beaumarchais demanded of the Thedtre-Franfais
a statement verified and signed as to his share of the profits
from the representation of the Barbier de SevUle, no one
knew better than he the magnitude of the innovation which
he was committing.
The alarmed comedians, who had never In their lives made
out an accurate account and who had not the remotest in
tention of yielding to the deraand, endeavored by every pos
sible raeans to put him off. The money that they sent and
the unsigned meraoranda which accompanied it, were all
promptly but politely returned with the reiterated state
ment, most obligingly and cleverly turned and always in some
new form, that it was not the money which was wanted, but
a verified and signed account which could serve as a model
for all future occasions, when It became a matter of busi
ness transaction between authors and comedians.
For fifteen years he pursued his object with unfaltering
perseverance. Unable to establish a new order of things
under the old regime, we shall find him In 1791 presenting
a petition in regard to the rights of authors to the Assemblee
Nationale. But to return to the Barbier de SeviUe, let us anticipate
a period of ten years and accompany Beaumarchais to a
representation of this faraous piece played upon another
stage than that of the Theatre Frangais, and by actors very
different from the comedians of the king.
It was in 1785. The aristocracy of France, all uncon
scious of what they were doing towards the undermining of
the colossal structure of which they formed the parts, were
bent upon one thing only and that was amusement.
From the Insupportable regime which etiquette enforced.

LE PETIT-TRL\N0N

Le Barbier de SevUle 283
Marie-Antoinette fled the vast palace of Versailles on every
possible occasion, seeking refuge in her charming and dearly
loved retreat, the Petit-Trianon.
In the semi-seclusion of her palace and its adjoining
pleasure grounds, her role of queen was forgotten. It was
there that she amused herself Avith her ladies of honor, in
playing at being shepherdess, or dairy maid. Whatever in
genuity could devise to heighten the iUusion, was there pro
duced. Innocent and harmless sports one might say, and
in Itself that was true, but for a Queen of France ! A queen
claiming still all the advantages of her rank, renouncing
only what was burdensome and dull! Innocent she was, of
all the crimes that calumnies imputed to her, and of what
crimes did they not try to make her appear guilty; but
innocent in the light of history she was not. More than
any other victim perhaps of the French Revolution, she
brought her doom upon herself. The sublimity, however,
with Avhich she expiated to the uttermost those thoughtless
follies of her youth, enables us to pardon her as woman,
though as queen, we must recognize that her fate was in
evitable. But in 1785, mirth and gaiety still reigned In the precinct
of the Petit-Trianon. In August of the year Tklarie-
Antoinette who had ahvays protected Beaumarchais, Avishing
to do him a signal honor had decided to produce upon the
Httle stage of her palace theater the Barbier de SeviUe.
In his Fin de I'ancien Regime, Imbert de Saint-Amand
gives the following narration of that strange Incident.
"Iraagine who was to take the part of Rosine, that pretty
little mignonne, sweet, tender, affable, fresh and tempting,
with furtive foot, artful figure, weU formed, plump arms, rosy
mouth, and hands! and cheeks! and teeth! and eyes! [Le
•Barbier de SeviUe, Act II, Scene 2). Yes, this part of

284 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Rosine, this charming child, thus described by Figaro, was
to be played by whom? By the raost imposing and majestic
of women, the queen of France and Navarre.
"The rehearsals began under the direction of one of the
best actors of the Comedie Frangaise, Dazincourt, who pre
viously had obtained a brilliant success in the Mariage de
Figaro. It was during the rehearsals that the first rumor
of the terrible affair of the diamond necklace reached the
Queen. Nevertheless she did not weaken. — Four days after
the arrest of the Cardinal de Rohan, grand-almoner of
France, Marie- Antoinette appeared In the role of Rosine.
"Beaumarchais Avas present. The role of Figaro was taken
by the Comte d'Artois. . . .
"A soiree, certainly the most singular. At the very hour
when so many catastrophes were preparing, was it not
curious to hear the brother of Louis XVI, the Comte d'Ar
tois, cry out in the language of the Andalusian barber,
'Faith, Monsieur, who knows whether the world will last
three weeks longer?' (Act III, Scene 5). He the zealous
partisan of the old regime, he the future emigre, he the
prince who would one day bear the title of Charles X, It
was he who uttered such democratic phrases as these: 'I
believe myself only too happy to be forgotten, persuaded
that a great lord has done us enough good, when he has
done us no harm.' (Act I, Scene 2)
" 'From the virtues required in a domestic, does your Ex
cellency know many masters who are worthy of being
valets?' (Act I, Scene 2)
"Was there not something like a prediction in these words
of Figaro In the mouth of the brother of Louis XVI, 'I
hasten to laugh at everything for fear of being obliged to
weep'? (Act I, Scene 2)
"Ah, let Marie-Antoinette pay attention and listen! At

