Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence Volume I Part 24

It was in 1785. The aristocracy of France, all unconscious of what they were doing towards the undermining of the colossal structure of which they formed the parts, were bent upon one thing only and that was amus.e.m.e.nt.

From the insupportable _r?gime_ which etiquette enforced, Marie Antoinette fled the vast palace of Versailles on every possible occasion, seeking refuge in her charming and dearly loved retreat, the _Pet.i.t-Trianon_.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Le Pet.i.t-Trianon_]

In the semi-seclusion of her palace and its adjoining pleasure grounds, her r?le of queen was forgotten. It was there that she amused herself with her ladies of honor, in playing at being shepherdess, or dairy maid.

Whatever ingenuity could devise to heighten the illusion, was there produced. Innocent and harmless sports one might say, and in itself that was true, but for a Queen of France! A queen claiming still all the advantages of her rank, renouncing only what was burdensome and dull!

Innocent she was, of all the crimes that calumnies imputed to her, and of what crimes did they not try to make her appear guilty; but innocent in the light of history she was not. More than any other victim perhaps of the French Revolution, she brought her doom upon herself. The sublimity, however, with which she expiated to the uttermost those thoughtless follies of her youth, enables us to pardon her as woman, though as queen, we must recognize that her fate was inevitable.

But in 1785, mirth and gaiety still reigned in the precinct of the _Pet.i.t-Trianon_. In August of the year Marie Antoinette who had always protected Beaumarchais, wis.h.i.+ng to do him a signal honor had decided to produce upon the little stage of her palace theater the _Barbier de S?ville_.

In his _Fin de l?ancien R?gime_, Imbert de Saint-Amand gives the following narration of that strange incident.

?Imagine who was to take the part of Rosine, that pretty little mignonne, sweet, tender, affable, fresh and tempting, with furtive foot, artful figure, well formed, plump arms, rosy mouth, and hands! and cheeks! and teeth! and eyes! (_Le Barbier de S?ville_, Act II, Scene 2). Yes, this part of Rosine, this charming child, thus described by Figaro, was to be played by whom? By the most imposing and majestic of women, the queen of France and Navarre.

?The rehearsals began under the direction of one of the best actors of the _Com?die-Fran?aise_, Dazincourt, who previously had obtained a brilliant success in the _Mariage de Figaro_. It was during the rehearsals that the first rumor of the terrible affair of the diamond necklace reached the Queen. Nevertheless she did not weaken.--Four days after the arrest of the Cardinal de Rohan, grand-almoner of France, Marie Antoinette appeared in the r?le of Rosine.

?Beaumarchais was present. The r?le of Figaro was taken by the Comte d?Artois....

?A soir?e, certainly the most singular. At the very hour when so many catastrophes were preparing, was it not curious to hear the brother of Louis XVI, the Comte d?Artois, cry out in the language of the Andalusian barber, ?Faith, Monsieur, who knows whether the world will last three weeks longer?? (Act III, Scene 5). He the zealous partisan of the old _r?gime_, he the future _?migr?_, he the prince who would one day bear the t.i.tle of Charles X, it was he who uttered such democratic phrases as these: ?I believe myself only too happy to be forgotten, persuaded that a great lord has done us enough good, when he has done us no harm.? (Act I, Scene 2)

??From the virtues required in a domestic, does your Excellency know many masters who are worthy of being valets?? (Act I, Scene 2)

?Was there not something like a prediction in these words of Figaro in the mouth of the brother of Louis XVI, ?I hasten to laugh at everything for fear of being obliged to weep?? (Act I, Scene 2)

?Ah, let Marie Antoinette pay attention and listen! At this moment when the affair of the necklace begins, would not one say that all the maneuvers of her calumniators were announced to her by Basile: ?Calumny, Sir....? Beautiful and unfortunate Queen, on hearing that definition of the _crescendo_ of calumny would she not turn pale?

?With this representation of the _Barbier de S?ville_, ended the private theatricals of the _Pet.i.t-Trianon_. What was preparing was the drama, not the fict.i.tious drama, but the drama real, the drama terrible, the drama where Providence reserved to the unhappy queen the most tragic, the most touching of all the r?les....? (For the full details of this fatal affair of the diamond necklace, see _L?ancien R?gime_, by Imbert de Saint-Amand.)

Little did Beaumarchais realize the part he was playing in the preparation for that great drama. The gay utterances of his Figaro were the utterances of the ma.s.s of the people of France. Through Beaumarchais, the _Tiers ?tat_ was at last finding a voice and rising to self-consciousness; it was rising also to a consciousness of the effete condition of all the upper strata of society. Hence the wild enthusiasm with which these productions were greeted, an enthusiasm in which the aristocracy themselves joined, eager as the populace to laugh, for exactly the same reason as Figaro, so that they might not be obliged to weep.

