Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence Volume I Part 23

In the brilliant preface already alluded to, which Beaumarchais published with the play after its success was established, he allowed himself the pleasure of mocking, not only at the journalists and critics, but at the public itself. ?You should have seen,? he wrote, ?the feeble friends of the _Barbier_, dispersing themselves, hiding their faces, or disappearing; the women, always so brave when they protect, burying themselves in hoods, and lowering their confused eyes; the men running to make honorable amends for the good they had said of my piece and throwing the pleasure which they had taken in it upon my execrable manner of reading things. Some gazing fixedly to the right when they felt me pa.s.s to the left, feigned not to see me, others more courageous, but looking about to a.s.sure themselves that no one saw them, drew me into a corner to ask, ?Eh? how did you produce such an illusion? Because you must admit my friend that you have produced the greatest plat.i.tude in the world.??

Beaumarchais could afford to indulge in such pleasantries, for his piece was not only continuing to draw vast crowds, but it had begun already a triumphant progress over Europe. In St. Petersburg alone it went through fifty representations.

But the revenge of Beaumarchais did not stop here; most of the cuttings which he had been forced to make in the play, the witticisms, jests and tirades were far too good to be lost. He saved them for future use and made the public laugh over and applaud what it first hissed. When Figaro made his second appearance, on the mad day of his marriage, he used them nearly all. Beaumarchais?s revenge then was complete. But while waiting for this, he had the audacity to make the comedians themselves mock at their own playing, as we shall see presently.

The story of the _Barbier de S?ville_ is of the simplest: ?Never,? says Lintilhac, ?did any one make a better thing out of nothing.?

A young n.o.bleman, the count Almaviva, tired of the conquests which interest, convention, and vanity make so easy, has left Madrid to follow to Seville a charming, sweet, and fresh young girl Rosine, with whom he has never been able to exchange a word owing to the constant oversight of her guardian, the Doctor Bartholo, who is on the point of marrying her and securing to himself her fortune. In the words of Figaro, the doctor is a ?beautiful, fat, short, young, old man, slightly gray, cunning, sharp, cloyed, who watches, ferrets, scolds and grumbles all at the same time and so naturally inspires only aversion in the charming Rosine.? The count, on the contrary, is a sympathetic figure, who, although disguised as a student and only seen from afar, has already won the heart of the young girl.

Figaro, the gay and resourceful barber to Bartholo has long ago succeeded in making himself indispensable to the latter and to his whole household, while at the same time taking advantage of the avarice and cunning of the doctor and turning them to his own account. It is he who recognizes the disguise of the student, his old master, the count Almaviva, loitering under Rosine?s window, and offers his services in outwitting the doctor whose arrangements are made for the consummation of his marriage on that self-same day.

It is no easy matter which he here undertakes, for with all his resourcefulness, Figaro has to deal with a suspicious old man, subtle and cunning, who is almost as resourceful as himself.

The count obtains entrance to the house as a music teacher sent by Rosine?s usual instructor whom the count announces as ill.

A most amusing scene ensues when Basile, the true instructor, appears, unconscious that he has a subst.i.tute and where, by the quick wit of the others, even the old doctor is made to laugh him out of the house, before the situation is spoiled. Basile goes, utterly mystified by the whole proceeding, but carrying with him ?one of the irresistible arguments with which the count?s pockets are always filled.?

The embroglio thickens. Although Bartholo is constantly on his guard and suspicious of everyone, especially of Figaro, the latter succeeds in getting the key to Rosine?s lattice from the old man?s possession, almost under his very eyes, and then shows it to him, but at a moment when Bartholo is too much taken up with watching the new music teacher to notice the key, or the gesture of Figaro.

In the end, it is by the very means which Bartholo has taken to outwit the others, that the count succeeds in replacing him by the side of Rosine, and leading her before the notary, who arrives, after he has been sent for by Doctor Bartholo. The ceremony is concluded, as the doctor arrives on the scene. The fury of the latter is appeased, however, when he learns that he may keep the fortune of Rosine, while the count leads her off triumphant, happy in the ?sweet consciousness of being loved for himself.?

It is to be sure an old, old story, but made into something quite new by the genius of the author. The situation of Basile in the third act, as already described, is absolutely without precedent, while numerous other scenes offer a _comique_ difficult to surpa.s.s.

?The style lends wings to the action,? says Lintilhac, ?and is so full and keen that the prose rings almost like poetry while his phrases have become proverbs.?

Perhaps the most remarkable pa.s.sage of the whole play is that upon slander, which Beaumarchais puts into the mouth of Basile,

?Slander, sir! You scarcely know what you are disdaining. I have seen the best of men almost crushed under it. Believe me, there is no stupid calumny, no horror, not an absurd story that one cannot fasten upon the idle people of a great city if one only begins properly, and we have such clever folks!

?First comes a slight rumor, skimming the ground like a swallow before the storm, _pianissimo_, it murmurs and is gone, sowing behind its empoisoned traits.

?Some mouth takes it up, and _piano, piano_, it slips adroitly into the ear. The evil is done, it germinates, it grows, it flourishes, it makes its way, and _rinforzando_, from mouth to mouth it speeds onward; then suddenly, no one knows how, you see slander, erecting itself, hiss, swell, and grow big as you gaze. It darts forward, whirls, envelops, tears up, drags after it, thunders and becomes a general cry; a public _crescendo_, a universal chorus of hatred and proscription.?