Le Barbier de Seville 285
this moment when the aft'air of the necklace begins, would
not one say that all the maneuvers of her calumniators were
announced to her' by Basile: 'Calumny, Sir . . .' Beau
tiful and unfortunate Queen, on hearing that definition of the
crescendo of calumny would she not tum pale?
"With this representation of the Barbier de SevUle, ended
the private theatricals of the Petit-Trianon. What was
preparing was the draraa, not the fictitious drama, but the
drama real, the drama terrible, the drama where Providence
reserved to the unhappy queen the most tragic, the raost
touching of aU the roles . . ," (For the full details of this
fatal affair of the diamond necklace, see L'ancien Regime,
by Imbert de Saint-Amand.)
Little did Beaumarchais realize the part he Avas play
ing in the preparation for that great drama. The gay ut
terances of his Figaro were the utterances of the mass of
the people of France. Through Beaumarchais, the Tiers-
Etat was at last finding a voice and rising to self-conscious
ness ; it was rising also to a consciousness of the effete con
dition of aU the upper strata of society. Hence the wild
enthusiasm with which these productions were greeted, an
enthusiasm in which the aristocracy themselves joined, eager
as the populace to laugh, for exactly the same reason as
Figaro, so that they might not be obliged to weep.

CHAPTER XIV
"On dit qu'U n'est pas noble aux auteurs de plaider pour
le vii interet, eux qui se piquent de pretendre a la gloire. On
a raison; la gloire est attrayante; mais on oublie que, pour
en jouir seulement une annee, la nature nous condamne a
diner trois-cents-soixante-cinq fois; . . . Pourqux)i, le fils
d'ApoUon, I'amant des Muses, imcessammant force de comp
ter avec son boulanger, negligerait-U de compter avec les
comediens?" Compte Rendu, par Beaumarchais
Beaumarchais Undertakes to Protect the Rights of Dra
matic Authors — Lawsuit with the Comedie Fran9aise —
Founder of the First Society of Dramatic Authors — Jeal
ousies Among Themselves Retard Success — National
Asserably Grants Decree 1791 — Final Form Given by
Napoleon.
WHILE Beaumarchais was enjoying the triumph of his
Barbier de SevUle, his other affairs were by no means
neglected. Very soon we shall have occasion to accompany him to
London on one of the most singular missions of which It
is possible to conceive. But before entering into a history
of the political and financial operations Into which Beau
raarchais plunged after his return frora Vienna, it is neces
sary to speak of the very Iraportant matter which the suc
cess of the Barbier emboldened its author to undertake.
286

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 287
As Beaumarchais possessed to such an extraordinary de
gree the power, as he himself has expressed it, "de fermer le
tiroir d'une affaire," and instantly to turn the whole force
of his mind into a totaUy different channel, we shall not
be surprised to find him at one and the same time under
taking to protect the rights of dramatic authors against
the comedians of the king; settHng for Louis XVI a raat
ter of occult diplomacy of the old king, Louis XV, which
had dragged on for years, and which no one else had been
able to adjust; Avorking with unremitting zeal for his own
rehabilitation as citizen; pursuing the interests of his suit
with the Comte de la Blache, AA'hich was still in progress ;
leading a life In London and Paris which from the point of
view of pleasure left little to be desired; and all the while
engaged in constant and almost superhuman exertions to
stir the French government out of its lethargy in regard
to the Insurgent American colonies, and later in sending the
latter aid, under the very eyes of the English, exposed to
constant danger of bankruptcy and ruin.
Unlike Beaumarchais, we are unable to give our attention
to so many things at the same time, and we are therefore
forced to treat each action separately.
Beginning then with his action against the comedians,
it Is necessary to state that the custora by which that an
cient and highly honored institution the Thedtre-Frangais
regulated its accounts with the author whose plays were
there produced, permitted of so much obscurity that no at
tempt was ever made to verify those accounts, so that all
the authors practically were obliged to content themselves
with whatever the comedians chose to give them.
This condition of affairs had arisen in the following man
ner. The earliest theatrical representations, since those
given in Greece and Rome, were the Mysteries, or Miracle

288 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Plays, which were written by the monks, who went about
presenting them and who, of course, worked gratuitously.
Later, sraall suras were offered for plays, but it was not until
the time of Louis XIV that an author received any consider
able sum for a literary production. Even during the reign
of this liberal monarch it was the personal munificence of
the king that extended itself to the author, rather than any
rights which he possessed. That this munificence was
quite Inadequate is proved by the fact that the "grand Cor-
nelUe," whose subHme genius Hfted at one stroke, the litera
ture of France to a height which few nations have surpassed,
was allowed to die in poverty and distress.
Finally in 1697, a royal decree had been issued, which
gave to the authors of the Theatre Frangais the right to,
a ninth part of the receipts of each representation, after
the deduction of the costs of the performance and certain
rights, the limits of which were not clearly defined. It was
stipulated also that if for twice in succession the receipts
fell below the cost of performance, from which presentation
the author of course received no returns, the piece, which
was then termed, tombee dans les regies, became the prop
erty of the comedians. There was nothing said about any
future performance of the piece. The comedians thus had
It In their power to take it up anew, retaining for them
selves the entire proceeds of the performances.
Innumerable abuses had crept in, so that Instead of a
ninth, it was well proved that often the author received less
than a twentieth part of the returns of the play. The po
sition of the comedians was strengthened by the current
opinion that it was degrading to the high art of literature
to bring it down to a financial basis. Profiting by this and
abusing their privileges, the Comedie-Frangaise had gone on
confiscating the productions df authors without serious op-

