salon. I was very soon certain that he was a good son, good brother, good
master, and good father because 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 how much more
powerful were 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
varied with 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 he heard depreciated, and never
listened 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 details 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 from 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 useful; 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 many people
who have nothing to say unless they talk scandal.
“Beaumarchais 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 believed 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 himself according to his own will, or
to live as his taste dictated.
“It precipitated him into a succession of events which never permitted him
for a moment to enter into the 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 circumstances required,
Beaumarchais composed a comic 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_,
who were in possession of the right to play this kind of production. That
evening, supping with Mademoiselle M----, _femme d’esprit_, whom we shall
see later, in an assembly of several men of rank, Beaumarchais 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 Théâtre-Français would be more sensible, that he would only lose the
couplets, and that the _Barbier de Séville_ would have more success at the
theater of Molière than at the Harlequin.
“Marmontel and Sedaine, who were of the company, knowing very well all of
the _Comédiens des Italiens_, revealed 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 would recall
his origin. We laughed, we moralized and it was decided that Beaumarchais
should carry his work to the Théâtre-Français.”
It is this many-sided, this complex character of Beaumarchais which makes
him so difficult to understand. Immersed in financial difficulties which
would have overwhelmed an ordinary man, we find him composing an immortal
dramatic production. Still 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 time of the lawsuit brought by the Comte de
la Blache against Beaumarchais, by an arbitrary 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 Loménie, “The nation had bowed
itself under the glorious scepter of Louis XIV, but that scepter fallen
into the hands of Louis XV no longer inspired respect. The spirit of
resistance to arbitrary 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 disorderly power, and whatever were
the particular vices of those bodies, judicial and political, every time
that they resisted the royal will they had with them the sympathy of the
public.
“Supported by this, the parliaments saw themselves growing stronger day by
day. Closely united the one to the other, they declared themselves ‘the
members 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
last a man issuing from their ranks, an audacious and obstinate character,
undertook to command or crush them. This man was the Chancellor Maupeou.
“Sustained by Madame du Barry, who dominated the King, the Chancellor
issued the edict of December 7th, 1770, which changed the entire
organization of the parliaments. The one of Paris protested and repelled
the edict. The Chancellor instead of following the ordinary methods
dissolved this parliament, confiscated the 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 from that bastard tribunal.
All the princes of the blood except one refused to recognize the judges
installed by Maupeou; thirteen peers adhered to the protestation. The
_cour des aides_ protested equally by the eloquent voice of Malesherbes.
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 midst
of an unheard of fermentation. ‘It is not a man,’ wrote Madame du Deffand,
‘it is a devil; everything here is in a disorder of which it is impossible
to predict the end; it is chaos, it is the end of the world.’
“To dissolve these ancient and formidable bodies whose existence seemed
inseparable from the monarchy and whose suppression delivered France to
the régime 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 indifferent, but the enlightened classes of society refused to
purchase a few needed reforms at the price of an ignominious servitude and
sided unitedly with the destroyed parliaments.
“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 heterogeneous 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 _mobilité française_, opposed
perseverance to the clamor, and at the end of a year most of the lawyers
were tired of keeping silence; under the influence of the celebrated
Gerbier 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 parliaments 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 which was in the beginning a
flame became a smouldering fire, which hidden under the ashes of an
apparent 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 Maupeou and his parliament.”
[Illustration: Madame du Barry]
It was then to this parliament and Maupeou that the 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 Goëzman who seemed
especially made for his purpose.
We shall have much to say of this same Goëzman in a succeeding chapter
when 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 Beaumarchais, 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 authorities. 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 Loménie 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 Séville_ had collected with care all
the documents relating to this strange affair. Upon the back of the bundle
of papers was 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 tragi-comique scene.
We can do no better than follow the account of M. de Loménie with
occasional touches from Gudin.
CHAPTER VIII
_La Jeunesse--“Y-a-t-il de la justice?”_
_Bartholo--“De la justice? C’est bon pour les autres misérables, la
justice. Je suis maître, moi, pour avoir toujours raison.”_
_Le Barbier de Séville, Act II, Scene VII._
Beaumarchais and the Duc de Chaulnes--Attempt Upon the Life of
Beaumarchais--Same Evening Gives the Promised Reading of the
_Barbier de Séville_--Victim of a _Lettre de Cachet_.
It will be remembered that Gudin in his history of Beaumarchais speaks of
a meeting of literary men at the table of a certain Mademoiselle Ménard,
_femme d’esprit_, where the subject of the comic opera lately composed by
Beaumarchais was discussed. It was this same Mademoiselle Ménard who in
the words of Loménie was “the cause of an Homeric combat between
Beaumarchais, prudent and dexterous as Ulysses, and a duke and peer,
robust and ferocious as Ajax.”
Mademoiselle Ménard was a young and pretty actress, who in June, 1770,
had made her début with success at the Comédie Italienne. In his
_Correspondence littéraire_, of June, 1770, Baron von Grimme, the great
critic of the time, says of her after a rather cold analysis:
“Mademoiselle Ménard must be given a trial; she seems capable of great
application. It is said that her first occupation was that of a flower
girl on the boulevards, but wishing to withdraw from that estate which
has degenerated a little from the first nobility of its origin, since
Glysère 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
pronunciation, 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
recompense the applause which she has obtained in her different rôles. M.
de Pequigny, to-day the duc 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 Ménard had renounced
the theater and was in the habit of receiving at her house poets,
musicians, and great lords, Beaumarchais among the rest.
