It was soon apparent that Beaumarchais’ words and the wishes of the public opinion were stronger than the words and the wishes of the king and of his highest officers.  The king himself felt it and acknowledged it soon; he shrugged his shoulders compassionately when the chancellor of the seal, adhering still to his opposition, would by no means consent to the performance of the drama.

“You will see,” said Louis, with his own soft, good-natured smile—­ “you will see that Beaumarchais’ credit is better than that of the great-seal bearer.” [Footnote:  “Memoires de Madame de Campan,” vol. i., p. 279.]

The king’s prophecy was correct—­Beaumarchais had more credit than the chancellor!  His powerful patrons in high places, and all those who made opposition to the king and queen, and at their head the Count de Provence, banded together to have this piece publicly represented.  The king’s consent was elicited from him by the assurance made public that Beaumarchais had stricken out of his drama all the offensive and captious parts, and that it was now a mere innocent and somewhat tedious piece.

The king gave his consent, and “The Wedding of Figaro” was represented at the Theatre Francais.

The effect of this drama on the public was a thing unheard of; so enthusiastic that Beaumarchais himself laughingly said:  “There is something yet more foolhardy than my piece, and that is, its result”—­that the renowned actress Sophie Arnold, in allusion to this, that the opponents of this drama had prophesied that it would fall through, exclaimed:  “The piece will fall through to-day more than fifty times one after another!”

But even this prophecy of the actress did not reach the full result, and the sixtieth representation was as crowded as the first.  All Paris wanted to see it, so as to hiss the government, the nobility, clergy, morality.  There was a rush from the provinces to Paris for the sake of attending the representation of “Figaro’s Wedding;” and even those who hitherto had opposed the performance, pressed forward to see it.

One day Beaumarchais received a letter from the Duke de Villequier, asking of him as a favor to give up for that evening his trellised box in behalf of some ladies of the court, who desired to see “Figaro” without being seen.

Beaumarchais answered:  “My lord duke, I have no respect for ladies who desire to see a performance which they consider improper, and who wish to see it under cover.  I cannot stoop to such fancies.  I have given my piece to the public to amuse and not to instruct them, not to procure to tamed wenches (begueules mitigees) the satisfaction of thinking well of the piece in a small trellised box, and then to say all manner of evil against it in public.  The pleasure of vice and the honors of virtue, that is what the prudery of our age demands.  My piece is not double-faced.  It must be accepted or repelled.  I salute you, my lord duke, and keep my box.” [Footnote:  “Correspondance de Diderot et Grimm avec un Souverain.”]