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 289
position, although their actions had given rise in more than
one instance to very serious trouble. Such was the condi
tion of affairs in 1775,
"The richest of the dramatic authors," says Loraenie,
"Beaumarchais, for whom the theater had never been any
thing but a form of recreation, and who had made a present
of his first two plays to the comedians, could not be taxed
with cupidity in taking In hand the cause of his brothers
of the pen. This Is what deterrained him. We soon shaU
see him defending, for the first time, the rights of others
more than his own, and hazarding himself in a new combat
against adversaries more difficult to conquer than those
against whom he had fought already; he will conquer nev
ertheless, but not for many years, and only with the aid
of the Revolution avIU he succeed in getting the better of
the kings and queens of the theater, in restraining the cu
pidity of the directors, and In estabUshing the rights of
authors, until this tirae so unjustly despoiled.
"To the end of his life he did not cease to demand that
the law surround with its protection a kind of property,
no less inviolable than other forms, but before his fervid
pleadings, completely sacrificed.
"The society of dramatic authors to-day so powerful, so
strongly organized, which rightly, or wrongly is sometimes
accused of having replaced the tyranny of the actors and
directors of the theatre by a tyranny exactly the reverse,
do not know perhaps all they owe to the man who was the
first to unite into a solid body the writers who up to that
time had lived entirely Isolated."
Beaumarchais had long lived on terms of intimacy with
the comedians of the Thedtre-Frangais ; that he continued
to do so during the years when his suit against them was
in progress, Is proved by the following letter from MUe.

290 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
Dollgny, written in 1779.
The letter to which she alludes was In relation to his
drama, Les Deux Amis, which he very much desired to have
brought a second time before the public. The piece, it will
be remembered, had never succeeded in Paris. Beaumarchais
professed a special fondness for it, however, and desired now
to have it revived. The letter of MUe. Dollgny is as fol
lows: "Monsieur: I do not know how to thank you enough for
all that you said of rae in the letter which you wrote to the
Comedie on the subject of Les Deux Amis. All ray comrades
were enchanted with the gaiety and esprit which shone in
your letter. I was more enchanted than anyone, because
of your friendship and goodness to me." Then follows a
special request In regard to two friends, after which she
terminates thus :
"It Is your Eugenie, your Pauline, your Rosine, who so
licits this; I dare hope that you will pay some attention to
their recommendations. Receive the testimony of esteera,
of attachment and of gratitude Avith which I am for life.
Monsieur, your, etc. DoHgny."
In 1775, Beauraarchais and the comedians were living on
the best of terms as well may be supposed. Never had the
Comedie received such fabulous returns from any play here
tofore produced. Never had actors entered with more spirit
into the views of their author,
"As raany times as you please. Messieurs, to give the
Barbier de Seville, I will endure It with resignation. And
may you burst with people for I am the friend of your suc
cesses and the lover of ray own ! — If the public is contented
and if you are, I shaU be also, I should like to be able to

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 291
say as much for the critics; but though you have done aU
that IS possible to give the piece to the best advantage and
played Hke angels, you will have to renounce their support;
one cannot please evervbody."
During the summer the matter of the Barbier de SevUle
seems to have dropped, owing no doubt to the fact that
Beaumarchais was occupied completely with his secret mis
sion and with his ardent addresses to the king in relation
to the insurgent colonies. It (vUl be reraerabered also that
It Avas in August of this same year that the elder Caron
breathed his last. We have given already the letter written
on his death-bed where the venerable old watchraaker with
expiring breath blessed his son who always had been his
pride and honor, as weU as his devoted friend.
And so to return to the ca.se of the Comedie Frangaise. In
December, 1775, being for a short time in Paris, Beaumar
chais addressed himself to the comedians. In a letter the
tone and matter of which show that his solicitude as an
author had been aroused by a suspicion that they were
trying to make his piece iombcr dans les regies, and so con
fiscate it, by giving It on a day when sorae special per
formance at A^ersallles was liable to attract thither a large
portion of the theater-going public. He wrote in a spirited
way demanding that something be substituted for the Bar
bier on that night. The letter terminates thus, "AU the
good days except Saturday, the 23rd of December, 1775,
you will give me the greatest pleasure to satisfy with the
Barbier, the small number of its admirers. For that day
only, it Avill be easy to admit the validity of my excuses,
recognized by the Comedie itself. I have the honor to be,
etc, "Caron de Beaumarchais,"
"In rereading my letter I reflect that the Comedie may
be embarrassed for Satui-day because all the great trage-

