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 pronouncing 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 Séville_.”

Bartholo--“That was well done, the public does not want any one to sing at the _Comédie-Française_.”

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 ramène Le printemps Si chéri des amants, Tout reprend l’être Son feu pénètre 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 fidèles Veillent sur elles; Mais Lindor enflammé Ne songe guère Qu’au bonheur d’être aimé De sa bergère.”_

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 _Théâtre-Français_ a statement verified and signed as to his share of the profits from the representation of the _Barbier de Séville_, 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 _régime_, we shall find him in 1791 presenting a petition in regard to the rights of authors to the _Assemblée Nationale_.

But to return to the _Barbier de Séville_, let us anticipate a period of ten years and accompany Beaumarchais to a representation of this famous piece played upon another stage than that of the _Théâtre-Français_, and by actors very different from the comedians of the king.

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 amusement.

From the insupportable _régime_ 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 _Petit-Trianon_.

In the semi-seclusion of her palace and its adjoining pleasure grounds, her rôle 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 _Petit-Trianon_. In August of the year Marie Antoinette who had always protected Beaumarchais, wishing to do him a signal honor had decided to produce upon the little stage of her palace theater the _Barbier de Séville_.

In his _Fin de l’ancien Régime_, 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 Séville_, 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 _Comédie-Française_, 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 rôle of Rosine.

“Beaumarchais was present. The rôle of Figaro was taken by the Comte d’Artois....

“A soirée, 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 _régime_, he the future _émigré_, he the prince who would one day bear the title 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,