La Jeunesse—“Y-a-t-il de la justice?”

Bartholo—“De la justice? C’est bon pour les autres misÉrables, la justice. Je suis maÎtre, moi, pour avoir toujours raison.”

Le Barbier de SÉville, Act II, Scene VII.

IT will be remembered that Gudin in his history of Beaumarchais speaks of a meeting of literary men at the table of a certain Mademoiselle MÉnard, femme d’esprit, where the subject of the comic opera lately composed by Beaumarchais was discussed. It was this same Mademoiselle MÉnard who in the words of LomÉnie was “the cause of an Homeric combat between Beaumarchais, prudent and dexterous as Ulysses, and a duke and peer, robust and ferocious as Ajax.”

Mademoiselle MÉnard was a young and pretty actress, who in June, 1770, had made her dÉbut with success at the ComÉdie Italienne. In his Correspondence littÉraire, of June, 1770, Baron von Grimme, the great critic of the time, says of her after a rather cold analysis: “Mademoiselle MÉnard must be given a trial; she seems capable of great application. It is said that her first occupation was that of a flower girl on the boulevards, but wishing to withdraw from that estate which has degenerated a little from the first nobility of its origin, since GlysÈre sold bouquets at the doors of the temple of Athens, she bought a grammar and applied herself to a study of the language and its pronunciation, after which she tried playing comedies. During her first attempts, she has addressed herself to all the authors, musicians, and poets, asking their counsels with a zeal and docility which has had for recompense the applause which she has obtained in her different rÔles. M. de Pequigny, to-day the duc de Chaulnes, protector of her charms, has had her portrait painted by Greuze; so if we do not retain her in the theater we shall at least see her at the next salon.”

Acting on the wishes of her protector, Mademoiselle MÉnard had renounced the theater and was in the habit of receiving at her house poets, musicians, and great lords, Beaumarchais among the rest.

“The duc de Chaulnes,” says LomÉnie, “was a man notorious for the violence and extravagance of his character. The history of Beaumarchais by Gudin contains details about him in every way confirming the testimony of other contemporaries.”

“His character,” wrote Gudin, “was a peculiar mixture of contradictory qualities; esprit without judgment, pride, with such a lack of discernment as to rob him of dignity before superiors, equals or inferiors, a vast but disorderly memory, a great desire to improve himself, a still greater taste for dissipation, a prodigious strength of body, a violence of disposition which rendered him extremely unreasonable and robbed him of the power to think clearly, frequent fits of rage which made of him a savage beast incapable of being controlled.

“At one time banished from his country for five years, he spent the time of his exile in making a scientific expedition. He visited the pyramids, lived with the Bedouins and brought home many objects of natural history.”

To this portrait by Gudin, LomÉnie adds the following: “In the midst of his disorderly and extravagant life, he had conserved something of the taste of his father, a distinguished mechanician, physicist, and natural historian who died an honorary member of the Academy of Natural Sciences. The son loved chemistry passionately and made several discoveries. Nevertheless even here he displayed many eccentricities. Thus, to verify the efficacy of a preparation he had invented against asphyxiation, he shut himself up in a glass cabinet and asphyxiated himself, leaving to his valet de chambre the care to come to his aid at the proper moment to try his remedy. Happily his servant was punctual and no harm was done.

“The peculiar character of the duke rendered his liaison with Mademoiselle MÉnard very stormy. At the same time brutal, jealous, and unfaithful, he inspired in her little sentiment other than fear. Suddenly becoming infatuated with Beaumarchais, he introduced him to the young woman in question.”

Gudin says, “One of the greatest wrongs that I have known in Beaumarchais was to appear so amiable to women that he was always preferred, which made him as many enemies as there were aspirants to please him.”

The duc de Chaulnes, perceiving very soon that Mademoiselle MÉnard found Beaumarchais very agreeable, his friendship turned to fury.

“Frightened by his violence,” says LomÉnie, “she begged Beaumarchais to cease his visits. Out of regard for her, he consented, but the bad treatment of the duke continuing, she decided to take the desperate step of shutting herself up in a convent. When she believed that the danger was over and that she would be safe in her own home, she returned and invited her friends, Beaumarchais among them, to come to see her.”