“The duc de Chaulnes,” says Loménie, “was a man notorious 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 extremely 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 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, Loménie adds the following: “In the midst of
his disorderly and extravagant life, he had conserved something of the
taste of his father, a distinguished 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 preparation he had invented against asphyxiation, he
shut himself 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 punctual and no harm was done.
“The peculiar character of the duke rendered his liaison with Mademoiselle
Ménard very stormy. At the same time brutal, jealous, and unfaithful, he
inspired in her little sentiment 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 enemies as there were aspirants to please him.”
The duc de Chaulnes, perceiving very soon that Mademoiselle Ménard found
Beaumarchais very agreeable, his friendship turned to fury.
“Frightened by his violence,” says Loménie, “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 in a convent. When she believed that the danger
was over and that she would be safe in her own home, she returned and
invited her friends, Beaumarchais among them, to come to see her.”
The duke during his intimacy with Beaumarchais had received many favors
from him, notably important sums of money which, of course, he never
repaid. It was at the moment of the return of Mademoiselle Ménard to her
home that Beaumarchais wrote the following letter to the duke.
“Monsieur le Duc,
“Mademoiselle Ménard has notified me that she has returned to her home and
has invited me to come to see her along with all her other friends, when I
can make it convenient. I judge that the reasons which forced her to the
retreat now have ceased. She tells me she is free and I congratulate both
of you sincerely. I expect to see her sometime to-morrow. The force of
circumstances has then done for you what my representations were unable to
accomplish. 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 make certain reflections, they are not foreign to the end
which I have in view in writing this. In speaking to you of Mademoiselle
Ménard I forget my personal 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 disadvantageous 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 being the son
of a watchmaker. I, who honor myself in my parents in the face of those
even, who imagine they have the right to outrage their own. You must feel,
Monsieur le duc, 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. Believe me, Monsieur le duc, I have never tried to
diminish the attachment of this generous woman for you. She would have
despised me if I had attempted 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 whom 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 whom I come now for the
last time....”
The duke did not reply to this letter and matters remained 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 Bibliotèque du Roi, had gone out that morning
by request of my mother, it being the 11th of February, 1773. My
commission for her finished and finding myself near the lodging of
Mademoiselle Ménard 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 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 Beaumarchais. At
that moment the duke entered the room, I rose and gave him my place.
“‘I weep,’ she said, ‘and I beg M. Gudin to induce Beaumarchais 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
_I will kill 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 Beaumarchais and prevent the
combat.
“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 carrosse, and told him that the duc de
Chaulnes was hunting for him and wished to kill him.
“‘Come home with me, 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 myself violently pulled by the skirts of my
coat, I fell backward and found myself in the arms of the duc de Chaulnes
who, using his gigantic strength, picked me up like a bird, threw me into
a fiàcre, cried to the coachman, ‘Rue de Condé,’ and said to me with
horrible oaths that I should find for him the man he sought to kill.
“‘By what right,’ I said, ‘Monsieur le duc, you who are always crying for
liberty, do you take mine from me?’
“‘By the right of the strongest. You will find for me--Beaumarchais or--’
“‘Monsieur le duc, 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 tell 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 wore a wig it remained in his hand, which
made the scene very amusing as I perceived from the laughter of the
populace outside the fiàcre, all the doors of which were open. The duke
who saw nothing, seized me 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 await the
coming of Beaumarchais.
“I waited in impatience,--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.”
“Exact recital of what passed Thursday, the 11th of February, 1773,
between M. le duc de Chaulnes and myself, Beaumarchais.
“I had opened the audience of the _capitainerie_, when I saw M. le duc 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 must come out at once. ‘I cannot, Monsieur le duc, the service of
the public forces me to terminate decently what I have begun.’ I had a
seat brought for him; he insisted; everyone 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 with him into a cabinet. There he
told me with all the force of the language _des halles_, that he wished to
kill me at once and to drink my blood, for which he was thirsty.
“‘Oh, is it only that, Monsieur le duc? 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 duc de Chaulnes, I opposed during the two hours of the
audience, a perfect _sang-froid_ to the petulant and insane perturbation
with 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 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 assuring 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 duc,’ 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 Monsieur le duc 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 me. I gave
my orders coldly, the postman handed me a letter, the duke seized it from
me before my father and all the domestics. I tried to turn the matter
into a joke, but the duke began to swear. My father became alarmed, I
reassured him and ordered dinner to be served in my study.”
At this point we return to the account by Gudin which 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 completely 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 chimney 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.
Beaumarchais 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 Beaumarchais with him. At this
moment I knocked at the street door. The duke immediately disengaged
himself and threw open the door. My surprise can be imagined.
“‘Enter,’ cried the duke, seizing me, ‘here is another who will 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 came instantly to his aid and disarmed the
duke. A 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 establishment,
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
threw himself once more upon me striking me with his fists, unarmed I
defended myself as best I could before the assembly who soon separated us.
M. Chenu begged me to remain in the salon while he took charge of the
duke, who had begun to break glass and tear his own 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 wounded, dress his hair. I went
to my room to have myself attended to and the duke throwing 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 Beaumarchais, as cheerful and assured as if he had passed the
most tranquil day, was not willing to deny himself a moment of pleasure.
That very evening, at the risk of encountering the duke, he went to the
home of one of his old friends, M. Lopes, where he was expected to give a
reading of his _Barbier de Séville_.
