Chapter V: The School for Scandal (1)

Mr. Sheridan was now approaching the summit of his dramatic fame;--he had already produced the best opera in the language, and there now remained for him the glory of writing also the best comedy. As this species of composition seems, more, perhaps, than any other, to require that knowledge of human nature and the world which experience alone can give, it seems not a little extraordinary that nearly all our first-rate comedies should have been the productions of very young men. Those of Congreve were all written before he was five-and-twenty. Farquhar produced the Constant Couple in his two-and-twentieth year, and died at thirty. Vanbrugh was a young ensign when he sketched out the Relapse and the Provoked Wife, and Sheridan crowned his reputation with the School for Scandal at six-and-twenty.

It is, perhaps, still more remarkable to find, as in the instance before us, that works which, at this period of life, we might suppose to have been the rapid offspring of a careless, but vigorous fancy,-- anticipating the results of experience by a sort of second-sight inspiration,--should, on the contrary, have been the slow result of many and doubtful experiments, gradually unfolding beauties unforeseen even by him who produced them, and arriving, at length, step by step, at perfection. That such was the tardy process by which the School for Scandal was produced, will appear from the first sketches of its plan and dialogue, which I am here enabled to lay before the reader, and which cannot fail to interest deeply all those who take delight in tracing the alchemy of genius, and in watching the first slow workings of the menstruum, out of which its finest transmutations arise.

"Genius," says Buffon, "is Patience;" or, (as another French writer has explained his thought)--"La Patience cherche, et le Genie trouve;" and there is little doubt that to the co-operation of these two powers all the brightest inventions of this world are owing;--that Patience must first explore the depths where the pearl lies hid, before Genius boldly dives and brings it up full into light. There are, it is true, some striking exceptions to this rule; and our own times have witnessed more than one extraordinary intellect, whose depth has not prevented their treasures from lying ever ready within reach. But the records of Immortality furnish few such instances; and all we know of the works, that she has hitherto marked with her seal, sufficiently authorize the general position,--that nothing great and durable has ever been produced with ease, and that Labor is the parent of all the lasting wonders of this world, whether in verse or stone, whether poetry or pyramids.

The first sketch of the School for Scandal that occurs was written, I am inclined to think, before the Rivals, or at least very soon after it;-- and that it was his original intention to satirize some of the gossips of Bath appears from the title under which I find noted down, as follows, the very first hints, probably, that suggested themselves for the dialogue.

"THE SLANDERERS.--_A Pump-Room Scene_.

"Friendly caution to the newspapers.

"It is whispered--

"She is a constant attendant at church, and very frequently takes Dr. M'Brawn home with her.

"Mr. Worthy is very good to the girl;--for my part, I dare swear he has no ill intention.

"What! Major Wesley's Miss Montague?

"Lud, ma'am, the match is certainly broke--no creature knows the cause; some say a flaw in the lady's character, and others, in the gentleman's fortune.

"To be sure they do say--

"I hate to repeat what I hear.

"She was inclined to be a little too plump before she went.

"The most intrepid blush;--I've known her complexion stand fire for an hour together.

"'She had twins,'--How ill-natured! as I hope to be saved, ma'am, she had but one; and that a little starved brat not worth mentioning."

The following is the opening scene of his first sketch, from which it will be perceived that the original plot was wholly different from what it is at present,--Sir Peter and Lady Teazle being at that time not in existence.

"LADY SNEERWELL and SPATTER.

"_Lady S._ The paragraphs, you say, were all inserted.

"_Spat._ They were, madam.

"_Lady S._ Did you circulate the report of Lady Brittle's intrigue with Captain Boastall?

"_Spat._ Madam, by this Lady Brittle is the talk of half the town; and in a week will be treated as a demirep.

"_Lady S._ What have you done as to the innuendo of Miss Niceley's fondness for her own footman?

"_Spat._ 'Tis in a fair train, ma'am. I told it to my hair- dresser,--he courts a milliner's girl in Pall Mall, whose mistress has a first cousin who is waiting-woman to Lady Clackit. I think in about fourteen hours it must reach Lady Clackit, and then you know the business is done.

"_Lady S._ But is that sufficient, do you think?