The _Barbier de S?ville_ had gone through thirteen presentations when the time arrived for the closing of the theater for the three weeks before Easter. It was a time-honored custom on this occasion for one of the actors to come forward after the last performance was over, and deliver a discourse which was called the _compliment de cl?ture_. ?Beaumarchais,?

says Lom?nie, ?lover of innovation in everything, had the idea of replacing this ordinarily majestic discourse by a sort of proverb of one act, which should be played in the costumes of the _Barbier_.? In explaining the composition of the proverb he says further, ?It has not been sufficient for Beaumarchais to restore to the _Th??tre-Fran?ais_ some of the vivid gaiety of the olden time,--he wished for more, he desired not only that the people be made to laugh immoderately, but that one should sing in the theater of _Messieurs les com?diens du roi_.? This was an enormity and essentially contrary to the dignity of the _Com?die-Fran?aise_. Nevertheless, as Beaumarchais had an obstinate will, the comedians to please him undertook to sing at the first representation the airs introduced into the _Barbier_; but whether the actors acquitted themselves badly at this unaccustomed task, or whether it was that the public did not like the innovation, all the airs were hissed without pity and it had been necessary to suppress them in the next presentation. There was one air in particular to which the author was strongly attached; it was the air of spring sung by Rosine in the third act. ?_Quand dans la plaine_,? etc. The amiable actress, Mademoiselle Doligny, who had created the r?le of Rosine, little used to singing in public, and still less to being hissed, refused absolutely to recommence the experiment and Beaumarchais had been forced to resign himself to the sacrifice of the air.

But as in everything he only sacrificed himself provisionally.

At the approach of the day of the _cl?ture_, he proposed to the comedians to write for them the compliment which it was the custom to give, but on condition that they sing his famous air which he proposed to bring into the compliment, that was to be played by all the actors of the _Barbier_.

As Mademoiselle Doligny still refused to sing the bit in question, Beaumarchais suppressed the _r?le_ of Rosine, and replaced it by the introduction of another actress more daring, who sang very agreeably, namely, Mademoiselle Luzzi.

This amusing proverb in the style of the _Barbier_ had a great success and the delicious little spring song as sung by Mademoiselle Luzzi received at last its just applause. In the scene in which it was produced the daring author has dialogued thus:

Scene III

Mlle. Luzzi--?Very well, gentlemen, isn?t the compliment given yet??

Figaro--?It?s worse than that, it isn?t made.?

Mlle. Luzzi--?The compliment??

Bartholo--?A miserable author had promised me one, but at the instant of p.r.o.nouncing it, he sent us word to serve ourselves elsewhere.?

Mlle. Luzzi--?I am in the secret, he is annoyed that you suppressed in his piece his air of spring.?

Bartholo--?What air of spring? What piece??

Mlle. Luzzi--?The little air of Rosine in the _Barbier de S?ville_.?

Bartholo--?That was well done, the public does not want any one to sing at the _Com?die-Fran?aise_.?

Mlle. Luzzi--?Yes, Doctor, in tragedies; but when did it wish that a gay subject should be deprived of what might increase its agreeableness?

Believe me, gentlemen, Monsieur _le Public_ likes anything which amuses him.?

Bartholo--?More than that is it our fault if Rosine lost courage??

Mlle. Luzzi--?Is it pretty, the song??

Le Comte--?Will you try it??

Figaro--?In a corner under your breath.?

Mlle. Luzzi--?But I am like Rosine, I shall tremble.?

Le Comte--?We will judge if the air might have given pleasure.?

Mlle. Luzzi sings.

_?Quand dans la plaine L?amour ram?ne Le printemps Si ch?ri des amants, Tout reprend l??tre Son feu p?n?tre Dans les fleurs Et dans les jeunes coeurs.

On voit les troupeaux Sortir des hameaux; Dans tous les coteaux Les cris des agneaux Retentissent; Ils bondissent; Tout fermente, Tout augmente; Les brebis paissent Les fleurs qui naissent; Les chiens fid?les Veillent sur elles; Mais Lindor enflamm?

Ne songe gu?re Qu?au bonheur d??tre aim?

De sa berg?re.?_

Le Comte--?Very pretty, on my honor.?

Figaro--?It is a charming song.?

Beaumarchais was so far content. He had proved his point and had triumphed over friends and enemies alike. A far more difficult matter remained, however, to be settled. It was one that would have frightened a less intrepid character than that of our author, but obstacles, as we have seen in many previous instances, only served to strengthen his determination to conquer, which in this instance, as in most others, he did in the end.

When Beaumarchais demanded of the _Th??tre-Fran?ais_ a statement verified and signed as to his share of the profits from the representation of the _Barbier de S?ville_, no one knew better than he the magnitude of the innovation which he was committing.

The alarmed comedians, who had never in their lives made out an accurate account and who had not the remotest intention of yielding to the demand, endeavored by every possible means to put him off. The money that they sent and the unsigned memoranda which accompanied it, were all promptly but politely returned with the reiterated statement, most obligingly and cleverly turned and always in some new form, that it was not the money which was wanted, but a verified and signed account which could serve as a model for all future occasions, when it became a matter of business transaction between authors and comedians.

For fifteen years he pursued his object with unfaltering perseverance.

Unable to establish a new order of things under the old _r?gime_, we shall find him in 1791 presenting a pet.i.tion in regard to the rights of authors to the _a.s.sembl?e Nationale_.

But to return to the _Barbier de S?ville_, let us antic.i.p.ate a period of ten years and accompany Beaumarchais to a representation of this famous piece played upon another stage than that of the _Th??tre-Fran?ais_, and by actors very different from the comedians of the king.