“Upon his arrival he recounted to them the adventures of the day. Everyone
supposed that after such an exciting experience, 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 pleasure
and he read his play with as much composure as if nothing had happened. He
was as calm, as gay, and as brilliant during supper as usual, and passed a
part of the night playing 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. Loménie says, “In the interval the duke de la Vrillière,
minister of the house of the king, ordered Beaumarchais to go into the
country for some days, and as the latter protested energetically against
such an order the execution of which, under the circumstances, would have
compromised his honor, the minister had directed him to stay at his home
until the matter 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 investigation having been unfavorable to the duc de
Chaulnes, he was sent on the 19th of February by a _lettre de cachet_ to
the château of Vincennes. The Marshals of France then sent for
Beaumarchais a second time and declared him free.
“All this was just, but Beaumarchais, not over confident in human justice,
went to the duke de la Vrillière to assure himself that he was free. Not
finding the nobleman at home he addressed a note to Sartine,
lieutenant-général 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 prematurely
on the justice of the court. The very small mind of the duc de la
Vrillière was offended that the tribunal of the marshals of France should
discharge arrests given by him and so to teach the tribunal a lesson and
to show his authority, on the 24th of February he sent Beaumarchais to
For-l’Evêque.”
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_
called _lettre de cachet_ signed Louis and below Philippeaux,
recommended--Sartine, executed--Buchot, and submitted Beaumarchais, I am
lodged, my friend, since this morning at For-l’Evêque, in an unfurnished
room at 2160 livres rent 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 anticipated? Is it the dukes and
peers of the realm with whom I am in no way connected? This is what I do
not know, but the sacred name of ‘King’ is so beautiful a thing that one
cannot multiply it or employ it too frequently _àpropos_. It is thus that
in every country which is governed by police they torment 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
always a crime in the eyes of power, which wishes to punish unceasingly,
but never to judge.”
The two rivals were thus very securely lodged for the present and
Mademoiselle Ménard, the unwilling pretext of all the trouble, was quite
safe from her tormentor. Before the rendering of the sentence, however,
which confined the duc de Chaulnes to the prison of Vincennes, in the fear
which the violence of his character inspired, this “beautiful Helen,” says
Loménie, “went and threw herself at the feet of M. de Sartine, imploring
his protection.” The next day she wrote a letter communicating her fixed
resolve to retire to a convent. Other letters follow and four days after
the terrible scene which has been described, Mademoiselle Ménard entered
the _couvent des Cordelières, faubourg Saint-Marceau, 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, l’abbé Dugué. This very respectable, very good and
very _naïf_ abbé, wrote the same evening a lengthy letter to the
lieutenant-general of police in which he showed himself very anxious not
to compromise his own dignity as well as not to incur the enmity of 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 Cordelières. If the
interference of the duke could be prevented, he hoped that the repose,
joined to the sweetness of the appearance and character of this _“affligée
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 ladies,” he continues, “well disposed for their new
pensionaire, but I repeat, what disgrace for me, if jealousy or love,
equally out of place, find her out and penetrate even to her parlor there
to exhale their scandalous or their unedifying sighs.”
The good abbé’s fears in regard to the young woman were, however,
groundless, for as we have seen, by the 19th of February the duc de
Chaulnes was safe in the fortress of Vincennes.
Loménie continues: “This _affligée recluse_, as the good abbé Dugué said,
was not at all made for the life of a convent, she had scarcely enjoyed
the existence within its protecting 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 solidity of the walls of the château
de Vincennes which separated her from the duc de Chaulnes.”
Beaumarchais, inactive at For-l’Evêque, having heard of Mademoiselle
Ménard’s return to the world wrote her a most characteristic letter full
of brotherly advice in which is shown his tendency to regulate the
affairs of those in whom he feels an interest, as well as a certain
chagrin perhaps, that the young woman in question should enjoy her liberty
when he, Beaumarchais, is forced to remain inactive at For-l’Evêque.
He wrote: “It is not proper that anyone should attempt to curtail the
liberty of others, but the counsels of friendship ought to have some
weight because of their disinterestedness. 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 apartment in the convent, ought you
to triple your expense without necessity? The voluntary retreat where
sorrow and fear conducted you, is it not a hundred times more suited to
you than those lodgings from 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 themselves the right of invading your presence.
“I must also take into account what you owe the good and worthy abbé
Dugué, who to serve you, has been obliged to dissimulate your name and
your trouble in the convent, where you were sheltered on his word. Your
leaving, which seems like a freak, does it not compromise him with the
superiors of the convent, in giving him the appearance of being 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 will make it his duty to show you your situation 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 tranquilizing 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 connection between
us, and I shall have the right to declare myself your friend, your
protector, your brother, and your counselor.
Beaumarchais.”
But all these remonstrances were in vain. Mademoiselle Ménard 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 little time to busy himself with those of others. As
for the duc de Chaulnes before leaving prison he addressed a humble letter
to M. de Sartine in which he promised never again to torment Mademoiselle
Ménard nor to interfere with Beaumarchais, asking only that the latter
keep himself at a distance.
Thus ends the famous 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--Quand une chose est vraie! si je ne veux pas
qu’elle soit vraie, je prétends qu’elle ne soit pas vraie. Il n’y
aurait qu’a permettre à tous ces faquins-là d’avoir raison,
vous verrez bientôt ce que deviendrait l’autorité.”_
_“Le Barbier de Séville,” Act II, Scene VII._
Beaumarchais at For-l’Evêque--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
Goëzman--Second Judgment Rendered Against Beaumarchais--He
Obtains his Liberty--Loudly Demands the Return of his Fifteen
Louis.