"_Spat._ O Lud, ma'am, I'll undertake to ruin the character of the primmest prude in London with half as much. Ha! ha! Did your ladyship never hear how poor Miss Shepherd lost her lover and her character last summer at Scarborough? this was the whole of it. One evening at Lady ----'s, the conversation happened to turn on the difficulty of breeding Nova Scotia sheep in England. 'I have known instances,' says Miss ---, 'for last spring, a friend of mine, Miss Shepherd of Ramsgate, had a Nova Scotia sheep that produced her twins.'--'What!' cries the old deaf dowager Lady Bowlwell, 'has Miss Shepherd of Ramsgate been brought to bed of twins?' This mistake, as you may suppose, set the company laughing. However, the next day, Miss Verjuice Amarilla Lonely, who had been of the party, talking of Lady Bowlwell's deafness, began to tell what had happened; but unluckily, forgetting to say a word of sheep, it was understood by the company, and, in every circle, many believed, that Miss Shepherd of Ramsgate had actually been brought to bed of a fine boy and a girl; and, in less than a fortnight, there were people who could name the father, and the farm-house where the babies were put out to nurse.

"_Lady S._ Ha! ha! well, for a stroke of luck, it was a very good one. I suppose you find no difficulty in spreading the report on the censorious Miss ----.

"_Spat._ None in the world,--she has always been so prudent and reserved, that every body was sure there was some reason for it at bottom.

"_Lady S._ Yes, a tale of scandal is as fatal to the credit of a prude as a fever to those of the strongest constitutions; but there is a sort of sickly reputation that outlives hundreds of the robuster character of a prude.

"_Spat._ True, ma'am, there are valetudinarians in reputation as in constitutions; and both are cautious from their appreciation and consciousness of their weak side, and avoid the least breath of air. [Footnote: This is one of the many instances, where the improving effect of revision may be traced. The passage at present stands thus:--"There are valetudinarians in reputation as well as constitution; who, being conscious of their weak part, avoid the least breath of air, and supply the want of stamina by care and circumspection."]

"_Lady S._ But, Spatter, I have something of greater confidence now to entrust you with. I think I have some claim to your gratitude.

"_Spat._ Have I ever shown myself one moment unconscious of what I owe you?

"_Lady S._ I do not charge you with it, but this is an affair of importance. You are acquainted with my situation, but not all my weaknesses. I was hurt, in the early part of my life, by the envenom'd tongue of scandal, and ever since, I own, have no joy but in sullying the fame of others. In this I have found you an apt tool: you have often been the instrument of my revenge, but you must now assist me in a softer passion. A young widow with a little beauty and easy fortune is seldom driven to sue,--yet is that my case. Of the many you have seen here, have you ever observed me, secretly, to favor one?

"_Spat._ Egad! I never was more posed: I'm sure you cannot mean that ridiculous old knight, Sir Christopher Crab?

"_Lady S._ A wretch! his assiduities are my torment.

"_Spat._ Perhaps his nephew, the baronet, Sir Benjamin Backbite, is the happy man?

"_Lady S._ No, though he has ill-nature, and a good person on his side, he is not to my taste. What think you of Clerimont? [Footnote: Afterwards called Florival.]

"_Spat._ How! the professed lover of your ward, Maria; between whom, too, there is a mutual affection.

"_Lady S._ Yes, that insensible, that doater on an idiot, is the man.

"_Spat._ But how can you hope to succeed?

"_Lady S._ By poisoning both with jealousy of the other, till the credulous fool, in a pique, shall be entangled in my snare.

"_Spat._ Have you taken any measure for it?

"_Lady S._ I have. Maria has made me the confidante of Clerimont's love for her: in return, I pretended to entrust her with my affection for Sir Benjamin, who is her warm admirer. By strong representation of my passion, I prevailed on her not to refuse to see Sir Benjamin, which she once promised Clerimont to do. I entreated her to plead my cause, and even drew her in to answer Sir Benjamin's letters with the same intent. Of this I have made Clerimont suspicious; but 'tis you must inflame him to the pitch I want.

"_Spat._ But will not Maria, on the least unkindness of Clerimont, instantly come to an explanation?

"_Lady S._ This is what we must prevent by blinding...."

The scene that follows, between Lady Sneerwell and Maria, gives some insight into the use that was to be made of this intricate ground-work, [Footnote: The following is his own arrangement of the Scenes of the Second Act. "Act II. Scene 1st. All.--2d. Lady S. and Mrs. C.--3d. Lady S. and ... Em. and Mrs. C. listening.--4th. L. S. and Flor. shows him into the room,--bids him return the other way.--L. S. and Emma.--Emma and Florival;--fits,--maid.--Emma fainting and sobbing:--'Death, don't expose me!'--enter maid,--will call out--all come on with cards and smelling bottles."] and it was, no doubt, the difficulty of managing such an involvement of his personages dramatically, that drove him, luckily for the world, to the construction of a simpler, and, at the same time, more comprehensive plan. He might also, possibly, have been influenced by the consideration, that the chief movement of this plot must depend upon the jealousy of the lover,--a spring of interest which he had already brought sufficiently into play in the Rivals.