292 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
dians are at VersaiUes, If that is the reason — Why did
you not tell me simply how the matter stood? He who
seems strict and rigorous in discussing his affairs Is often
the man who is the easiest in obliging his friends, — I should
be distressed if the Comedie had the smallest occasion to
complain of me, as I hope always to have nothing but praise
for it,
"Reply if you please, Paris, December 20th 1775,"
Time passed on. As Beaumarchais had given to the corae-
dlans his first two dramas, hope was entertained that he
would demand no return for his Barbier. Early in May,
1776, to their surprise and dismay, came a polite request
that an exact account of the part due him as the author
be made out and given to hira. The play then had been
given thirty-two times.
Not wishing to stir up trouble between themselves and
their excellent friend, while at the same tirae unable and
unwilling to grant the request, the comedians met the dif
ficulty by a profound silence, "At last," says Beaumar
chais in his Compte rendu, written several years later, "one
of thera asked rae if it was my intention to give the piece to
the Comedie or to require the right of authorship? I re
plied laughing like Sagnarelle : 'I will give it, if I wish to
give It, and I will not give It, If I do not wish to give It;
which does not in the least interfere with my receiving the
account; a present has no merit, excepting as he who gives
knows its value,'
"One of the actors Insisted and said, 'If you avIU not give
it. Monsieur, tell us at least how many times you desire
that we play it for your profit, after that it will belong
to us,'

CHARLES PHILIPPE  COMTE D ARTOIS

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 293
'»Vhat necessity, messieurs, that it should belong to you?'
A great many authors make similar arrangements with
us.' " 'Those authors are not to be imitated.'
riiey arc very well satisfied, monsieur, because if they
do not enjoy the profits of their piece, at least they have
the adA'antage of seeing it played raore often. Do you
Avish that we play it for your profit six, eight, or even ten
times? Speak.'
"The proposition seemed to me so amusing that I repHed
in the sarae gay tone, 'Since you permit rae, I ask you to
play it a thousand and one tiraes.'
" 'Monsieur, you are very modest.'
"'Modest, Messieurs, as you are just. What mania is
it that you have, to wish to Inherit from people who are
not dead? My piece not belonging to you until it falls to
a very low receipt, you ought to desire that It never belong
to you. Are not eight-ninths of a hundred louis, more than
nine-ninths of fifty? I see. Messieurs, that you love your
interests better than you understand them.'
"I laughingly saluted the assembly, Avho smiled a little on
their side because their orator was slightly flushed with ar
gument. "At last, on January 3rd, 1777, M. Desessarts, one of the
comedians, came to my house . . . bringing rae four thou
sand, five-hundred, and six livres as belonging to me from
my droits d'aaitewr for the thirty-two performances of
the Barbier. No account being joined, I did not accept
the money, although JM. Descssarts pressed me to do so in
the most polite way in the world.
" 'There arc a great many points upon which it is im
possible for the Comedie to give MM. the authors any
thing but une cote mal taiUee (in lump, without detaU)'.

294 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
" 'What I require very much more than money,' I replied,
'is une cdte bien taillee, an exact account, AvhIch may serve as
a type or model for all future accounts and may bring at last
peace between the actors and the authors.'
" 'I see,' he said, 'that you wish to open a quarrel with the
Comedie.' " 'On the contrary, Monsieur, nothing would please me so
much as to be able to terminate everything to the equal ad
vantage of both parties.' And he took back the money."
Three days later Beaumarchais sent a polite note explain
ing why he returned the money, and clearly stating the na
ture of the account which he demanded. Receiving no re
ply, he Avrote again. In the most courteous wa}', reminding
them of their negligence.
The Comedie then sent a simple memorandum, "following
the usages observed by us with JMessieurs, les auteurs,"
which Avas without signature.
Beaumarchais at once returned the memorandum, thanking
the comedians for their pains, but begging that the memoran
dum be verified and signed.
Receiving no reply, three days later he sent a second mis
sive, in which he assumed that his first letter had gone astray.
"I beg you," he added, "to enlighten rae as to this raatter
and send me your account certified. The raessenger has or
ders to wait." And he ends thus, "I am ill, I have been for
bidden all serious affairs for several days ; I profit by this*
forced leisure to occupy myself with this which Is not serious
at aU."
For the Comedie, however, it was, to say the least, a seri
ous embarrassment. They repHed that it was impossible
to verify the account except for the receipt taken at the
door, "the other elements can only be guessed at,"
"The letter," says Beaumarchais, "was garlanded with as