Although Beaumarchais’s first letter from For-l’Evêque sounded
philosophical, his situation was cruel in the extreme. Loménie says: “This
imprisonment which fell in the midst of his suit against the Comte de la
Blache did him frightful harm; his adversary profiting by the
circumstance, worked without relaxation to blacken his character before
the judges, multiplying his measures, his recommendations, his
solicitations; and ardently pressing the decision 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 turn.
“M. de Sartine showed him the greatest good-will but he was unable to do
more than mitigate his situation, his liberty depending on the minister.
“Beaumarchais had begun by pleading his cause before the Duke de la
Vrillière, 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 detained, and when M. de Sartine warned him in a friendly way
that this tone would lead to nothing, he replied with 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 duc de la Vrillière replied always, “That man is too insolent, let him
follow his affair through his attorney!” and Beaumarchais, indignant and
heart-broken, wrote 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 duc de la Vrillière to solicit my affair
through my attorney, he who knows 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 immodest
gazettes Les Deux-Ponto and Hollande unworthily dishonor me to please my
adversary. A little more and they would say that it was very insolent in
me to have been outraged 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 my sincere
thanks, Monsieur, for having notified me of this refusal and this
observation of M. the duc de la Vrillière, 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 11th, 1773”
But the correspondence of Beaumarchais with M. de Sartine did not advance
matters in the least. What M. the duc de la Vrillière 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 himself in the situation and who endeavored to make Beaumarchais
understand that under an absolute government, when anyone has incurred
disgrace at the hands of a minister, and that minister 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 Beaumarchais do? He was on the brink of losing a suit most
important for his fortune and his honor, his liberty was in the hands of a
man unworthy of esteem, because the duc de la Vrillière 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. Beaumarchais resigned
himself at last, humiliated himself. See him in the part of suppliant.
“Monseigneur,
“The frightful affair of M. the duc de Chaulnes has become 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 disavow them Monseigneur, at your feet, and beg of you a generous
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 weeping 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 will
equal the very profound respect with which we are all, and I in
particular, Monseigneur, your, etc.,
“Beaumarchais.
From For-l’Evêque, March 21, 1773.”
The duc de la Vrillière 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’Evêque.
In the meantime, however, another disgrace was threatening him. Some
enemy had taken advantage of his absence to attack his rights as
_lieutenant-général des chasses_. “From the depths of his prison,” wrote
Loménie, “he reclaimed them immediately in a letter to the duc de La
Vallière where he appeared proud and imposing as a baron of the middle
ages.”
“Monsieur le duc,
“Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, lieutenant-général 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 officer who does
not bring valid excuse for not being present at the reception of a new
officer will 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
duc, that you will be so good as to maintain him in all the rights of the
said charge against every kind of enterprise or infringement. 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 duc du Maine.
“The suppliant is perhaps the least worthy of the officers of your
_capitainerie_ but he has the honor of being its lieutenant-général and
you will certainly not disapprove, Monsieur le duc, that he prevents the
first office of that _capitainerie_ to grow less under his hands or that
any other officer takes upon himself the functions to its prejudice.
Caron de Beaumarchais.”
In striking contrast to this picture of Beaumarchais defending so proudly
his rights before a great noble, is another, 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 delicacy of his sentiments, manifest
themselves.
We already have mentioned the fact that as secretary to the king,
Beaumarchais was the colleague of M. Lenormant d’Étioles, the husband of
Madame 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, completely had won the
heart of this little boy whose pretty ways were a constant reminder of the
child he had lost. Learning that his friend was in prison, the child
spontaneously 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 very humble and very
obedient servitor
Constant.”
Beaumarchais instantly replied:
“My good little friend Constant, I have received with 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, my 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 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 acquired the gratitude of many. This is the ordinary fruit of
such good actions as yours.
“Bonjour, my little friend Constant,
Beaumarchais.”
And to the child’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 sensibility
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
will give him a just idea of his action without allowing him to pride
himself upon it. But what 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 compliments. Permit that M. l’abbé
Leroux participate in them. He has not satisfied himself with teaching his
pupils to decline the word virtue, he 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 of this action. And I also had a son,
I have him no more, and yours gives you already such happiness. I partake
in it with all my heart, and I beg you to continue to love him a little
who is the cause of this charming outburst of our little Constant. One
cannot add anything to the respectful attachment of him who honors
himself, Madame, etc.
Beaumarchais.
From For-l’Evêque, March 4, 1773”
“And this,” says Loménie, “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 moment when the count says this, it is the
opinion almost universally 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 influence of this discredit, and upon the report of the
Counsellor Goëzman, 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
between the two majors, saying that there was no need of _lettres de
récision_, that is to say, that the question of fraud, surprise or error
being set aside, Beaumarchais found himself indirectly declared a forger
although there was against him no inscription of forgery.”
In the words of Bonnefon, “Precisely the counsellor designated 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 career as judge of the superior council of Alsace, and the
chancellor Maupeou, in quest of magistrates who could be bought, had
raised him to his new functions.
“Valentine Goëzman 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 open all the wider by the money of those who
solicited his audiences.
“Needy himself he had married a second wife, 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 impossible for us to live
from what is given us, but we know how to pick the chicken without making
it cry out.’”
It was a certain publisher, who according to Loménie, “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 made in the first of those famous
memoirs of which we shall soon speak, Beaumarchais wrote: “A few days
before the one appointed for the judgment of my suit, I had obtained from
the minister permission to solicit my judges under the express and
rigorous conditions of going accompanied by a guard, the sieur Santerre,
named for this purpose, and of going only to the judges, returning to the
prison for all my meals and to sleep, which exceedingly embarrassed my
movements and shortened the time accorded for my solicitations.
