“‘I promise you my entire discretion, and I finish without compliment, because the most simple manner is the one that should inspire the most confidence. But hide nothing from me.
‘Beaumarchais.’
THE TEMPLE
“Mademoiselle Ninon,” continues Loménie, “asked for nothing better than to unburden her poor heart; she addressed to Beaumarchais an avalanche of letters of which several contain no less than twelve pages; she gave her name, the name of her seducer, and recounts her little romance with a curious mixture of naïveté, of precocity, sensitiveness, intelligence and garrulity. This Provençale of seventeen is literally saturated with the Nouvelle Heloïse.
“‘Fatal house,’ she cried, in speaking of the place where she first met her lover, ‘’tis thou which causes my pains.’ She has all its contradictions, ... protesting that if she has left the path of virtue, she has only all the more felt the worth of a pure and virtuous soul. ‘Lovely innocence,’ she cried, ‘have I lost thee? Ah! no, no; I have sounded to the remotest depths of my heart; it is too sensitive, but it is still honest. I implore you, Monsieur, do not believe it corrupt.’
“Whether,” continues Loménie, “these rather wordy dissertations of the little philosopher in skirts gave to Beaumarchais the idea that it would be too difficult to correct such an exalted brain, or whether it was that the work which was crushing him on every side prevented his following this strange correspondence, true it is that he replied no more to the long letters of Mlle. Ninon, although she addressed to him the most melancholy reproaches. But what could he do? The war had just broken out between France and England. Beaumarchais, who had had his own part in bringing about that result, was engaged himself in the conflict; he drew up political memoirs, he armed vessels; where could he find the time to reply to the confidences of Mademoiselle Ninon? Nevertheless it would seem that these letters interested him because he has classed them in a package by themselves, upon which he has written with his own hand: ‘Letters of Ninon, or affair of my young client, unknown to me.’”