CHAPTER XIV

_?On dit qu?il n?est pas n.o.ble aux auteurs de plaider pour le vil int?r?t, eux qui se piquent de pr?tendre ? la gloire. On a raison; la gloire est attrayante; mais on oublie que, pour en jouir seulement une ann?e, la nature nous cond.a.m.ne ? d?ner trois-cents-soixante-cinq fois;... Pourquoi, le fils d?Apollon, l?amant des Muses, incessammant forc? de compter avec son boulanger, n?gligerait-il de compter avec les com?diens??_

_Compte Rendu, par Beaumarchais_

Beaumarchais Undertakes to Protect the Rights of Dramatic Authors--Lawsuit with the Com?die-Fran?aise--Founder of the First Society of Dramatic Authors--Jealousies Among Themselves r.e.t.a.r.d Success--National a.s.sembly Grants Decree 1791--Final Form Given by Napoleon.

While Beaumarchais was enjoying the triumph of his _Barbier de S?ville_, his other affairs were by no means neglected.

Very soon we shall have occasion to accompany him to London on one of the most singular missions of which it is possible to conceive. But before entering into a history of the political and financial operations into which Beaumarchais plunged after his return from Vienna, it is necessary to speak of the very important matter which the success of the _Barbier_ emboldened its author to undertake.

As Beaumarchais possessed to such an extraordinary degree the power, as he himself has expressed it, _?de fermer le tiroir d?une affaire,?_ and instantly to turn the whole force of his mind into a totally different channel, we shall not be surprised to find him at one and the same time undertaking to protect the rights of dramatic authors against the comedians of the king; settling for Louis XVI a matter of occult diplomacy of the old king, Louis XV, which had dragged on for years, and which no one else had been able to adjust; working with unremitting zeal for his own rehabilitation as citizen; pursuing the interests of his suit with the Comte de la Blache, which was still in progress; leading a life in London and Paris which from the point of view of pleasure left little to be desired; and all the while engaged in constant and almost superhuman exertions to stir the French government out of its lethargy in regard to the insurgent American colonies, and later in sending the latter aid, under the very eyes of the English, exposed to constant danger of bankruptcy and ruin.

Unlike Beaumarchais, we are unable to give our attention to so many things at the same time, and we are therefore forced to treat each action separately.

Beginning then with his action against the comedians, it is necessary to state that the custom by which that ancient and highly honored inst.i.tution the _Th??tre-Fran?ais_ regulated its accounts with the author whose plays were there produced, permitted of so much obscurity that no attempt was ever made to verify those accounts, so that all the authors practically were obliged to content themselves with whatever the comedians chose to give them.

This condition of affairs had arisen in the following manner. The earliest theatrical representations, since those given in Greece and Rome, were the Mysteries, or Miracle Plays, which were written by the monks, who went about presenting them and who, of course, worked gratuitously. Later, small sums were offered for plays, but it was not until the time of Louis XIV that an author received any considerable sum for a literary production. Even during the reign of this liberal monarch it was the personal munificence of the king that extended itself to the author, rather than any rights which he possessed. That this munificence was quite inadequate is proved by the fact that the ?grand Corneille,? whose sublime genius lifted at one stroke, the literature of France to a height which few nations have surpa.s.sed, was allowed to die in poverty and distress.

Finally in 1697, a royal decree had been issued, which gave to the authors of the _Th??tre-Fran?ais_ the right to a ninth part of the receipts of each representation, after the deduction of the costs of the performance and certain rights, the limits of which were not clearly defined. It was stipulated also that if for twice in succession the receipts fell below the cost of performance, from which presentation the author of course received no returns, the piece, which was then termed, _tomb?e dans les r?gles_, became the property of the comedians. There was nothing said about any future performance of the piece. The comedians thus had it in their power to take it up anew, retaining for themselves the entire proceeds of the performances.

Innumerable abuses had crept in, so that instead of a ninth, it was well proved that often the author received less than a twentieth part of the returns of the play. The position of the comedians was strengthened by the current opinion that it was degrading to the high art of literature to bring it down to a financial basis. Profiting by this and abusing their privileges, the _Com?die-Fran?aise_ had gone on confiscating the productions of authors without serious opposition, although their actions had given rise in more than one instance to very serious trouble. Such was the condition of affairs in 1775.

?The richest of the dramatic authors,? says Lom?nie, ?Beaumarchais, for whom the theater had never been anything but a form of recreation, and who had made a present of his first two plays to the comedians, could not be taxed with cupidity in taking in hand the cause of his brothers of the pen. This is what determined him. We soon shall see him defending, for the first time, the rights of others more than his own, and hazarding himself in a new combat against adversaries more difficult to conquer than those against whom he had fought already; he will conquer nevertheless, but not for many years, and only with the aid of the Revolution will he succeed in getting the better of the kings and queens of the theater, in restraining the cupidity of the directors, and in establis.h.i.+ng the rights of authors, until this time so unjustly despoiled.