“In this short interval I presented myself at least ten times at the
office of Monsieur Goëzman without being able to see him. I was not very
much affected by this. M. Goëzman was of the number of my judges but there
was no pressing interest between us. On the first of April however when he
was charged with the office of reporter of my suit he became essential to
me.
“Three times that afternoon I presented myself at his door always with
the written 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 was in vain. The next morning I was
told that Monsieur Goëzman 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 Goëzman 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
Dairolles, 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 Beaumarchais 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 wife 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 family as well as myself, alarmed at what his enemies
were doing to ruin him, united our solicitations and tore from him rather
than obtained his consent.”
And Beaumarchais, after giving in great detail the above scene, continues,
“To cut the matter short, one of the friends 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 Goëzman 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 promised an audience for nine
o’clock that same evening, Beaumarchais on arriving found that he was not
expected. He was, however, this time not to be rejected and finally
succeeded in forcing admittance. It was the moment when Madame and
Monsieur Goëzman were preparing to seat themselves at table. A few
moments’ conversation convinced 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 Dairolles and Le-Jay Madame Goëzman demanded a second
hundred louis and promised this time to secure the audience. Beaumarchais
did not possess the money but offered a watch set with diamonds which was
of equal value. She accepted the watch, but demanded fifteen louis extra
as a gratification 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 himself, but in vain. This time he was unable to
force an entrance and returned without seeing the judge.
He continues: “The reader, tired at last of hearing so many vain promises,
so many useless steps, will 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
was brought to me cannot be omitted. ‘It is not the fault of the lady if
you have not been received. You may present yourself to-morrow. But she is
so honest that if you cannot 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
Goëzman the night before and the judge promised to see Beaumarchais 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
Dairolles 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. Goëzman, Madame Goëzman believed herself discharged from
returning them.
“This conduct of the secretary was an enigma to me, I wished to fathom it.
In the beginning he had modestly refused ten louis voluntarily offered
him. I begged the friend who finally had induced the secretary to accept
the ten louis to inquire if he had received the fifteen louis given to
Madame Goëzman for him. He replied that they had never been offered to him
and if they had been, he would not have accepted 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 Dairolles
what had become of them.
“He affirmed that Madame Goëzman had refused to give them 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 judgment, I wrote
her the following 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
were 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 common friend
who negotiated between us left you in supererogation.
“‘I have been so horribly treated in the report of Monsieur, your husband,
and my defence has been so trampled 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 fifteen louis that of believing
me, with the respectful consideration which is due to you
Madam, your, etc.’”
Bonnefon says: “To this demand the wife of the counsellor 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
Monsieur the duc de la Vrillière and then to M. de Sartine; badly
instructed perhaps and feeling sure of an easy triumph over an enemy
already half-vanquished, he brought a suit for calumny before the
parliament.
“Beaumarchais did not draw back. The counsellor accused 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. Goëzman. Be so
good as to follow the trace of that money and then judge, if from the
distance where I remained from 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
Dairolles (four); who gave them to the sieur Le-Jay (five) to be given to
Madame Goëzman (six) who kept them, and finally Monsieur Goëzman (seven),
whom I could see only at that price and who knew nothing about the whole
affair. See then from M. Goëzman to me a chain of seven persons of which
he says I hold the first link as corruptor, while he holds the last as
incorruptible. Very good. But if he is judged incorruptible how will he
prove that I am corruptor?’ ...”
Monsieur Loménie, entering into more detail, says of Goëzman: “He must
have been convinced that his wife had seriously 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 him,
he imagined that in taking the initiative and attacking him 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 Goëzman was baffled
and his crime cruelly punished.”
But to return to the decision given by the parliament on the report of
Goëzman April 5th. Loménie 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 iniquity 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, and the man thus attacked demanded in vain, with loud cries that
the doors of his prison be opened.
“‘I am 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 support is in despair. Monsieur, I have done good all my
life without ostentation and I have never ceased to be torn to pieces by
those evilly 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 benedictions about me, while my enemies calumniate
me at a distance.
“‘Whatever vengeance one may wish to take of me for that miserable affair
of Chaulnes, will it then have no limits? It is well proved that my
imprisonment makes me lose a hundred thousand francs. The form, the
ground, everything 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 respectable 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 the soul of
Beaumarchais seemed overwhelmed and all his manhood slipping from him,
that the petty detail of the fifteen louis came 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 Vrillière 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 complete the ruin of Beaumarchais, but which
saved him and made him pass in a few months from the state of abjection
and of misery where to use his own expression, ‘He was an object of
disgust 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 capable of the greatest crimes; all the
world dotes on him 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 Beaumarchais, qui jusqu’à
présent n’est connu que par son inaltérable gaîté, son imperturbable
philosophie, qui compose à la fois un air gracieux, un malin vaudeville,
une comédie folle, un drame touchant, brave les puissants, rit des sots et
s’amuse aux dépens de tout le monde?”_
_Marsolier--“Beaumarchais à Madrid,” Act IV, Scene V_
The Goëzman Lawsuit--The Famous Memoirs of Beaumarchais.
We have come at last to the turn of the tide in the career of
Beaumarchais, which in his case is no ordinary 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 circumstances 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 his adversaries.
