“On the day appointed,” says Fleury, “Beaumarchais proceeded with his manuscript to the baron’s residence, where he found assembled, besides the master of the house, MM. Gaillard, Champfort, Rulhière, Madame de Matignon, the Minister’s daughter, and several other ladies, her friends. Beaumarchais began by declaring that he would submit without reserve to all corrections and omissions which the ladies and gentlemen present might deem requisite. He began reading, he was stopped; some remarks were made, and a little discussion arose. At every interruption, Beaumarchais yielded the point in dispute. But when the reading was ended, he went over the whole ground again, defending the smallest details with so much address, such forcible reasoning, and such captivating pleasantry, that he completely silenced his censors. They laughed and applauded, and, at length, all declared that the play was ‘a most original and unique production.’ Instead of omissions, additions were proposed. Every one of the party was eager to interpolate a word or two. M. de Breteuil suggested a _bon mot_, which Beaumarchais thankfully accepted. ‘This will save the fourth act,’ said he. Madame de Matignon chose the colour for the Page’s ribbon. The colour was approved; it would become quite the rage. ‘Who would not be proud to wear Madame de Matignon’s colours?’ said Beaumarchais. ‘But M. de Breteuil’s _bon mot_ would not be heard, the elegant ribbon would not be seen, if the second Figaro were not permitted to appear on the stage.’ That _he_ must appear was eventually the unanimous opinion.”[154] The astute dramatist completely succeeded in throwing dust in the eyes of the Baron de Breteuil, and, though Louis XVI. contrived to defer his inevitable surrender for some months longer, by declaring that the play must be re-examined and causing six censors to be appointed for that purpose, on April 27, 1784, the bills of the Comédie-Française, posted up in every quarter of Paris, triumphantly announced the production that evening of “Le Mariage de Figaro ou La Folle Journée.” The description of the first performance of Beaumarchais’s masterpiece is to be found in every history of the period. It is one of the best-known souvenirs of the eighteenth century. Let us, however, borrow the account given in the _Mémoires_ of Mlle. Contat’s colleague and friend, the actor Fleury: