Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence, Vol. 2

by Elizabeth Sarah Kite

Beaumarchais, in turn, was condemned to pay 1,000 écus to the poor of Aix as a punishment for the severe witticisms against his antagonist, in which he had indulged in his memoirs. They were also publicly condemned. Beaumarchais, however, was triumphant. Overwhelmed with joy to find his honor and his fortune restored to him, he desired only that the good people of Aix should rejoice with him. Instead, therefore, of the 1,000 écus demanded of him, he instantly doubled the sum, requesting that it might be distributed in dowries to twelve or fifteen poor, but worthy young women; the benediction of so many families happily established seeming to him the most beautiful which he could draw upon himself.

“The intoxication of this triumph, after so many years of uncertainty and combat, the enthusiasm with which he was received by the people of Aix,” are graphically described by Gudin in a letter written at the moment of his triumph.

“All the city,” wrote Gudin, “which subsists on suits, was in a state of the greatest impatience. While the judges deliberated, the doors of the court house were besieged; women, idlers, and those interested, were under the trees of a beautiful avenue not far off. The cafés, which bordered this promenade, were also filled. The Comte de la Blache was in his well lighted salon, which looked out on this avenue. Our friend was in a quarter at some distance away. Night came; at last the doors of the court house opened and these words were heard: ‘Beaumarchais has gained;’ a thousand voices repeated them, the clapping of hands spread down the avenue. Suddenly the windows and doors of the Comte were closed, the crowd arrived with cries, and acclamations, at the house of my friend; men, women, people who knew him and those who knew him not, embraced him, and congratulated him; this universal joy, the cries and transports overcame him, he burst into tears, and see him, like a great baby, let himself fall fainting into my arms. It was then who could succor him, who with vinegar, who with smelling salts, who with air; but, as he himself has said, the sweet impressions of joy do no harm. He soon returned to himself, and we went together to see and thank the first president.... On returning ... we found the same crowd at the house; tamborines, flutes, violins succeeded before and after supper; all the fagots of the neighborhood were piled up and made a fire of joy.... The mechanics of the place composed a song, and came in a body to sing it under his windows. Every heart took part in his joy, and everyone treated him like a celebrated man, to whose probity, due justice had at length been rendered.”

Gudin’s enthusiasm for his friend was destined, however, to a singular recompense. Arrived in Paris, he had composed a lengthy epistle to Beaumarchais (Loménie II, p. 66), which began as follows:

“The severe justice of Parliament has confounded the malice of thy enemies, though they had hoped that the dark art, which a vile senator in unhappy times had made to incline the balance, would surprise the prudence of our true magistrates.”

This chef-d’œuvre, composed of a hundred or more verses, had been inserted in a copy of Courrier de l’Europe, which was published in London, and which had altered the text by putting at the place of the words, “of a vile senator”—“a profane senate,” so that the personal allusion to the judge Goëzman was transformed into an allusion to the whole parliament Maupeou. But most of the members of this judicial body had gone back to their places in the grand council, from whence Maupeou had drawn them. Irritated at the triumph of Beaumarchais, and not daring to attack a man so strong in the favor of the public and the confidence of the ministers, “they seized this opportunity of scourging Beaumarchais over the back of his friend.”

The latter was absent from Paris, busy with the despatching of vessels from one of the seaports, when, suddenly, a warrant, “issued,” says Loménie, “without the slightest warning, came to surprise the pacific Gudin.” As he sat at table one evening with his mother and niece, a letter was handed him, which proved to be from a friend, Mme. Denis, niece of Voltaire. He glanced it through and there read the startling announcement: “You are about to be arrested, and that for verses printed in the Courrier de l’Europe. You have not an instant to lose.”

“I lost none,” wrote Gudin. “Having read the letter, I quitted the table without a word and passed into my room, where I hastily dressed myself, and then took refuge at the house of Beaumarchais. I read the letter to Mme. Beaumarchais....

“My first care was to send a messenger to prepare my mother for the strange visit she was about to receive, and bidding her not to alarm herself, and to reply that she did not know where I was, and that it was possible I was with Beaumarchais at a hundred leagues from Paris.”

After calling about him several of his friends, men of experience, they deliberated what was to be done. “Do not allow yourself to be taken, these men of the grand council hate Beaumarchais, and are quite capable of revenging themselves upon his friend....”