In relation to the lawsuit of which we now write, La Harpe further says,
“What would have disconcerted or rendered 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, implore 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 Beaumarchais
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 lawyer 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 own 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 him in overabundant measure. The family and friends,
lately so depressed, rose with the rising of his courage, 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 attention of all
France, while in less than three days after the publication of the fourth,
more than six thousand copies had been sold. At the ball or the opera,
people tore them from one another’s hands, and in the cafés and foyers of
the theaters they were read out loud to enthusiastically admiring crowds.
[Illustration: Title Page of the Mémoires de M^r Caron de Beaumarchais]
What could be more surprising? Judicial factums or memoirs universally
recognized as being the dryest and most uninteresting of writings come 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 touching,” and Lintilhac 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 résumé 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 perspective 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 intrigue is knotted, the scenes press varied and picturesque. At
first it is that of the registrar, then Madame Goëzman comes before us
with insults but ends with artful pretty faces. After this comic prelude,
the two principal characters engage in the background, in a dramatic
contest.
“‘Give me your hand,’ cries Beaumarchais, and illuminating 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 magistrate! To what have we come, great heavens!’
“Similar to the third act of a strongly intrigued play, the third memoir
throws the adversaries on the scene and engages 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 Guêpes_? ‘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 them, Marin, Bertrand, Arnaud, Baculard,
even to Falcoz, who in vain tries to turn in a whirligig upon an
absurdity, to bite the dust by the side of Goëzman. It is the moment to
bring up the reserves. They arrive in serried ranks. Here comes a
president and a whole host of counsellors. ‘My, what a world of people
occupied to support you, Monsieur!’
“A daring offensive alone can disengage Beaumarchais. He instantly makes
it, and following his favorite tactics, he wears it as an ornament, an
accusation of forgery well directed against Goëzman changes the rôles;
this is the grand counter movement of the piece.
“A sudden stupor has broken up the allies, their adversary knows how to
profit by their confusion, and throws out his petition of mitigation. It
is the fourth act. He prepares briefly and wisely the fifth. Beaumarchais
with an affected and deadly moderation, sums up the facts, fortifies
himself in the conquered position and prepares the supreme 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 Beaumarchais announces
from the beginning. ‘This memoir,’ he says, ‘is less an examination of a
dry and bloodless question, than a succession of reflections upon my
estate as accused.’
“It is the best of his dramas, a _mélange_ of mirth and pathos, where are
centered and dissolved with an authoritative cleverness, all the elements
of interest and of action which he draws from the heart of his subject and
which are multiplied by his fancy and his fears. In the beginning, an
invocation, the prelude of a _héroïque-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 adversaries, and making
a trophy of their calumnies, he awards himself an eloquent apology which
he modestly entitles, ‘Fragments of my voyage in Spain.’ The episode of
Clavico, 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 auditor to a sort of final
appeasement.
“If the action is dramatic, the characters are no less so. First Madame
Goëzman 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 form.’”
And so with the rest. “But the most vivid of all his portraits is that of
the principal personage, the author himself, this propagandist always _en
scène_, who is never weary, whom one sees or whom one divines everywhere,
animating everything with his presence, the center of all action and
interest. He is endowed with such a beautiful sang-froid, which acts under
all circumstances, and such vivid sensibility that everything paints
itself in his memory, everything 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 Goëzman; there of modesty lowering
his eyes for her, or again, hat in hand very humbly inclining before the
passage of some mettlesome 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 composed and who composes them.’
“It was this accusation which gave to Beaumarchais the opportunity for one
of his wittiest retorts. ‘Stupid people, why don’t you get your own
written there?’”
Gudin was even accused of writing them,--faithful Gudin, whose history of
France in thirty-five volumes never found a publisher, and “whose prose,”
says Loménie, “resembled that of Beaumarchais about as the gait of a
laboring ox resembles 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 beginning 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
gives lessons to his judges. His _naïveté_ 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 repeated 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 with none. He
received nothing from the one, because in his grief he forgot to register
the contract of 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 poisoner, 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 innocent 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. “Cowardly enemies, have you then no resource but base insult?
Calumny machinated in secret and struck out in the darkness? 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
privileged class. They will excuse me for taking this occasion to
confound you, where 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 numerous 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 them without ostentation
and without reproach.
“O you who calumniate me without knowing me, come and hear the concert of
benedictions which fall 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 law with the relatives, of whom, up to that
moment, I had no reason to complain. My second wife in dying carried 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 me without ceasing, O my
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
neglecting them, active when he is goaded, indolent and stagnant after the
tempest, careless in happiness but carrying constancy and serenity into
misfortune to the point of astonishing his most intimate friends....
“How is it that, with a life and intentions the most honorable, a citizen
sees himself 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 augmented. Under the able guidance of M. de Loménie, let us
examine a few of the adversaries who presented themselves, and from the
few, the reader may judge of the rest.
First of all is Madame Goëzman, “who,” says Loménie, “wrote under the
dictates of her husband and threw at the head of Beaumarchais a quarto of
seventy-four pages, bristling 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 me and I am presented with a German publicist.’
“But if the memoir of Madame Goëzman is ridiculous in form, it is in
matter of an extreme violence. ‘My soul,’ it is thus that Madame Goëzman
begins, ‘has been divided between astonishment, surprise, and horror in
reading 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 remember 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 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, embarrasses, compliments, and
confounds Madam Goëzman.
“Who has not burst into laughter on reading that excellent 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 tête_ of the pretty woman attempting to face so subtle an
adversary as Beaumarchais.
“Confrontation of myself with Madame Goëzman.
