not concern me now—but to refute the most heavy, awkward, disagreeable jesting which is the tone of your letter, my friend. I am most astonished that those Sapphos of sisters of mine did not prevent your putting such impertinence into the post. It is a fact that you are not made for jesting but for more serious matters. Nothing could be more ridiculous than to see you attempt the lighter vein, which does very well for the little dog of La Fontaine, but which is disgusting in more solid animals. More than this, your ideas are based upon a foundation so false and so equivocally set forth that they fill me with pity. … As far as my sister is concerned, I shall be very happy if I find her married as her heart dictates when I return; if I find her unmarried, I shall put no obstacle in the way of her happiness. I have two left for whom I will provide according to the turn which my affairs take on. … I am in no haste for either of them for I have certain ideas about the future which make me feel that the longer they wait the less they will regret not having been in too much of a hurry.
“And now since I do not pretend to give myself airs in disposing of any of my family without their consent, it would have been easy to draw from me an explanation which would have made your letter unnecessary. I am returning the missive to you that you may have the pleasure of regaling yourself thereon if by chance you have not kept a copy.
“For the rest, your desire to marry my sister is an honor to her—I repeat it—and she is entirely free to choose you if you satisfy her; far from trying to prevent it I give my consent from to-day forth—but always with the understanding that you never confound the rights which you will acquire over her as her husband, with those which you can never have over me. This is what I wish to tell you once for all in order that nothing of this kind may ever again happen between us.
“I take the liberty of begging you to keep to the only tone which will pass with me—that of friendship. I have need neither of a preceptor who pretends to explore into the motives of my actions, nor of a pedagogue who takes it upon himself to instruct me.
“I do not know why Julie should have communicated to you that which I wrote, and I am still more astonished that she has imagined that your ridiculous letter could affect me. It is my intention never to return to this subject, therefore I beg her by this letter, never again to suffer in her presence that anyone fails in the respect which is due me. I am so indulgent truly, that this need not be denied me.
“You will receive this letter by the way of my father, who sent me yours, so that All The Family may be the witnesses of the way in which I accept your jesting.
“It is not very agreeable to me to think that my sisters, not wishing to take with me an improper tone, make it their business to pass on to me your words, to relieve themselves of the restraint they have before me.
“After this, jest on as much as you like, you will receive nothing from me to engage a serious quarrel. When you know so little of my life, however, you will spare me your commentaries.
“I am none the less, my dear Miron, your servant and friend
“Beaumarchais.”
As he himself has said, “with good hearts, anger is only a pressing need for pardon,” so the matter was not difficult to settle. August 27th, 1764, he writes to Julie, “How is everybody, the christian pedagogue first of all?” and Oct. 26th of the same year, “I have received your letter of the 9th by which you confirm all that has been told me of the moderation of Boisgarnier. I thank her sincerely. Miron has written to me, but while reading, I felt like saying, ‘Miron, what do you want of me with this beautiful letter? A month ago my anger was all gone and all this seems to me but tiresome repetition.’ ”
In spite of her moderation the youngest sister seems to have sided with her brother at her lover’s expense, for we soon find the former pleading with her in a letter addressed to his father from Madrid, dated January 14, 1765.
“Monsieur and very dear father:
“I have received your last letter dated December 31st—and that of Boisgarnier. Her reply gave me much pleasure. She is a droll creature, but she has a good deal of intelligence and rectitude of character; now, if I am in any way the cause of the coldness between her and her friend, I say in advance that I have entirely given up my resentment and she will do well to follow my example. For whatever opinion he may have of me, I am determined not to quarrel with him.
“The only thing that can hurt me is that he should speak ill of my heart, I don’t care what he says of my mind. The first will always be at his service and the second ready to give him a drubbing if he needs it. …
Princess de Lamballe
“I am indeed sorry if they cannot agree, for Miron is a man who does not lack a single quality which should make an honest woman happy; and if my Boisgarnier is less touched by these qualities than by the defects of a few frivolous attractions (which for my part I do not deny him) then I should say that she is a child who has not yet acquired that experience which prefers happiness to pleasure. To say absolutely what I think, I am convinced that he is right to prefer his qualities to mine, for there are many points where I do not feel that I possess either his virtue or his constancy, and these things are of great price when it is a question of a union for life.
“Therefore I invite my Boisgarnier not to think of our friend except in regard to what there is of him which is infinitely estimable, and soon the matter will adjust itself. I was furious with him for twenty-four hours—nevertheless there is no other man whom I would prefer to be associated with as a brother-in-law.
“I understand all that Boisgarnier would say—yes, he plays on the hurdy-gurdy, that is true, his heels are half an inch too high, he has a nasal twang when he sings—he eats raw apples at night, he is cold and didactic when he talks—he has a certain awkwardness of manner in everything he does; but still the good people of the rue Condé ought not to be offended at such things;—a wig, a waist coat, a pair of clogs ought not to drive anyone away when he excels in matters of the heart and his mind is in keeping. Adieu Boisgarnier, here is a long article for thee.”
It is interesting to find Beaumarchais candidly acknowledging the lack of certain qualities in himself which at least he knows how to appreciate in others. In his relations with Pauline it will be seen that whatever her real motives may have been, she uses what she considers his inconstancy as a pretext later for her break with him. However, to do him justice, it must be affirmed that there is no evidence that he ever for a moment entertained an idea of abandoning her, or that in his heart he meant to be untrue; yet the fact remains that other women did not lose their charm for him because of her, and while at Madrid he was far from denying himself consolation for being deprived of her society. His letters to her were by no means frequent enough, nor ardent enough to satisfy the longings of a romantic young girl.
Already before his departure for Madrid, he seems to have given ground for complaint, as we find Julie accusing him of levity in a letter to a friend while at the same time she paints in her merriest vein the love-sick condition of the family.
“Our house,” she wrote, “is a dovecote where everyone lives on love and hope; I am the one who laughs more than the others, because I am the least in love; Beaumarchais is a perverse being who by his levity teases and grieves Pauline. Boisgarnier and Miron discuss sentiment till one loses one’s breath, and impassion themselves with order up to the point of a sublime disorder. The Chevalier and I are worse than all that; he is as loving as an angel, passionate as a seraph, while I am as gay as a linnet, and malicious as a demon. Love does not make me lon-lan-la like the others, and yet in spite of my madness I could not keep from tasting of it. More’s the pity!”
Beaumarchais