"_Lady Sneerwell._ Well, my love, have you seen Clerimont to-day?

"_Maria._ I have not, nor does he come as often as he used. Indeed, madam, I fear what I have done to serve you has by some means come to his knowledge, and injured me in his opinion. I promised him faithfully never to see Sir Benjamin. What confidence can he ever have in me, if he once finds I have broken my word to him?

"_Lady S._ Nay, you are too grave. If he should suspect any thing, it will always be in my power to undeceive him.

"_Mar._ Well, you have involved me in deceit, and I must trust to you to extricate me.

"_Lady S._ Have you answered Sir Benjamin's last letter in the manner I wished?

"_Mar._ I have written exactly as you desired me: but I wish you would give me leave to tell the whole truth to Clerimont at once. There is a coldness in his manner of late, which I can no ways account for.

"_Lady S._ (_aside_.) I'm glad to find I have worked on him so far;--fie, Maria, have you so little regard for me? would you put me to the shame of being known to love a man who disregards me? Had you entrusted me with such a secret, not a husband's power should have forced it from me. But, do as you please. Go, forget the affection I have shown you: forget that I have been as a mother to you, whom I found an orphan. Go, break through all ties of gratitude, and expose me to the world's derision, to avoid one sullen hour from a moody lover.

"_Mar._ Indeed, madam, you wrong me; and you who know the apprehension of love, should make allowance for its weakness. My love for Clerimont is so great--

"_Lady S._ Peace; it cannot exceed mine.

"_Mar._ For Sir Benjamin, perhaps not, ma'am--and, I am sure, Clerimont has as sincere an affection for me.

"_Lady S._ Would to heaven I could say the same!

"_Mar._ Of Sir Benjamin:--I wish so too, ma'am. But I am sure you would be extremely hurt, if, in gaining your wishes, you were to injure me in the opinion of Clerimont.

"_Lady S._ Undoubtedly; I would not for the world--Simple fool! (_aside._) But my wishes, my happiness depend on you--for, I doat so on the insensible, that it kills me to see him so attached to you. Give me but Clerimont, and--

"_Mar._ Clerimont!

"_Lady S._ Sir Benjamin, you know, I meant. Is he not attached to you? am I not slighted for you? Yet, do I bear any enmity to you, as my rival? I only request your friendly intercession, and you are so ungrateful, you would deny me that.

"_Mar._ Nay, madam, have I not done everything you wished? For you, I have departed from truth, and contaminated my mind with falsehood-- what could I do more to serve you?

"_Lady S._ Well, forgive me, I was too warm. I know you would not betray me. I expect Sir Benjamin and his uncle this morning--why, Maria, do you always leave our little parties?

"_Mar._ I own, madam, I have no pleasure in their conversation. I have myself no gratification in uttering detraction, and therefore none in hearing it.

"_Lady S._ Oh fie, you are serious--'tis only a little harmless raillery.

"_Mar._ I never can think that harmless which hurts the peace of youth, draws tears from beauty, and gives many a pang to the innocent.

"_Lady S._ Nay, you must allow that many people of sense and wit have this foible--Sir Benjamin Backbite, for instance.

"_Mar._ He may, but I confess I never can perceive wit where I see malice.

"_Lady S._ Fie, Maria, you have the most unpolished way of thinking! It is absolutely impossible to be witty without being a little ill-natured. The malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick. I protest now when I say an ill-natured thing, I have not the least malice against the person; and, indeed, it may be of one whom I never saw in my life; for I hate to abuse a friend--but I take it for granted, they all speak as ill-naturedly of me.

"_Mar._ Then you are, very probably, conscious you deserve it--for my part, I shall only suppose myself ill-spoken of, when I am conscious I deserve it."

"_Enter Servant._

"_Ser._ Mrs. Candor.

"_Mar._ Well, I'll leave you.

"_Lady S._ No, no, you have no reason to avoid her, she is good nature itself.

"_Mar._ Yes, with an artful affectation of candor, she does more injury than the worst backbiter of them all."

"_Enter_ MRS. CANDOR.

"_Mrs. Cand._ So, Lady Sneerwell, how d'ye do? Maria, child, how dost? Well, who is't you are to marry at last? Sir Benjamin or Clerimont? The town talks of nothing else."