The duke during his intimacy with Beaumarchais had received many favors from him, notably important sums of money which, of course, he never repaid. It was at the moment of the return of Mademoiselle MÉnard to her home that Beaumarchais wrote the following letter to the duke.

“Monsieur le Duc,

“Mademoiselle MÉnard has notified me that she has returned to her home and has invited me to come to see her along with all her other friends, when I can make it convenient. I judge that the reasons which forced her to the retreat now have ceased. She tells me she is free and I congratulate both of you sincerely. I expect to see her sometime to-morrow. The force of circumstances has then done for you what my representations were unable to accomplish. I have known by what pecuniary efforts you have tried again to bring her to be your dependent, and with what nobility she has refused your money.

“Pardon me if I make certain reflections, they are not foreign to the end which I have in view in writing this. In speaking to you of Mademoiselle MÉnard I forget my personal injuries. I forget that after making it clear to you that my attachment for you alone inspired the sacrifices which I made, and that after having said to me very disadvantageous things about her, you have changed and said things a hundred times worse to her about me. I pass also in silence the scene, horrible for her—and disgusting to me, where you so far forgot yourself as to reproach me with being the son of a watchmaker. I, who honor myself in my parents in the face of those even, who imagine they have the right to outrage their own. You must feel, Monsieur le duc, how much more advantageous my position is at this moment than your own, and except for the anger which makes you unreasonable, you would certainly appreciate the moderation with which I repelled the outrage against him whom I have always made profession of loving and honoring with all my heart. But if my respectful regards for you have not gone so far as to make me fear you, then it is because it is not in my power to fear any man. Believe me, Monsieur le duc, I have never tried to diminish the attachment of this generous woman for you. She would have despised me if I had attempted to do so. You have had, therefore, no enemy but yourself. Recall all that I have had the honor to say in regard to this subject and give back your friendship to him whom you have not been able to deprive of his esteem for you. If this letter does not appeal to you, I shall feel that I have done my duty to the friend whom I have never offended, whose injuries I have forgotten, and to whom I come now for the last time....”

The duke did not reply to this letter and matters remained at a standstill until one morning the infatuated duke took it into his head to kill Beaumarchais.

“Fatality,” says Gudin, “was the cause that I who never left my study in the morning unless it was to go and turn over the pages of the books or ancient manuscripts in the BibliotÈque du Roi, had gone out that morning by request of my mother, it being the 11th of February, 1773. My commission for her finished and finding myself near the lodging of Mademoiselle MÉnard whom I had not seen for a long time, I mounted to her apartments.

“‘It is a great while since I have seen you,’ she said, ‘I feared you no longer had any friendship for me.’ I assured her of my regard and seated myself in an armchair. Soon she burst into tears as if her heart could not contain its grief, and began to recount the violences of the duke and spoke of a very insulting remark which he had made about Beaumarchais. At that moment the duke entered the room, I rose and gave him my place.

“‘I weep,’ she said, ‘and I beg M. Gudin to induce Beaumarchais to justify himself for the ridiculous accusation you have made against him.’

“‘What need is there for a scoundrel like Beaumarchais to justify himself?’

“‘He is a very honest man,’ she said, shedding more tears.

“‘You love him,’ cried the duke. ‘You humiliate me. I declare to you that I will kill him!’

“The duke sprang up and rushed from the room. We all rose and cried out. I ran to prevent his escape, but he evaded me. I turned back into the room, I cried to the women that I would warn Beaumarchais and prevent the combat.

“I was beside myself, I left and ran to his house. I met his carriage in the Rue Dauphine. I threw myself in front of the horses, stopped them, mounted on the steps of his carrosse, and told him that the duc de Chaulnes was hunting for him and wished to kill him.

“‘Come home with me, I will tell you the rest.’

“‘I cannot,’ he answered, ‘the hour calls me to the tribunal of the varenne du Louvre, where I must preside, I will come to you as soon as the audience is finished.’