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 295
many signatures as the memorandum had not,"
Assuming that it was their ignorance of affairs that caused
the disorder, he undertook to give, in his own inimitable Avay,
a lesson in bookkeeping. The letter begins as follows :
"In reading. Messieurs, the obliging letter with which you
have just honored me, signed by a number among you, I am
confirmed In the idea that you are very honest people, and
very much disposed to do justice to authors; but that it
is with you, as with all men who are more versed in the
agreeable arts than in the exact sciences, and who make
phantoms of the embarrassing methods of calculation,
which the simplest arithmetician Avould solve without diffi
culty." Then follows the lesson. The letter ends with, "Eh, be
lieve ine. Messieurs, give no more cotes mal taiUees to men of
letters ; too proud to receive favors, they are often too rauch
in distress to endure losses,
"So long as you do not adopt the method of an exact
account unknown only to yourselves, you will have the an
noyance of being reproached with a pretended system of
usurpation over men of letters which is surely not In the mind
of any one of you,
"Pardon that I take the Hberty of rectifying your ideas,
but it is necessary to come to an understanding; and as
you seemed to me In your letter embarrassed to give an exact
form to a simple account, I have permitted myself to pro
pose to you an easy method, capable of being understood by
the simplest accountant,
"Two words. Messieurs, enclose the whole of the present
question ; if the account which I returned is not just, rectify
It. If you believe It to be exact, certify it; this is the way
we must proceed in all raatters of business."
"The actors," says Lomenie, "did not relish this lesson in

296 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
accounts given with so much complaisance and politeness.
They replied that they would assemble the lawyers forming
the council of the Comedie and name four commissioners from
their body to examine the case."
"To assemble all the council of lawyers," says Beaumar
chais, "and name commissioners to consult as to whether an
exact account should be sent me, duly signed, seeraed to rae
a very strange proceeding."
The coraedlans were, however, in no hurry to act. The
14th of February, 1777, they wrote to their troublesorae
friend. "It is still a question of assembling the council. The cir
cumstance of the carnival joined to the services which we are
obliged to perform at court and in the city have prevented
the frequent reunion of different persons who should occupy
themselves in this affair. . . ."
"I concluded from this letter," says Beaumarchais, "that
the Comedie was contented with me, but that the carnival
seemed a bad time to occupy themselves with business. Let
ting the comedians, the lawyers, and their council dance in
peace, I waited patiently until the end of Lent, but either
they were still dancing, or doing penance for having danced,
because I heard nothing from them.
"Four raonths rolled by in a profound sleep from which
I was awakened June 1st, 1777." The cause of Beau
marchais's awakening was the sudden discovery that urgent
requests from time to time to the comedians to play the
Barbier raet with constant refusal.
The 2nd of June he wrote a letter from which we extract
the following, "If patience is a virtue, you have the right,
Messieurs, to think me the most virtuous of men, but If you
take the right to forget that you owe me for two or three
years a verified account . . . it is I who have the right

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 297
to be offended, because there are limits to the patience of
even the most absurd. . . ,"
After a spirited recapitulation of his wrongs he continues,
"In a word. Messieurs, you wIU give the piece, or you will not
give it, it is not that which Is important to-day. What Is
important is to put an end to so rauch indecision. Let us
agree that If you accept I shall within eight days receive
from you a certified account , , , and when that term
has expired, I may regard a silence on your part as an
obstinate refusal to do rae justice. You wiU not then ob
ject if, making a pious use of my rights as author, I confide
the interests of the poor to those persons whose zeal and
interests oblige them to discuss these Interests more method
ically than I, who profess to be always, with the greatest love
of peace, . , , Yours, etc., "Beaumarchais."
The comedians in their turn awakened by the letter just
quoted replied before the expiration of the eight days, prom
ising the much desired meeting. Beaumarchais accepted their
proposal with his usual grace and himself fixed the day for
the assembly. Fresh difficulties arose. The comedians wrote
an apologetic letter asking for a further delay of a few
days. "I thought the comedians very good," wrote Beaumar
chais, "to fear that after waiting more than a year for their
convenience, I should be offended by a new delay of a few
days ; I was too used to their manner of proceeding to lose
patience at so small a cost. I resolved, therefore, to await
the moment when it should please the fugitive assembly to
meet. I waited until the 15th of June, when I received a
letter from M. le Marechal de Duras. . . ."
"The comedians," says Lomenie "brought to the wall had