Through the remainder of this scene the only difference in the speeches of Mrs. Candor is, that they abound more than at present in ludicrous names and anecdotes, and occasionally straggle into that loose wordiness, which, knowing how much it weakens the sap of wit, the good taste of Sheridan was always sure to lop away. The same may be said of the greater part of that scene of scandal which at present occurs in the second Act, and in which all that is now spoken by Lady Teazle, was originally put into the mouths of Sir Christopher Crab and others--the caustic remarks of Sir Peter Teazle being, as well as himself, an after creation.

It is chiefly, however, in Clerimont, the embryo of Charles Surface, that we perceive how imperfect may be the first lineaments, that Time and Taste contrive to mould gradually into beauty. The following is the scene that introduces him to the audience, and no one ought to be disheartened by the failure of a first attempt after reading it. The spiritless language--the awkward introduction of the sister into the plot--the antiquated expedient [Footnote: This objection seems to have occurred to himself; for one of his memorandums is--"Not to drop the letter, but take it from the maid.] of dropping the letter--all, in short, is of the most undramatic and most unpromising description, and as little like what it afterwards turned to as the block is to the statue, or the grub to the butterfly.

"_Sir C._ This Clerimont is, to be sure, the drollest mortal! he is one of your moral fellows, who does unto others as he would they should do unto him.

"_Lady Sneer._ Yet he is sometimes entertaining.

"_Sir C._ Oh hang him, no--he has too much good nature to say a witty thing himself, and is too ill-natured to praise wit in others.

"_Enter_ CLERIMONT.

"_Sir B._ So, Clerimont--we were just wishing for you to enliven us with your wit and agreeable vein.

"_Cler._ No, Sir Benjamin, I cannot join you.

"_Sir B._ Why, man, you look as grave as a young lover the first time he is jilted.

"_Cler._ I have some cause to be grave, Sir Benjamin. A word with you all. I have just received a letter from the country, in which I understand that my sister has suddenly left my uncle's house, and has not since been heard of.

"_Lady S._ Indeed! and on what provocation?

"_Cler._ It seems they were urging her a little too hastily to marry some country squire that was not to her taste.

"_Sir B._ Positively I love her for her spirit.

"_Lady S._ And so do I, and would protect her, if I knew where she was.

"_Cler._ Sir Benjamin, a word with you--(_takes him apart_.) I think, sir, we have lived for some years on what the world calls the footing of friends.

"_Sir B._ To my great honor, sir.--Well, my dear friend?

"_Cler._ You know that you once paid your addresses to my sister. My uncle disliked you; but I have reason to think you were not indifferent to her.

"_Sir B._ I believe you are pretty right there; but what follows?

"_Cler._ Then I think I have a right to expect an implicit answer from you, whether you are in any respect privy to her elopement?

"_Sir B._ Why, you certainly have a right to ask the question, and I will answer you as sincerely--which is, that though I make no doubt but that she would have gone with me to the world's end, I am at present entirely ignorant of the whole affair. This I declare to you upon my honor--and, what is more, I assure you my devotions are at present paid to another lady--one of your acquaintance, too.

"_Cler._ (_Aside_.) Now, who can this other be whom he alludes to?--I have sometimes thought I perceived a kind of mystery between him and Maria--but I rely on her promise, though, of late, her conduct to me has been strangely reserved.

"_Lady S._ Why, Clerimont, you seem quite thoughtful. Come with us; we are going to kill an hour at ombre--your mistress will join us.

"_Cler._ Madam, I attend you.

"_Lady S. (Taking Sir B. aside.)_ Sir Benjamin, I see Maria is now coming to join us--do you detain her awhile, and I will contrive that Clerimont should see you, and then drop this letter.

"[Exeunt all but Sir. B.]

"_Enter_ MARIA.

"_Mar._ I thought the company were here, and Clerimont--

"_Sir B._ One, more your slave than Clerimont, is here.

"_Mar._ Dear Sir Benjamin, I thought you promised me to drop this subject. If I have really any power over you, you will oblige me--

"_Sir B._ Power over me! What is there you could not command me in? Have you not wrought on me to proffer my love to Lady Sneerwell? Yet though you gain this from me, you will not give me the smallest token of gratitude.

"Enter CLERIMONT behind.

"_Mar._ How can I believe your love sincere, when you continue still to importune me?

"_Sir B._ I ask but for your friendship, your esteem.

