WITH

CHAPTER XV

BEAUMARCHAIS THE BRILLIANT

ITHOUT the kind assistance of the Count de Chaumont, Dr. Franklin would not have been able to extend his acquaintance so speedily and in such influential quarters. It was necessary not only for the American ambassador to become known at court, but he was obliged to be in close relations with men prominent in commercial and manufacturing circles. Hardly a day passed in which the ubiquitous count did not invite some prominent gentleman to dinner, more often a number of them, and Dr. Franklin was invariably requested to form one of the company.

It is accepted as axiomatic that the only time when politics can be pleasantly and successfully considered is after a good dinner, accompanied by copious libations of the best vintages. The dinners at the Great House produced equally satisfactory results in a business way to all concerned.

On one occasion, there was but a solitary guest invited, the count, Dr. Franklin, and the stranger sitting down to a well-filled table. When introduced, Franklin heard a name-Beaumarchais-previously unknown to him. During the dinner, the philosopher was greatly impressed by his lofty stature, his well-proportioned, elegant figure, the regularity of his features, his bright, animated expression, his confident bearing, his

air of command, and, above all, the ardor shown by him in conversation when a subject was introduced in which he was greatly interested.

Conversation upon general topics had not flagged during the meal, but when the repast was over, cigars lighted, and well-filled decanters placed in close proximity to each guest, the exchange of ideas became more rapid and more personal in its character.

"Monsieur de Beaumarchais," said the count, "is personally acquainted with all the great men and women of France, and he can give you a much better idea than I can of their virtues, their vanities, and their vagaries.”

"Why not add another V," said Beaumarchais, “and include their venalities?"

"You have suffered enough from those," remarked the count, "to speak advisedly upon the subject, but I will refer to another V, which may be more interesting to our friend Doctor Franklin. When did you last hear from Voltaire?"

"Less than a week ago," was the reply. "In his letter, he complimented me upon my thirty-two teeth, my lively philosophy, and my age. His letter was kind, but mine made this answer so necessary that I think I should have replied in a similar manner."

"Monsieur de Beaumarchais, I wager," said the count, "has had more interesting personal experiences than any other man in France. I trust that he will overcome his natural modesty and enliven our ears with recital of some of them.'

"My dear count," said Beaumarchais, “if I had possessed to even a moderate extent that valued personal attribute which you call modesty, I am confident that my experience would have been far less varied and much less exciting."

"Come, come," said the philosopher, with a genial smile, “I am in a mood for stories. I have told a good many myself and about myself—so I shall not consider it egotistical or vain in you if you will recount to us some of your interesting experiences."

Thus encouraged, Beaumarchais threw off all the restraint which might have been imposed upon him by the conventionalities, and, for the rest of the evening, delighted his hearers, not only with the stories themselves, but, also, by the brilliant way in which they were told. The Count de Chaumont began the conversational tournament by a suggestive remark:

"Monsieur de Beaumarchais lived for some time in Spain."

"And what was your opinion of that country?" asked Dr. Franklin.

"Perhaps I can best answer your question," said Beaumarchais, "by telling you a little story, for you say that you enjoy them. Monsieur de Caro, the French Ambassador to Spain, met the Marchioness d'Arissa one day at the house of Grimaldi, the holder of a portfolio. 'What do you think of Spain?' inquired the marchioness. 'Madame,' replied Monsieur de Caro, 'you must wait until I have left it before I give you my answer. I am too sincere, and too polite to give it at the house of one of the king's ministers.'"

"I may be prejudiced from what I have read," said Dr. Franklin, “but I have formed the opinion that the Spaniards are a morose, jealous, and excessively proud people."

"Morose, yes," cried Beaumarchais, "but they come by that naturally from their long line of half-savage Moorish ancestors. Jealous, no, for in no country in Europe have I found such liberty freely accorded to

both sexes. Proud, foolishly so, for they judge a man's social standing, not by what he possesses, but by his lavish expenditure. The grandees keep scores, and some of them, hundreds of useless servants who live upon their bounty and are virtually paupers, for they render no service in return. Take the king, for instance; his wealth is great, his income adding daily to it, and yet, he feeds thousands who have not the means with which to purchase bread."

"An entirely wrong arrangement of industrial forces," said the philosopher. "The government wrings unjust taxes from the people and then returns to them only enough to keep them from starvation. How much wiser would that king be if, by just laws, he promoted industry and thrift, and collected only equitable taxes which would give him a proper support and enable him to administer the government efficiently, but economically!"

Beaumarchais sprang to his feet and clasped Dr. Franklin's hand in both of his.

"My dear doctor," he cried, "you, in America, are a hundred years ahead of Europe in such matters.' As he resumed his seat, he added:

"It has been my fervent hope, that before; I died, I might see such principles adopted in France: but when Turgot was banished, the radiant promises held out by him passed into oblivion."

The count wished the conversation kept aloof from political subjects, and inquired:

"But you enjoyed yourself in Spain?"

"I had a most delightful time," said Beaumarchais, quickly resuming his former playful manner. "I cannot say that I enjoyed the theaters, for but little can be learned at them. They are given over to amusing

trifles and dancing, but their music far surpasses our efforts in that direction.

"You never saw the fandango, the Spanish national dance? Ah, no, of course not, and I will not try to describe it, for my words would be totally inadequate. Instead of doing so, I will tell you a little story which will show you the hold that this dance has upon the national heart.

"The clergy took strong action against the fandango, asking the clerical potentate at Rome to banish it from the stage, at least. A Spanish dramatist having, apparently, more faith in the people than fear of the Church, wrote a divertissement which was the rage in Seville when I was there. In the play, the Holy Father and his Cardinals were represented as having come to Spain to see the fandango for themselves and pass judgment upon it. When the dance began, they sat there, and, judging from their looks, the fate of the fandango was sealed. But see! their faces assume a less stern expression, and, mirabile dictu! their feet begin to keep time to the music. The sound from the orchestra doubled in volume. The dancers showed a most strenuous activity, and, finally, overcome by the glare of the lights, the voluptuousness of the music, and the passionate abandon of the dancers, the judges arose, came down from the judgment seats, and when the curtain fell they were all taking an active part in the wild saturnalia."

"I do not think that religion should be travestied upon the stage," said Dr. Franklin, and the count nodded his acquiescence in the remark.

"Nor do I," added Beaumarchais, "but if we banish religion, it will be argued that we should also banish politics; if this is done, the dramatist, who, perforce,