“No one could imagine the difficulty we had to meet one another, Madame
Goëzman 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 Goëzman, summoned to state her reproaches if she has any to
formulate against me, replied, ‘Write that I reproach and _récuse_
monsieur because he is my capital enemy and because he has an atrocious
soul, known 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 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 my 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 Goëzman With Me.” From which we 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 interrogations.’
“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 possible 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 hundred louis in two
rolls?’
“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 promise an audience to Le-Jay for the same evening?’
“‘Abominable calumny.’
“‘If you had not said to Le-Jay, money is not necessary, your word is
sufficient?’
“‘Diabolical invention,’ etc., etc. Sixteen negations following one
another in relation to the same subject.
“And yet you admit freely at the second interrogation that ‘It is true
that Le-Jay presented one hundred louis, that I put them away in an
_armoire_ and kept them a day and a night, but simply to accommodate that
poor Le-Jay, because he was a good man and did not realize the
consequences, 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 down.
“‘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 parliament to adopt it let us see what is said of the one
hundred louis in your verification.’
“Madame Goëzman here assured us that she begged Le-Jay to take away the
money with him and that when he was gone she was astonished to find it in
a case decorated with 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.
“‘Observe, Madame, 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 shall hold to my verification,’
etc., etc., etc.”
Then comes the question of the fifteen louis: “I begged her to be so good
as to tell us clearly and without equivocation 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 hundred the day before?’
“‘The day before what, Madame?’
“‘Eh, monsieur, the day before the day----’ (she stopped suddenly and bit
her lip.)
“‘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 will give you a
box on the ears. I’ve had enough of those fifteen louis! With all your
despicable little _tournures de phrases_ you try to confuse me and make me
blunder, but I tell you in truth that I shall not answer you another
word.’ 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 Goëzman came Bertrand who began with this epigram taken from
the Psalms _‘Judica me, Deus, et discerne causam meam de gente non sancta,
et ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me_.’”
Beaumarchais avenged himself on _le grand_ Bertrand by indicting upon him
the celebrity of ridicule. Here, as elsewhere, the shade of the
physiognomies is perfectly grasped. It is in vain that Bertrand attempted
to deal terrible blows, in vain that he committed to writing such phrases
as, “cynic orator; buffoon; brazen-faced sophist; unfaithful painter who
draws from his own soul the filth with which he tarnishes 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 paying back
anger for anger, Beaumarchais contented himself with painting his enemy.
He painted him talkative, shrewd for gain, undecided, timid, hot-headed,
but more stupid than bad, in a word exactly as he showed himself in the
four grotesque memoirs with which he has enriched this famous suit.
The fourth champion who precipitated himself upon Beaumarchais, the head
lowered to pierce him through by the first blow, was a novelist of the
time, amusing enough in a melancholy way, who prided himself as he said,
upon having _l’embonpoint du sentiment_. It is d’Arnaud-Baculard, who, to
be agreeable to the judge Goëzman, wrote a letter containing 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 Condé, 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 remorse and to do evil--There are
hearts in which I tremble to read, where I measure all the somber depths
of hell. It is then that I cry out, ‘thou sleepest, Jupiter! for what
purpose then hast thou thy thunderbolts?’”
“One sees,” said Loménie, “that if d’Arnaud on his side was not _méchant_,
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 admiration, who
would not believe after that sad, ‘yes I was on foot’ and that great point
of admiration which runs after my _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 my other goods. Men called _à hautes armes_, with
uniforms, bandoliers and menacing guns guarded it, as well as all my
furniture; and to cause 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 écu_ in the other, the
permission to use it, of that company of officers, which I did, _ne vous
déplaise_, 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
whom we believe happy, who would often give something over, to be in the
place of the pedestrian who detests him because of his _carrosse_. I, for
example: could anything be worse than my actual situation? But I am
something like the cousin of Héloise, I have done my best to cry; the
laugh has to escape from some corner. This is what makes me gentle with
you. My philosophy 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. ‘Pardon, 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 my heart the
somber depths of hell, and, hearing you cry, “_Tu dors, Jupiter; à quoi te
sert donc 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 review. 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 speaking with 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 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 sorrow 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 existence by absurd, ‘they say’ and tossed about to the scrutiny of
public opinion....”
Then he prostrates himself before the Supreme Being accepting his whole
destiny and saying, “Being of all Beings, I owe to Thee all things, the
happiness of existence, of thinking, of feeling. 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 morning breeze, which in
spite of everything reached him across the bars of his prison. This was
the true Beaumarchais, truer than he ever painted himself elsewhere.
“In his invocation he continues to address himself 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
unmistakable resemblance. ‘If,’ he says, ‘my misfortune must begin by an
unforeseen 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
designates the Comte de la Blache so vividly that every one has named him
already. It is the same for the counsellor Goëzman, 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 much breadth, superiority of gaiety and irony, all with
one stroke, one breath, composes one of the most admirable 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 parliament which
_fifteen louis_ destroyed,” was the slogan of a new era of public acclaim
for justice and equity. In every country of Europe Beaumarchais’s memoirs
were read, and they excited the liveliest admiration. In the memoirs of
Goethe it is told how at a social gathering where those of Beaumarchais
were being read aloud, a young woman suggested to the poet that the
incident of Clavico might be converted into a drama, where Beaumarchais
should come upon the scene. From Philadelphia even came warm expressions
of interest, while from every corner of France letters of congratulation,
of sympathy and admiration poured upon the hero of the hour.