"_Mar._ That you shall ever be entitled to--then I may depend upon your honor?

"_Sir B._ Eternally--dispose of my heart as you please.

"_Mar._ Depend upon it, I shall study nothing but its happiness. I need not repeat my caution as to Clerimont?

"_Sir B._ No, no, he suspects nothing as yet.

"_Mar._ For, within these few days, I almost believed that he suspects me.

"_Sir B._ Never fear, he does not love well enough to be quick sighted; for just now he taxed me with eloping with his sister.

"_Mar._ Well, we had now best join the company.

"[_Exeunt._]

"_Cler._ So, now--who can ever have faith in woman! D--d deceitful wanton! why did she not fairly tell me that she was weary of my addresses? that, woman-like, her mind was changed, and another fool succeeded.

"_Enter_ LADY SNEERWELL.

"_Lady S._ Clerimont, why do you leave us? Think of my losing this hand. (_Cler._ She has no heart)--five mate--(_Cler._ Deceitful wanton!) spadille.

"_Cler._ Oh yes, ma'am--'twas very hard.

"_Lady S._ But you seem disturbed; and where are Maria and Sir Benjamin? I vow I shall be jealous of Sir Benjamin.

"_Cler._ I dare swear they are together very happy,--but, Lady Sneerwell--you may perhaps often have perceived that I am discontented with Maria. I ask you to tell me sincerely--have you ever perceived it?

"_Lady S._ I wish you would excuse me.

"_Cler._ Nay, you have perceived it--I know you hate deceit."

* * * * *

I have said that the other sketch, in which Sir Peter and Lady Teazle are made the leading personages, was written subsequently to that of which I have just given specimens. Of this, however, I cannot produce any positive proof. There is no date on the manuscripts, nor any other certain clue, to assist in deciding the precedency of time between them. In addition to this, the two plans are entirely distinct,--Lady Sneerwell and her associates being as wholly excluded from the one, as Sir Peter and Lady Teazle are from the other; so that it is difficult to say, with certainty, which existed first, or at what time the happy thought occurred of blending all that was best in each into one.

The following are the Dramatis Personae of the second plan:--

Sir Rowland Harpur.

---- Plausible.

Capt. Harry Plausible.

Freeman.

Old Teazle. [Footnote: The first intention was, as appears from his introductory speech, to give Old Teazle the Christian name of Solomon. Sheridan was, indeed, most fastidiously changeful in his names. The present Charles Surface was at first Clerimont, then Florival, then Captain Harry Plausible, then Harry Pliant or Pliable, then Young Harrier, and then Frank--while his elder brother was successively Plausible, Pliable, Young Pliant, Tom, and, lastly, Joseph Surface. Trip was originally called Spunge; the name of Snake was in the earlier sketch Spatter, and, even after the union of the two plots into one, all the business of the opening scene with Lady Sneerwell, at present transacted by Snake, was given to a character, afterwards wholly omitted, Miss Verjuice.] (_Left off trade_.)

Mrs. Teazle.

Maria.

From this list of the personages we may conclude that the quarrels of Old Teazle and his wife, the attachment between Maria and one of the Plausibles, and the intrigue of Mrs. Teazle with the other, formed the sole materials of the piece, as then constructed. [Footnote: This was most probably the "two act Comedy," which he announced to Mr. Linley as preparing for representation in 1775.] There is reason too to believe, from the following memorandum, which occurs in various shapes through these manuscripts, that the device of the screen was not yet thought of, and that the discovery was to be effected in a very different manner--

"Making love to aunt and niece--meeting wrong in the dark--some one coming--locks up the aunt, thinking it to be the niece."

I shall now give a scene or two from the Second Sketch--which shows, perhaps, even more strikingly than the other, the volatilizing and condensing process which his wit must have gone through, before it attained its present proof and flavor.

"ACT I.--SCENE I

"OLD TEAZLE _alone._

"In the year 44 I married my first wife; the wedding was at the end of the year--aye, 'twas in December; yet, before Ann. Dom. 45, I repented. A month before we swore we preferred each other to the whole world-- perhaps we spoke truth; but, when we came to promise to love each other till death, there I am sure we lied. Well, Fortune owed me a good turn; in 48 she died. Ah, silly Solomon, in 52 I find thee married again! Here, too, is a catalogue of ills--Thomas, born February 12; Jane born Jan. 6; so they go on to the number of five. However, by death I stand credited but by one. Well, Margery, rest her soul! was a queer creature; when she was gone, I felt awkward at first, and being sensible that wishes availed nothing, I often wished for her return. For ten years more I kept my senses and lived single. Oh, blockhead, dolt Solomon! Within this twelvemonth thou art married again--married to a woman thirty years younger than thyself; a fashionable woman. Yet I took her with caution; she had been educated in the country; but now she has more extravagance than the daughter of an earl, more levity than a Countess. What a defect it is in our laws, that a man who has once been branded in the forehead should be hanged for the second offence.