“His carriage started and I went back home. Just as I was mounting the steps of the Pont-Neuf I felt myself violently pulled by the skirts of my coat, I fell backward and found myself in the arms of the duc de Chaulnes who, using his gigantic strength, picked me up like a bird, threw me into a fiÀcre, cried to the coachman, ‘Rue de CondÉ,’ and said to me with horrible oaths that I should find for him the man he sought to kill.

“‘By what right,’ I said, ‘Monsieur le duc, you who are always crying for liberty, do you take mine from me?’

“‘By the right of the strongest. You will find for me—Beaumarchais or—’

“‘Monsieur le duc, I have no arms, you will perhaps wish also to assassinate me?’

“‘No—I will only kill that Beaumarchais.’

“‘I do not know where he is and if I did, I would not tell you while you are in the fury of your present rage.’

“‘If you resist, I will give you a blow.’

“‘And I will return it.’

“‘What, you would strike a duke!’ With that he threw himself upon me and tried to seize my hair. As I wore a wig it remained in his hand, which made the scene very amusing as I perceived from the laughter of the populace outside the fiÀcre, all the doors of which were open. The duke who saw nothing, seized me by the neck and wounded me on my throat, my ear, and my cheek. I stopped his blows as best I could and called the guard with all my might. The duke grew calmer and we arrived at the home of Beaumarchais.

“The duke jumped from the carriage and pounded on the door. I sprang from the other side of the carriage and knowing that my friend would not be found, I escaped to my own home by the side streets, there to await the coming of Beaumarchais.

“I waited in impatience,—he did not come, I grew uneasy, fear seized me, I gave orders that he should await me, I ran to his home. Here is what happened and which is to be found in his petition to the marshals of France.”

“Exact recital of what passed Thursday, the 11th of February, 1773, between M. le duc de Chaulnes and myself, Beaumarchais.

“I had opened the audience of the capitainerie, when I saw M. le duc de Chaulnes arrive with the most bewildered air that could be imagined and he said aloud that he had something very pressing to communicate to me and that I must come out at once. ‘I cannot, Monsieur le duc, the service of the public forces me to terminate decently what I have begun.’ I had a seat brought for him; he insisted; everyone was astonished at his air and tone. I began to fear that his object would be suspected and I suspended the audience for a moment and passed with him into a cabinet. There he told me with all the force of the language des halles, that he wished to kill me at once and to drink my blood, for which he was thirsty.

“‘Oh, is it only that, Monsieur le duc? Permit then, that business go before pleasure.’ I wished to return; he stopped me, saying that he would tear out my eyes before all the world if I did not instantly go out with him.

“‘You will be lost, Monsieur, if you are rash enough to attack me publicly.’

“I re-entered the audience chamber assuming a cold manner.

“Surrounded as I was by the officers and guards of the capitainerie, after seating le duc de Chaulnes, I opposed during the two hours of the audience, a perfect sang-froid to the petulant and insane perturbation with which he walked about troubling the audience and asking of all, ‘Will this last much longer?’

“Finally the audience was over and I put on my street costume. In descending, I asked M. de Chaulnes, what could be his grievance against a man whom he had not seen for six months.

“‘No explanation,’ he said to me, ‘let us go instantly and fight it out.’

“‘At least,’ I said, ‘you will permit me to go home and get a sword? I have only a mourning sword with me in the carriage.’

“‘We are passing the house of M. le Comte de Turpin, who will lend you one and who will serve as witness.’

“He sprang into my carriage. I got in after him, while his equipage followed ours. He did me the honor of assuring me that this time I would not escape him, ornamenting his sentences with those superb imprecations which are so familiar in his speech. The coolness of my replies augmented his rage.

“We arrived as M. de Turpin was leaving his home. He mounted on the box of my carriage.

“‘M. le duc,’ I said, ‘is carrying me off. I do not know why he wants us to cut one another’s throats, but in this strange adventure he hopes that you will wish to serve as witness of our conduct.’

“M. de Turpin replied that a pressing matter forced him to go at once to the Luxembourg and would detain him there until four o’clock in the afternoon. I perceived that M. de Turpin had for his object to allow time for the rage of Monsieur le duc to calm itself. He left us. M. de Chaulnes wished to take me to his home. ‘No, thank you,’ I replied, and ordered my coachman to drive to mine.