?To the end of his life he did not cease to demand that the law surround with its protection a kind of property, no less inviolable than other forms, but before his fervid pleadings, completely sacrificed.

?The society of dramatic authors to-day so powerful, so strongly organized, which rightly, or wrongly is sometimes accused of having replaced the tyranny of the actors and directors of the theatre by a tyranny exactly the reverse, do not know perhaps all they owe to the man who was the first to unite into a solid body the writers who up to that time had lived entirely isolated.?

Beaumarchais had long lived on terms of intimacy with the comedians of the _Th??tre-Fran?ais_; that he continued to do so during the years when his suit against them was in progress, is proved by the following letter from Mlle. Doligny, written in 1779.

The letter to which she alludes was in relation to his drama, _Les Deux Amis_, which he very much desired to have brought a second time before the public. The piece, it will be remembered, had never succeeded in Paris.

Beaumarchais professed a special fondness for it, however, and desired now to have it revived. The letter of Mlle. Doligny is as follows:

?Monsieur: I do not know how to thank you enough for all that you said of me in the letter which you wrote to the _Com?die_ on the subject of _Les Deux Amis_. All my comrades were enchanted with the gaiety and _esprit_ which shone in your letter. I was more enchanted than anyone, because of your friends.h.i.+p and goodness to me.? Then follows a special request in regard to two friends, after which she terminates thus:

?It is your Eug?nie, your Pauline, your Rosine, who solicits this; I dare hope that you will pay some attention to their recommendations. Receive the testimony of esteem, of attachment and of grat.i.tude with which I am for life, Monsieur, your, etc.

Doligny.?

In 1775, Beaumarchais and the comedians were living on the best of terms as well may be supposed. Never had the _Com?die_ received such fabulous returns from any play heretofore produced. Never had actors entered with more spirit into the views of their author.

?As many times as you please, Messieurs, to give the _Barbier de S?ville_, I will endure it with resignation. And may you burst with people for I am the friend of your successes and the lover of my own!--If the public is contented and if you are, I shall be also. I should like to be able to say as much for the critics; but though you have done all that is possible to give the piece to the best advantage and played like angels, you will have to renounce their support; one cannot please everybody.?

During the summer the matter of the _Barbier de S?ville_ seems to have dropped, owing no doubt to the fact that Beaumarchais was occupied completely with his secret mission and with his ardent addresses to the king in relation to the insurgent colonies. It will be remembered also that it was in August of this same year that the elder Caron breathed his last. We have given already the letter written on his death-bed where the venerable old watchmaker with expiring breath blessed his son who always had been his pride and honor, as well as his devoted friend.

And so to return to the case of the _Com?die-Fran?aise_. In December, 1775, being for a short time in Paris, Beaumarchais addressed himself to the comedians, in a letter the tone and matter of which show that his solicitude as an author had been aroused by a suspicion that they were trying to make his piece _tomber dans les r?gles_, and so confiscate it, by giving it on a day when some special performance at Versailles was liable to attract thither a large portion of the theater-going public. He wrote in a spirited way demanding that something be subst.i.tuted for the _Barbier_ on that night. The letter terminates thus, ?All the good days except Sat.u.r.day, the 23rd of December, 1775, you will give me the greatest pleasure to satisfy with the _Barbier_, the small number of its admirers.

For that day only, it will be easy to admit the validity of my excuses, recognized by the _Com?die_ itself. I have the honor to be, etc.

?Caron de Beaumarchais.?

?In re-reading my letter I reflect that the _Com?die_ may be embarra.s.sed for Sat.u.r.day because all the great tragedians are at Versailles. If that is the reason--Why did you not tell me simply how the matter stood? He who seems strict and rigorous in discussing his affairs is often the man who is the easiest in obliging his friends.--I should be distressed if the _Com?die_ had the smallest occasion to complain of me, as I hope always to have nothing but praise for it.

?Reply if you please.

Paris, December 20th 1775.?

Time pa.s.sed on. As Beaumarchais had given to the comedians his first two dramas, hope was entertained that he would demand no return for his _Barbier_. Early in May, 1776, to their surprise and dismay, came a polite request that an exact account of the part due him as the author be made out and given to him. The play then had been given thirty-two times.

Not wis.h.i.+ng to stir up trouble between themselves and their excellent friend, while at the same time unable and unwilling to grant the request, the comedians met the difficulty by a profound silence. ?At last,? says Beaumarchais in his _Compte rendu_, written several years later, ?one of them asked me if it was my intention to give the piece to the _Com?die_ or to require the right of authors.h.i.+p? I replied laughing like Sagnarelle: ?I will give it, if I wish to give it, and I will not give it, if I do not wish to give it; which does not in the least interfere with my receiving the account; a present has no merit, excepting as he who gives knows its value.?

?One of the actors insisted and said, ?If you will not give it, Monsieur, tell us at least how many times you desire that we play it for your profit, after that it will belong to us.?

[Ill.u.s.tration: Charles Philippe--Comte D?Artois]