"_Enter_ JARVIS.

"_Teaz._ Who's there? Well, Jarvis?

"_Jarv._ Sir, there are a number of my mistress's tradesmen without, clamorous for their money.

"_Teaz._ Are those their bills in your hand?

"_Jarv._ Something about a twentieth part, Sir.

"_Teaz._ What! have you expended the hundred pounds I gave you for her use?

"_Jarv._ Long ago, Sir, as you may judge by some of the items:-- 'Paid the coach-maker for lowering the front seat of the coach.'

"_Teaz._ What the deuce was the matter with the seat?

"_Jarv._ Oh Lord, the carriage was too low for her by a foot when she was dressed--so that it must have been so, or have had a tub at top like a hat-case on a travelling trunk. Well, Sir, (_reads._) 'Paid her two footmen half a year's wages, 50_l_.'

"_Teaz._ 'Sdeath and fury! does she give her footmen a hundred a year?

"_Jarv._ Yes, Sir, and I think, indeed, she has rather made a good bargain, for they find their own bags and bouquets.

"_Teaz._ Bags and bouquets for footmen!--halters and bastinadoes! [Footnote: Transferred afterwards to Trip and Sir Oliver.]

"_Jarv._ 'Paid for my lady's own nosegays, 50_l_.'

"_Teaz._ Fifty pounds for flowers! enough to turn the Pantheon into a green-house, and give a Fete Champetre at Christmas.

[Footnote: We observe here a change in his plan, with respect both to the titles of Old Teazle and his wife, and the presence of the latter during this scene, which was evidently not at first intended.

From the following skeleton of the scenes of this piece it would appear that (inconsistently, in some degree, with my notion of its being the two act Comedy announced in 1775) he had an idea of extending the plot through five acts.

"Act 1st, Scene 1st, Sir Peter and Steward--2d, Sir P. and Lady--then Young Pliable.

"Act 2d, Sir P. and Lady--Young Harrier--Sir P. and Sir Rowland, and Old Jeremy--Sir R. and Daughter--Y. P. and Y. H.

"Act 3d, Sir R., Sir P. and O. J.--2d, Y. P. and Company, Y. R. O. R.-- 3d, Y. H. and Maria--Y. H., O. R. and Young Harrier, to borrow.

"Act 4th, Y. P. and Maria, to borrow his money; gets away what he had received from his uncle--Y. P. Old Jer. and tradesmen.--P. and Lady T." &c. &c.]

"_Lady Teaz._ Lord, Sir Peter, I wonder you should grudge me the most innocent articles in dress--and then for the expense--flowers cannot be cheaper in winter--you should find fault with the climate, and not with me. I am sure I wish with all my heart, that it was Spring all the year round, and that roses grew under one's feet.

"_Sir P._ Nay, but, madam, then you would not wear them; but try snowballs and icicles. But tell me, madam, how can you feel any satisfaction in wearing these, when you might reflect that one of the rose-buds would have furnished a poor family with a dinner?

"_Lady T._ Upon my word, Sir Peter, begging your pardon, that is a very absurd way of arguing. By that rule, why do you indulge in the least superfluity? I dare swear a beggar might dine tolerably on your great-coat, or sup off your laced waistcoat--nay, I dare say, he wouldn't eat your gold-headed cane in a week. Indeed, if you would reserve nothing but necessaries, you should give the first poor man you meet your wig, and walk the streets in your night-cap, which, you know, becomes you very much.

"_Sir P._ Well, go on to the articles.

"_Jarv._ (_Reading._) 'Fruit for my lady's monkey, 5_l._ per week.'

"_Sir P._ Five pounds for a monkey!--why 'tis a dessert for an alderman!

"_Lady T._ Why, Sir Peter, would you starve the poor animal? I dare swear he lives as reasonably as other monkeys do.

"_Sir P._ Well, well, go on.

"_Jarv._ 'China for ditto'--

"_Sir P._ What, does he eat out of china?

"_Lady T._ Repairing china that he breaks--and I am sure no monkey breaks less.

"_Jarv._ Paid Mr. Warren for perfumes--milk of roses, 30_l_.'