“‘If you descend I will poniard you at your own door.’

“‘You will have the pleasure then, because it is exactly where I am going.’ Then I asked him to dine with me.

“The carriage arrived at my door, I descended, and he followed me. I gave my orders coldly, the postman handed me a letter, the duke seized it from me before my father and all the domestics. I tried to turn the matter into a joke, but the duke began to swear. My father became alarmed, I reassured him and ordered dinner to be served in my study.”

At this point we return to the account by Gudin which is much less detailed than Beaumarchais’s recital.

“The duke followed him, and on entering the study though wearing a sword of his own, he seized one of Beaumarchais’s which was lying on the table and attempted to stab him, but found himself seized and enveloped before he had time completely to draw the sword from its case. The men struggled together like two athletes, Beaumarchais less strong, but more master of himself, pushed the duke toward the chimney and seized the bell cord. The domestics came running in and seeing their master assailed, his hair torn and his face bleeding, they attacked the duke. The cook arming himself with a stick of wood was ready to break the skull of the madman. Beaumarchais forbade them to strike, but ordered that they take away the sword which the duke held in his hands. They so far disarmed him but did not dare to take the sword which he still wore at his side. In the struggle, they had pushed and pulled each other from the study to the steps, here the duke fell and dragged Beaumarchais with him. At this moment I knocked at the street door. The duke immediately disengaged himself and threw open the door. My surprise can be imagined.

“‘Enter,’ cried the duke, seizing me, ‘here is another who will not go out of here,’ his mania seemed to be that no one should leave the house until he had killed Beaumarchais.

“I joined my friend and tried to make him enter the study with me; the duke opposed himself to us with violence and drew his own sword. Beaumarchais seized him by the throat and pressed him so closely that he could not strike. Eight of us came instantly to his aid and disarmed the duke. A lackey had his head cut, the coachman his nose injured and the cook was wounded in the hand. We pushed the duke into the dining-room which was very near the street door and Beaumarchais went up stairs.

“As soon as the duke ceased to see his enemy he sat down by himself at the table and ate with a furious appetite.”

Here Beaumarchais shall continue with the account: “The duke again heard a knocking at the door and rushed to open it. He found M. the commissioner Chenu, who, surprised at the disorder in which he found the establishment, and at my appearance as I descended to greet him, inquired the cause of the confusion. I told him in a few words.... At my explanation the duke threw himself once more upon me striking me with his fists, unarmed I defended myself as best I could before the assembly who soon separated us. M. Chenu begged me to remain in the salon while he took charge of the duke, who had begun to break glass and tear his own hair in rage at not having killed me. M. Chenu at last persuaded him to go home and he had the impertinence to have my lackey whom he had wounded, dress his hair. I went to my room to have myself attended to and the duke throwing himself into my carriage rode away.

“I have stated these facts simply, without indulging in any comments, employing as far as possible the expressions used, and endeavoring to state the exact truth in recounting one of the strangest and most disgusting adventures which could come to a reasonable man.”

Gudin ends his account with a very characteristic picture of Beaumarchais.

“Anyone else, after an equally violent scene, would have been overwhelmed with anxiety and fatigue, would have sought repose, and would have been anxious in regard to precautions against the repeated violence of a great lord, but Beaumarchais, as cheerful and assured as if he had passed the most tranquil day, was not willing to deny himself a moment of pleasure. That very evening, at the risk of encountering the duke, he went to the home of one of his old friends, M. Lopes, where he was expected to give a reading of his Barbier de SÉville.

“Upon his arrival he recounted to them the adventures of the day. Everyone supposed that after such an exciting experience, there would be no feeling on his part for comedy. But Beaumarchais assured the ladies that the scandalous conduct of a madman should not spoil their evening’s pleasure and he read his play with as much composure as if nothing had happened. He was as calm, as gay, and as brilliant during supper as usual, and passed a part of the night playing on the harp and singing the Spanish seguedillas or the charming scenes he had set to music which he accompanied with so much grace upon the instrument which he had perfected.

“It was thus that in every circumstance of his life he gave himself entirely to the thing which occupied him without any thought of what had passed or was to follow, so sure was he of all his faculties and his presence of mind. He never needed preparation upon any point, his intelligence was always ready, and his principles of action faultless.”