298 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
solicited the support of the duke, who Intervened and begged
the claimant to discuss the raatter with him. As Beaumar
chais demanded nothing better, he hastened to offer to the
Duke of Duras the same lesson in bookkeeping Avhich ho had
vainly offered to the comedians. . . . Beaumarchais wrote
to him:
" 'You are too much interested, M. le Marechal, in the
progress of the raost beautiful of the arts, not to admit that
If those who play the pieces gain an income of twenty-thou
sand livres, those who thus make the fortune of the come
dians should be able to draw frora It that which Is absolutely
necessary. There Is no personal Interest, M. le Marechal, in
ray deraand; the love of justice and of letters alone deter-
raines me. The man whom the impulsion of a great genius
might have carried to a renewal of the beautiful chefs-
d'oeuvre of our masters, certain that he cannot live three
months from the fruits of the vigils of three years, after hav
ing lost five in waiting, becomes a journalist, a libelllst or
debases himself In some other trade as lucrative as degrad-
ing.'" M. de Lomenie continues, "After a conversation with Beau
marchais, M. de Duras seemed to enflame himself with ardor
for the cause of justice. He declared that It was time to fin
ish with the debates where authors are at the discretion of
the comedians. He proposed to substitute for the arbitrary
accounts a new regulation where the rights of the two parties
shall be stipulated in the clearest, the raost equitable manner.
He Invited Beaumarchais to consult with several dramatic
authors, and to submit to him a plan. To this Beaumar
chais replied that In a question which Interested all equally,
everyone who had written for the The,atre-Fran9als had a
right to be heard and that all must be assembled."
The duke consented and the first society of dramatic au-

Defends Rights of Lframatic Authors 299
thors was founded by a circular, dated June 27th, 1777,
in which Beaumarchais invited aU to a dinner.
"To unite men," says Lomenie, "who up to that time had
been in the habit of Hving isolated and jealous lives, was
soraething far frora easy, even when invoking them to a
common interest."
In order that the reader raay judge of the obstacles which
this new phase of his enterprise presented, we subjoin two
letters of La Harpe, pubHshed by M. de Loraenie, in reply
to the Invitation of Beaumarchais.
"If the end," says Lomenie, in speaking of the first of these
letters, "announced a man unwilling enough to treat with his
fellows, the beginning seemed equally to indicate a Httle an
noyance that another than hiraself should have been given
the lead with the consent of M. de Duras."
"M. le Marechal de Duras," wrote La Harpe, "has already
done me the honor. Monsieur, of communicating to me, and
even in great detail, the new arrangements which he projects,
and which tend, all of them toward the perfection of the
theater, and the satisfaction of authors. I am none the less
disposed to confer with you and with those who like you,
Monsieur, have contributed to enrich the theater, upon our
common Interests and on the raeans of ameliorating and as
suring the fate of dramatic authors. It enters into my plan
of life necessitated by pressing occupations never to dine
away from home but I shall have the honor of coining to
you after dinner. I raust warn you, however, that If by
chance, M. Sauvigny or M. Dorat are to be present, I
will not come. You know the world too well to bring me face
to face with my declared enemies. I have the honor to be
with the most distinguished consideration. Monsieur, etc.
"De la Harpe."
Beaumarchais, a little embarrassed because he had also In-

300 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
vited Sauvigny and Dorat, replied to La Harpe by the fol
lowing letter : "You have imposed upon rae. Monsieur, the
unpleasant task of Inforraing you that MM. Sauvigny and
Dorat do rae the honor of dining with rae to-day. But In a
comraon cause, permit me to observe to you that in all coun
tries it Is the custom to set aside private quarrels.
"I shall be only too happy, if seconding my pacific views,
you do me the honor to come and forget In the pleasure of an
assembly of men of letters all of whom honor you, small re
sentments which exist perhaps only through misunder
standing. "Do not divide us. Monsieur. We are none too strong
with all our forces united against the great machine of the
Comedie. We dine at three, and I shall fiatter myself that
you are coming even until three-fifteen — so anxious am I to
have you with us.
"I have the honor to be, etc. "Beauraarchais."
To which La Harpe replied:
"It Is absolutely impossible, Monsieur, ever to find myself
with two men whose works and whose persons I equally de
spise; one of them, Dorat, insulted me personally
and the other is an unsociable and ferocious madman whom
no one sees, and who is always ready to fight for his verses.
You feel. Monsieur, that this means to fight for nothing. I
cannot conceive how you can class these among les plus
honnetes gens de la litterature.
"I beg you to accept my excuses, and my sincere regrets.
I take very little account of quarrels where amour-propre
alone Is concerned, but I never forget real offenses.
"I have the honor to be . . . etc. "La Harpe."

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 301
"It Avas necessary to get on Avithout La Harpe," says
Lomenie, "at least for this first meeting, because I see by
another note of his that at the next meeting, Avhere Beau
marchais no doubt sacrificed to the irascible academician on
that day Dorat and Sauvigny, for he accepted the invitation
for dinner and wrote in a raore joyful tone.
" 'Your invitation leading me to suppose that the ob
stacles Avhich kept me aAvay no longer exist, I Avillinglv con
sent to join you towards five o'clock. It is not that I re
nounce the pleasure of finding rayself, glass in hand, Avith a
man as araiable as you. Monsieur, but you are of too good
company not to have supper and I admit that it is my favor
ite repast; thus I say with Horace, "Arcesse vel imperium
fer." " 'I have the honor to be — etc. " 'La Harpe.' "
On the third of July, 1777, twenty-three dramatic authors
found theraselves gathered together around the table of Beau
marchais. If several had absented themselves from personal
jealousies, others had stayed away through indifference.
CoUe, homme spirituel and author famous in his time, re
plied In a letter flattering to Beaumarchais but refusing all
participation in the work of the society. Absent at that
time from Paris, he wrote, "I avow, Monsieur, with ray ordi
nary frankness that even had I been In Paris I should not
have had the honor of finding rayself at your assembly of
MM. the dramatic authors. I am old and disgusted to the
point of nausea with that troupe royale. For three years
I have seen neither comediens nor comediennes.
De tous ces gens-la
J'en ai jusque-la.