"_Lady T._ Very reasonable.

"_Sir P._ 'Sdeath, madam, if you had been born to these expenses I should not have been so much amazed; but I took you, madam, an honest country squire's daughter--

"_Lady T._ Oh, filthy; don't name it. Well, heaven forgive my mother, but I do believe my father must have been a man of quality.

"_Sir P._ Yes, madam, when first I saw you, you were dressed in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys by your side; your occupations, madam, to superintend the poultry; your accomplishments, a complete knowledge of the family receipt-book--then you sat in a room hung round with fruit in worsted of your own working; your amusements were to play country-dances on an old spinnet to your father while he went asleep after a fox-chase--to read Tillotson's sermons to your aunt Deborah. These, madam, were your recreations, and these the accomplishments that captivated me. Now, forsooth, you must have two footmen to your chair, and a pair of white dogs in a phaeton; you forget when you used to ride double behind the butler on a docked bay coach- horse.... Now you must have a French hair-dresser; do you think you did not look as well when you had your hair combed smooth over a roller?.... Then you could be content to sit with me, or walk by the side of the-- Ha! Ha!

"_Lady T._ True, I did; and, when you asked me if I could love an old fellow, who would deny me nothing, I simpered and said 'Till death.'

"_Sir P._ Why did you say so?

"_Lady T._ Shall I tell you the truth?

"_Sir P._ If it is not too great a favor.

"_Lady T._ Why, then, the truth is, I was heartily tired of all these agreeable recreations you have so well remembered, and having a spirit to spend and enjoy fortune, I was determined to marry the first fool I should meet with.... you made me a wife, for which I am much obliged to you, and if you have a wish to make me more grateful still, make me a widow." [Footnote: The speeches which I have omitted consist merely of repetitions of the same thoughts, with but very little variation of the language.]

* * * * *

"_Sir P._ Then, you never had a desire to please me, or add to my happiness?

"_Lady T._ Sincerely, I never thought about you; did you imagine that age was catching? I think you have been overpaid for all you could bestow on me. Here am I surrounded by half a hundred lovers, not one of whom but would buy a single smile by a thousand such baubles as you grudge me.

"_Sir P._ Then you wish me dead?

"_Lady T._ You know I do not, for you have made no settlement on me.

* * * * *

"_Sir P._ I am but middle-aged.

"_Lady T._ There's the misfortune; put yourself on, or back, twenty years, and either way I should like you the better.

* * * * *

Yes, sir, and then your behavior too was different; you would dress, and smile, and bow; fly to fetch me anything I wanted; praise every thing I did or said; fatigue your stiff face with an eternal grin; nay, you even committed poetry, and muffled your harsh tones into a lover's whisper to sing it yourself, so that even my mother said you were the smartest old bachelor she ever saw--a billet-doux engrossed on buckram!!!!!! [Footnote: These notes of admiration are in the original, and seem meant to express the surprise of the author at the extravagance of his own joke.]

* * * * *

Let girls take my advice and never marry an old bachelor. He must be so either because he could find nothing to love in women, or because women could find nothing to love in him."

The greater part of this dialogue is evidently _experimental_, and the play of repartee protracted with no other view, than to take the chance of a trump of wit or humor turning up.

In comparing the two characters in this sketch with what they are at present, it is impossible not to be struck by the signal change that they have undergone. The transformation of Sir Peter into a gentleman has refined, without weakening, the ridicule of his situation; and there is an interest created by the respectability, and amiableness of his sentiments, which, contrary to the effect produced in general by elderly gentlemen so circumstanced, makes us rejoice, at the end, that he has his young wife all to himself. The improvement in the character of Lady Teazle is still more marked and successful. Instead of an ill-bred young shrew, whose readiness to do wrong leaves the mind in but little uncertainty as to her fate, we have a lively and innocent, though imprudent country girl, transplanted into the midst of all that can bewilder and endanger her, but with still enough of the purity of rural life about her heart, to keep the blight of the world from settling upon it permanently.

There is indeed in the original draught a degree of glare and coarseness, which proves the eye of the artist to have been fresh from the study of Wycherly and Vanbrugh; and this want of delicacy is particularly observable in the subsequent scene between Lady Teazle and Surface--the chastening down of which to its present tone is not the least of those triumphs of taste and skill, which every step in the elaboration of this Comedy exhibits.

"_Scene_ [Footnote: The Third of the fourth Act in the present form of the Comedy. This scene underwent many changes afterwards, and was oftener put back into the crucible than any other part of the play] YOUNG PLIANT'S _Room_.