As might be expected, the scandalous adventure made a great deal of noise. It was taken up by the marshals of France, judges in such cases between gentlemen, and a guard was sent to the home of each one of the adversaries. LomÉnie says, “In the interval the duke de la VrilliÈre, minister of the house of the king, ordered Beaumarchais to go into the country for some days, and as the latter protested energetically against such an order the execution of which, under the circumstances, would have compromised his honor, the minister had directed him to stay at his home until the matter had been taken before the king.

“The marshals then successively called each combatant in turn to appear before them. Beaumarchais had no trouble in proving that his only wrong consisted in being permitted the friendship of a pretty woman, and the result of the investigation having been unfavorable to the duc de Chaulnes, he was sent on the 19th of February by a lettre de cachet to the chÂteau of Vincennes. The Marshals of France then sent for Beaumarchais a second time and declared him free.

“All this was just, but Beaumarchais, not over confident in human justice, went to the duke de la VrilliÈre to assure himself that he was free. Not finding the nobleman at home he addressed a note to Sartine, lieutenant-gÉnÉral of police, to ask the same question. This latter replied that he was perfectly at liberty, then for the first time Beaumarchais ventured to stir abroad. But he counted even then prematurely on the justice of the court. The very small mind of the duc de la VrilliÈre was offended that the tribunal of the marshals of France should discharge arrests given by him and so to teach the tribunal a lesson and to show his authority, on the 24th of February he sent Beaumarchais to For-l’EvÊque.”

As may be imagined, this was a terrible blow to a man of his active temperament and especially at this time when his enemy the Comte de la Blache was capable of using the advantage thus acquired to complete his ruin. Nevertheless his first letter from prison shows his usual serenity of mind. He wrote to Gudin: “In virtue of a lettre sans cachet called lettre de cachet signed Louis and below Philippeaux, recommended—Sartine, executed—Buchot, and submitted Beaumarchais, I am lodged, my friend, since this morning at For-l’EvÊque, in an unfurnished room at 2160 livres rent where I am led to hope that, except what is necessary I shall lack nothing. Is it the family of the duke whom I have saved a criminal suit who have imprisoned me? Is it the ministry whose orders I have constantly followed or anticipated? Is it the dukes and peers of the realm with whom I am in no way connected? This is what I do not know, but the sacred name of ‘King’ is so beautiful a thing that one cannot multiply it or employ it too frequently Àpropos. It is thus that in every country which is governed by police they torment by authority those whom they cannot inculpate with justice. Wherever mankind is to be found, odious things happen and the great wrong of being in the right is always a crime in the eyes of power, which wishes to punish unceasingly, but never to judge.”

The two rivals were thus very securely lodged for the present and Mademoiselle MÉnard, the unwilling pretext of all the trouble, was quite safe from her tormentor. Before the rendering of the sentence, however, which confined the duc de Chaulnes to the prison of Vincennes, in the fear which the violence of his character inspired, this “beautiful Helen,” says LomÉnie, “went and threw herself at the feet of M. de Sartine, imploring his protection.” The next day she wrote a letter communicating her fixed resolve to retire to a convent. Other letters follow and four days after the terrible scene which has been described, Mademoiselle MÉnard entered the couvent des CordeliÈres, faubourg Saint-Marceau, Paris.

M. de Sartine had entrusted the very delicate, not to say hazardous mission of seeing the young woman in question safely lodged in a convent, to a worthy priest, l’abbÉ DuguÉ. This very respectable, very good and very naÏf abbÉ, wrote the same evening a lengthy letter to the lieutenant-general of police in which he showed himself very anxious not to compromise his own dignity as well as not to incur the enmity of a great duke still at liberty, whose character was universally known.

After explaining the difficulties he had encountered, and his just uneasiness in finding himself entangled in what to him was a very embarrassing affair, he humbly begged that the duke be prevented from disturbing the young woman, the circumstances of whose history he has been forced to hide from the good sisters of the CordeliÈres. If the interference of the duke could be prevented, he hoped that the repose, joined to the sweetness of the appearance and character of this “affligÉe recluse” would work in her favor in this home of order and prevent his passing for a liar, or even worse, as though being in fault for irregular conduct.