302 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
I do not any the less. Monsieur, desire the accompHshment of
.your project, but perrait me to limit myself to AvIshing you
success, of which I would very much doubt if you were not
at the head of the enterprise, which has all the difficulties
which you can desire because you have proved to the public,
Monsieur, that nothing Is impossible to you. I have always
thought that you disliked that which was easy.
"I have the honor to be, etc. "CoUe."
A second invitation had no better success. The old poet
answers In the sarae vein, "M. CoUe thanks M. de Beaumar
chais for his reraerabrance. He begs him anew to be so good
as to receive his excuses for the affair of the comedians. He
is too old to bother himself with It. Like the rat In the
fable, he has retired Into his Holland cheese and it is not
likely that he will come out to make the world go otherwise
than she is going. For fifteen years he has been saying of
the impolite and disobliging proceedings of the coraedlans,
that verse of PIron In Callisthene, 'From excess of contempt
I have become peaceable. A force de mepris je me trouve
paisible.' "M. CoUe compliments M. de Beaumarchais a thousand
and a thousand tiraes."
Diderot, the founder of the new school of literature, also
refused his concurrence.
"Vous voila. Monsieur," he wrote, "at the head of an in-
surgence of draraatic poets against the comedians . . .
I have participated In none of these things and it will be
possible to participate in none that are to foUow, I pass my
Hfe In the country, almost as much a stranger to the affairs
of the city as forgotten of Its inhabitants. Permit me to limit

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 303
myself to desires for your success. While you are fighting,
I will hold my arms elevated to heaven, upon the mountains of
Meudon. May those who devote themselves to the theater
oAve to you their independence, but to speak truly I fear that
it Avill be more difficult to conquer a troup of comedians than
a parliament. Ridicule does not have here the same force.
No matter, your attempt will be none the less just and none
the less honest. I salute and I embrace you. You know
the sentiments of esteem Avith Aviiich 1 have been for a long
time. Monsieur, yours, etc. "Diderot."
Most of the authors had responded with enthusiasm to the
appeal of Beaumarchais. A fcAV lines from a letter of Cham-
fort will serve to show the spirit which animated raany of
them. He says, "One can flatter one's self that your esprit, your
activity and intelligence will find a way to remedy the prin
cipal abuses AvhIch must necessarily ruin draraatic litera
ture In France. It will be rendering a veritable service to
the nation and join once more your name to a remarkable
epoch. ... I hope. Monsieur, that the etats-gcncraux
de I'art dramatique, which to-morrow Is to come together at
your house, will not meet with the same destiny as other
states-general, that of seeing all our miseries without being
able to remedy any. However it be, I firmly believe that if
you do not succeed, we must renounce all hope of reform.
For myself, I shall have at least gained the advantage of
fo lining a closer bond with a man of so much merit, Avhom
the hazards of society have not permitted rae to meet as
often as I should have desired.
"I have the honor to be, etc. "Chamfort."

304 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
"After the dinner," says Lomenie, "they proceeded to the
election of four comraissioners charged to defend the inter
ests of the society, and to work in its name at the new regula
tions demanded by the duke of Duras. Beaumarchais, origi
nator of the enterprise, naturally was chosen first. Two
Academedians, Saurin and Marmontel, were joined to him,
and besides them Sedaine, who, without being yet a member
of the Academy, enjoyed a very justly acquired reputation.
"This assembly of insurgents, to use the term of Diderot,
recalled in a way the group of colonies who just one year
before at the same time of the year, had declared their Inde
pendence, but it Avas easier to conquer the English than the
comedians. "These latter, learning of the action of the authors, as
sembled on their side, called to their aid four or five lawyers,
and prepared to raake a vigorous resistance."
In very truth the troubles of Beaumarchais were only be
ginning, nor did these troubles come from the coraedlans
alone ; after the first few raeetings complete discord reigned
among the authors themselves, so much so that anyone but
Beaumarchais would have given up in despair. The details
of this disheartening undertaking have been given fully in
the Compte rendu, published with the Avorks of Beaumar
chais. They have interest for us only so far as they reveal
the character of this many-sided man.
Overwhelmed with enterprises of every sort, with losses and
disasters that from time to tirae brought him to the verge of
ruin, he still maintained the cause of men of letters with un
faltering perseverance, and this notwithstanding the bicker
ings, the petty jealousies, the ingratitude of the most inter
ested in the result of the undertaking. Those appointed
joint-comraissioners with him left to him all the work. When
anything went wrong all the blame fell back on his shoulders ;

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 305
nevertheless, AvIth his usual philosophy he forgave and forgot
everything but the end which he kept constantly in view.
At last, in the spring of 1780, a sort of arrangement was
reached which was indeed an improvement on the regulations
of the past, though still far from satisfactory.
In honor of the reconciliation, authors and comedians were
invited to dine together at the house of the man who for so
long had been trying to bring peace between them. It was
not long before a rumor Avas afloat that Beaumarchais had
gone over to the side of the comedians. His colleague, Se
daine, hastened to inform him in a thoughtless fashion of
the reproaches which were being made by sorae of those for
whom he had sacrificed so much of his repose. The tone
of the letter of Sedaine was light and flippant. Beaumar
chais, hurt to the quick, replied in the following words:
"Paris, this 3rd of May, 1780.
"I have not at once replied, my dear colleague, to your let
ter because the heat which raounted to my head would not
have permitted me to do so with proper moderation. I have
passed my entire life In doing ray best, to the sweet murmur
of reproaches and outrages from those whom I have served ;
but perhaps nothing ever has hurt me so much as this.
Let others do better, I avIU congratulate them. . . . No
human consideration can retain me any longer in the follow
ing of this very ungrateful, dramatic literary association. I
salute, honor and love you.
"I realize In re-reading my scribbling that my head is
still hot, but I recommence in vain. I find myself less mas
ter of myself than I could wish."
"Sedaine," says Lomenie, "recognizing that he had been In
the wrong, replied by an affectionate letter which proved that

306 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence
if the author of Le Philosophe sans le Savoir loved gossip,
he was at heart an excellent man."
"Yes, my dear colleague," he Avrote, "your head was still
hot when you replied. Perhaps something In my letter hurt
you, because the reproaches which I had heard uttered had
angered rae. I cannot, however, believe that you have taken
for ray sentiments that which I reported of your ungrateful
and unreasonable confreres. Nevertheless, excepting three
or four, the rest do us justice, and it is to you that we pass
it on. If I said anything which pained you, I very sincerely
beg your pardon. It is for you to be moderate, it does
you more honor than me, who am older than you. Continue
your beautiful and excellent services ; finish your work, and
do them good In spite of their ingratitude. This affair
terminated to our honor by you, I Arill beg them to assemble
at my house and they will order me to join myself to a
deputation to go to thank you for all your pains. This is
all we can offer you now. They will do it, or I shall separate
myself from them for the rest of my life, who have only need
of repose and your friendship.
"I embrace you with all my heart, and let us leave the
evilly disposed for what they are."
The debates, however, Avere not over, for the next ten years
the struggle continAied with Beauraarchais always in the
lead. "At last," says Lomenie, "the Revolution came to put an
end to the old abusive privileges of the Theatre-Fran9ais, and
the usurpation of the directors of the theaters of the prov
inces. FoUoAving a petition drawn up by La Harpe, Beau
marchais and Sedaine, representing the society of dramatic
authors and under the influence of numerous memoirs pubr-

Defends Rights of Dramatic Authors 307
lished by Beaumarchais, the National assembly recognised
the right of property of authors, suppressed aU the privi
leges of the Comedie Fran9alse, and decreed, on the 13th of
January, 1791, that the works of living authors could not be
produced anywhere in France without the consent of the au
thors, . . , To protect these interests was one of the
chief occupations of the old age of Beaumarchais,
To the very end he continued to be the patron of men of
letters ; one of his last letters was addressed to the Minister
of the Interior under the Directory, supporting a petition
of the society,"
It was Napoleon who gave the final form to the regula
tions existing between dramatic authors and the Theatre-
rran9ais. The honor, nevertheless, belonged to- Beaumar
chais, for It was he who conceived and carried on for so many
years one of the most difficult enterprises ever undertaken by
a private indiAddual,
Essentially modern In all his views, his was the role of pre
paring the way for many of the things that the nineteenth
century was to produce. Himself no revolutionist, at least
not in theory. It was yet he who played so important a part in
sustaining on one hand and preparing on the other the two
greatest political and social revolutions which the world has
ever seen.
The estabUshment of the reign of justice, liberty, and In
dividual rights was the goal ever before him,
"Qu' etais-je done," he writes near the close of his life,
"What have I been after all? I have been nothing by my
self and myself as I have remained, free In the midst of fet
ters, serene in the greatest dangers, braving aU the storms,
sustaining commerce with one hand and war with the other,
indolent as a mule, but always working, the butt of a thou
sand calumnies, but happy In my family, never having been of

308 Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence

any coterie, neither Hterary, nor poHtlcal, nor mystic, never
having paid court to anyone, and ever repeUed by all,"
Somewhere else he adds, "It is the mystery of my Hfe, in vain
I try to comprehend it,"

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