ntry house, that thus an opportunity might be
afforded for judging whether or not the alterations which had been made
were sufficient to render its performance innocent.

The king was assured that the passages which he had regarded as
mischievous were suppressed or divested of their sting. Marie Antoinette
apparently had her suspicions; but Louis could never long withstand
repeated solicitations, and, as he had not, when Madame de Campan read it,
formed any very high opinion of its literary merits, he thought that, now
that it was deprived of its venom, it would be looked upon as heavy, and
would fail accordingly. Some good judges, such as the Marquis de
Montesquieu, were of the same opinion. The actors thought differently. "It
is my belief," said a man of fashion to the witty Mademoiselle Arnould,
using the technical language of the theatre, "that your play will be
'damned.'" "Yes," she replied, "it will, fifty nights running." But, even
if Louis had heard of her prophecy, he would have disregarded it. He gave
his permission for the performance to take place, and on the 27th April,
1784, "The Marriage of Figaro" was accordingly acted to an audience which
filled the house to the very ceiling; and which the long uncertainty as to
whether it would ever be seen or not had disposed to applaud every scene
and every repartee, and even to see wit where none existed. To an
impartial critic, removed both by time and country from the agitation
which had taken place, it will probably seem that the play thus obtained a
reception far beyond its merits. It was undoubtedly what managers would
call a good acting play. Its plot was complicated without being confused.
It contained many striking situations; the dialogue was lively, but there
was more humor in the surprises and discoveries than verbal wit in the
repartees. Some strokes of satire were leveled at the grasping disposition
of the existing race of courtiers, whose whole trade was represented as
consisting of getting all they could, and asking for more; and others at
the tricks of modern politicians, feigning to be ignorant of what they
knew; to know what they were ignorant of; to keep secrets which had no
existence; to lock the door to mend a pen; to appear deep when they were
shallow; to set spies in motion, and to intercept letters; to try to
ennoble the poverty of their means by the grandeur of their objects. The
censorship, of course, did not escape. The scene being laid in S