“I left the ladies,” he continues, “well disposed for their new pensionaire, but I repeat, what disgrace for me, if jealousy or love, equally out of place, find her out and penetrate even to her parlor there to exhale their scandalous or their unedifying sighs.”

The good abbÉ’s fears in regard to the young woman were, however, groundless, for as we have seen, by the 19th of February the duc de Chaulnes was safe in the fortress of Vincennes.

LomÉnie continues: “This affligÉe recluse, as the good abbÉ DuguÉ said, was not at all made for the life of a convent, she had scarcely enjoyed the existence within its protecting walls a fortnight before she felt the need to vary her impressions, and she abruptly returned to the world, tranquilized by the knowledge of the solidity of the walls of the chÂteau de Vincennes which separated her from the duc de Chaulnes.”

Beaumarchais, inactive at For-l’EvÊque, having heard of Mademoiselle MÉnard’s return to the world wrote her a most characteristic letter full of brotherly advice in which is shown his tendency to regulate the affairs of those in whom he feels an interest, as well as a certain chagrin perhaps, that the young woman in question should enjoy her liberty when he, Beaumarchais, is forced to remain inactive at For-l’EvÊque.

He wrote: “It is not proper that anyone should attempt to curtail the liberty of others, but the counsels of friendship ought to have some weight because of their disinterestedness. I learn that you, Mademoiselle, have left the convent as suddenly as you entered it. What can be your motives for an action which seems imprudent? Are you afraid that some abuse of authority will force you to remain there? Reflect, I beg you, and see if you are more sheltered in your own home, should some powerful enemy think himself strong enough to keep you there? In the painful condition of your affairs having no doubt exhausted your purse by paying your pension quarter in advance, and furnishing an apartment in the convent, ought you to triple your expense without necessity? The voluntary retreat where sorrow and fear conducted you, is it not a hundred times more suited to you than those lodgings from which your feelings should wish to separate you by great distance? They tell me that you weep. Why do you do so? Are you the cause of the misfortunes of M. de Chaulnes or of mine? You are only the pretext, and if in this execrable adventure anyone can be thankful, it ought to be you who have no cause to reproach yourself and who have recovered your liberty from one of the most unjust tyrants and madmen who ever took upon themselves the right of invading your presence.

“I must also take into account what you owe the good and worthy abbÉ DuguÉ, who to serve you, has been obliged to dissimulate your name and your trouble in the convent, where you were sheltered on his word. Your leaving, which seems like a freak, does it not compromise him with the superiors of the convent, in giving him the appearance of being connected with a black intrigue, he who put so much zeal and compassion into what he did for you? You are honest and good, but so many violent emotions may have thrown your judgment into some confusion. You need a wise counsellor who will make it his duty to show you your situation just as it is, not happy, but bearable.

“Believe me, my dear friend, return to the convent where I am told you have made yourself loved. While you are there, discontinue the useless establishment which you keep up against all reason. The project which it is supposed that you have of returning to the stage is absurd. You should think of nothing but tranquilizing your mind and regaining your health. In a word, whatever your plans for the future, they cannot and ought not to be indifferent to me. I should be informed, for I dare say that I am the only man whose help you should accept without blushing. In remaining in the convent it will be proved that there is no intimate connection between us, and I shall have the right to declare myself your friend, your protector, your brother, and your counselor.

Beaumarchais.”

But all these remonstrances were in vain. Mademoiselle MÉnard persisted in remaining in the world. Beaumarchais resigned himself as she became very useful in soliciting his release. Her name, however, very soon disappears from the papers of Beaumarchais. His own affairs take on so black an aspect that he had little time to busy himself with those of others. As for the duc de Chaulnes before leaving prison he addressed a humble letter to M. de Sartine in which he promised never again to torment Mademoiselle MÉnard nor to interfere with Beaumarchais, asking only that the latter keep himself at a distance.

Thus ends the famous quarrel whose consequence had so profound an effect upon the career of Beaumarchais as we shall see in the next chapter.