A few extracts will be sufficient to give an idea of the reigning
enthusiasm. The wife of one of the presidents of the ancient parliament,
Madame de Meinières, wrote after reading the fourth memoir: “I have
finished, Monsieur, that astonishing memoir. I was angry yesterday at the
visits which interrupted that delicious reading and when the company 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 relation 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 Clavico,
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 enthusiasm into which your writings have thrown me and the
assurances of the veritable esteem with which I have the honor to be,
Monsieur, etc.
“Guichard de Meinières.
This 18th of February, 1774.”
A second letter from the same pen, speaks in even stronger terms.
“Whatever the result of your quarrel with so many adversaries, 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 yourself known
as the most eloquent man, in every species of eloquence which our century
has produced. Your prayer to the Supreme Being is a chef-d’oeuvre, the
ingenious and astonishing blending of which produces the greatest effect.
I admit with Madame Goëzman 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 them. 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 Molière; 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. Goëzman; I beg you simply to be
so good as to notify me by _la petite poste_ the day before, that the
publisher may 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 knowing in time of their publication, I
send too late, and word is brought me that I must wait until the next
day.”
CHAPTER XI
_“Après le bonheur de commander aux hommes, le plus grand honneur,
Monsieur, n’est-il pas de les juger?”_
_Préface du Barbier de Séville._
The Preparation of the Memoirs--Aid Rendered by Family and
Friends--The Judgment--Beaumarchais _Blâmé_--Enters the
Secret Service of the King--Gudin Relates the Circumstances
of the Meeting between the Civilly Degraded Man and Her Who
Became His Third Wife--The Père Caron’s Third Marriage.
But while public opinion was expressing itself so loudly in his favor, the
situation of Beaumarchais was in reality 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 dependent upon the
generosity of the brother and uncle. Madame de Miron, the youngest sister,
had died during the same year, so that it was at the home of the next to
the oldest member of the family, Madame Lépine, that the family reunions
were held.
M. de Loménie has drawn an admirable picture of these gatherings, where
eager and devoted friends met to discuss, suggest, and criticise with
Beaumarchais the composition of his memoirs.
He says: “His coadjutors are his relatives and nearest friends. First of
all it is the elder Caron, who with his seventy-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 composing 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 _Provençaux_ his
compatriots, Marin and Bertrand.”
This is the little phalanx that Madame Goëzman, in her memoirs, calls a
“_clique infame_” and which the _grand Bertrand_, less ferocious and more
reasonable names simply, _la bande joyeuse_.
[Illustration: Figaro]
They were in fact very joyful, all those _spirituals bourgeois_, grouped
around Beaumarchais, combating with him a crowd of enemies, and not
without running personal risk, because Julie notably was formally
denounced by Goëzman. 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
of the Comte de la Blache and the persecutions of the judge Goëzman, was
always on the wing but he came to the home of Madame Lépine near the
Palais de Justice to prepare with his friends his means of defense and
attack. It is in this house that the elements of each memoir were
discussed. All the first draughts were written by the hand of
Beaumarchais, all the brilliant portions are rewritten by him three or
four times. Like all who wish to write well, he corrects and rewrites many
times, he cuts out, amends, concentrates and purifies. If at times he
allows himself to be too easily satisfied, he has friends prompt to
censure him who do not spare him.
M. de Miron especially criticises in detail and with persistent candor.
“Beaumarchais profited from all these aids, so that if his memoirs against
Goëzman do not present from the nature of the subject all the interest of
the ‘_Barbier de Séville_’ 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 Loménie assures us further, that a certain passage, which is
cited at times as being one of the most graceful of the memoirs, 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
written 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 Goëzman upon the ancestry and
profession of his father. The printed text is as follows:
“You begin your chef-d’oeuvre by reproaching me with the condition of my
ancestors; alas madame, it is too true that the last of all united to
several branches of industry a considerable celebrity in the art of
watchmaking. Forced to pass condemnation on that article I admit with
sorrow that nothing can wash from me 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 with 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 know 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 of his fortune and the dissolution 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 sublimity lies in
this, that it is not simply a personal matter in which he was engaged. The
blows he dealt so deftly had behind 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 so long, to
make them amusing to the point of finding pleasure in their stupidity, 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 had gone on until February of the
following year. “The day of judgment,” says Loménie, “arrived on the 26th
of February, 1774, in the midst of universal interest.
“‘We are expecting to-morrow,’ wrote Madame du Deffand to Horace Walpole,
‘a great event, the judgment of Beaumarchais.... M. de Monaco has invited
him for the evening to read us a comedy _de sa façon_, which has for the
title _le Barbier de Séville_.... 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 happen 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 which 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. Beaumarchais
addressed to the prince of Monaco the following note which belongs with
the letter of Madame du Deffand.
“‘Beaumarchais, 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 he waits 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 arranged 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 interrogation. 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 occupied with 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, tormented by the furies. Divided among themselves, they
deliberated 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 abandoned reciprocally their victims.
“The lady of the fifteen louis was _blâmée_ and Beaumarchais was condemned
also to _blâme_ which seemed a contradiction. The magistrate, husband of
the woman, was put out of court which was equivalent to _blâme_ for a
magistrate, who thus remained incapable of filling any function of the
magistracy.
“I was by his side with all the family when a friend came running,
terrified to tell him this absurd judgment. He did not utter an angry word
or make a gesture of indignation. Master of all his movements as of his
mind, he said, ‘Let us see what there yet remains to be done.’”
Loménie says: “The penalty of _blâme_ was an ignominious one which
rendered the condemned incapable of occupying any public office, and he
was supposed to receive the sentence on his knees before the court, while
the president pronounced the words, ‘The court blames thee and declares
thee infamous.’”