"_Young P._ I wonder her ladyship is not here: she promised me to call this morning. I have a hard game to play here, to pursue my designs on Maria. I have brought myself into a scrape with the mother-in-law. However, I think we have taken care to ruin my brother's character with my uncle, should he come to-morrow. Frank has not an ill quality in his nature; yet, a neglect of forms, and of the opinion of the world, has hurt him in the estimation of all his graver friends. I have profited by his errors, and contrived to gain a character, which now serves me as a mask to lie under.

"_Enter_ LADY TEAZLE.

"_Lady T._ What, musing, or thinking of me?

"_Young P._ I was thinking unkindly of you; do you know now that you must repay me for this delay, or I must be coaxed into good humor?

"_Lady T._ Nay, in faith you should pity me--this old curmudgeon of late is growing so jealous, that I dare scarce go out, till I know he is secure for some time.

"_Young P._ I am afraid the insinuations we have had spread about Frank have operated too strongly on him--we meant only to direct his suspicions to a wrong object.

"_Lady T._ Oh, hang him! I have told him plainly that if he continues to be so suspicious, I'll leave him entirely, and make him allow me a separate maintenance.

"_Young P._ But, my charmer, if ever that should be the case, you see before you the man who will ever be attached to you. But you must not let matters come to extremities; you can never be revenged so well by leaving him, as by living with him, and let my sincere affection make amends for his brutality.

"_Lady T._ But how shall I be sure now that you are sincere? I have sometimes suspected that you loved my niece. [Footnote: He had not yet decided whether to make Maria the daughter-in-law or niece of Lady Teazle.]

"_Young P._ Oh, hang her, a puling idiot, without sense or spirit.

"_Lady T._ But what proofs have I of your love to me, for I have still so much of my country prejudices left, that if I were to do a foolish thing (and I think I can't promise) it shall be for a man who would risk every thing for me alone. How shall I be sure you love me?

"_Young P._ I have dreamed of you every night this week past.

"_Lady T._ That's a sign you have slept every night for this week past; for my part, I would not give a pin for a lover who could not wake for a month in absence.

"_Young P._ I have written verses on you out of number.

"_Lady T._ I never saw any.

"_Young P._ No--they did not please me, and so I tore them.

"_Lady T._ Then it seems you wrote them only to divert yourself.

"_Young P._ Am I doomed for ever to suspense?

"_Lady T._ I don't know--if I was convinced--

"_Young P._ Then let me on my knees--

"_Lady T._ Nay, nay, I will have no raptures either. This much I can tell you, that if I am to be seduced to do wrong, I am not to be taken by storm, but by deliberate capitulation, and that only where my reason or my heart is convinced.

"_Young P._ Then, to say it at once--the world gives itself liberties--

"_Lady T._ Nay, I am sure without cause; for I am as yet unconscious of any ill, though I know not what I may be forced to.

"_Young P._ The fact is, my dear Lady Teazle, that your extreme innocence is the very cause of your danger; it is the integrity of your heart that makes you run into a thousand imprudences which a full consciousness of error would make you guard against. Now, in that case, you can't conceive how much more circumspect you would be.

"_Lady T._ Do you think so?

"_Young P._ Most certainly. Your character is like a person in a plethora, absolutely dying of too much health.

"_Lady T._ So then you would have me sin in my own defence, and part with my virtue to preserve my reputation. [Footnote: This sentence seems to have haunted him--I find it written in every direction, and without any material change in its form, over the pages of his different memorandum books.]

"_Young P. Exactly so, upon my credit, ma'am."

* * * * *

It will be observed, from all I have cited, that much of the original material is still preserved throughout; but that, like the ivory melting in the hands of Pygmalion, it has lost all its first rigidity and roughness, and, assuming at every touch some variety of aspect, seems to have gained new grace by every change.

"_Mollescit ebur, positoque rigore
Subsidit digitis, ceditque ut Hymettia sole
Cera remollescit, tractataque pollice multas
Flectitur in facies, ipsoque fit utilis usu._"

Where'er his fingers move his eye can trace
The once rude ivory softening into grace--
Pliant as wax that, on Hymettus' hill,
Melts in the sunbeam, it obeys his skill;
At every touch some different aspect shows,
And still, the oftener touch'd the lovelier grows.

I need not, I think, apologize for the length of the extracts I have given, as they cannot be otherwise than interesting to all lovers of literary history. To trace even the mechanism of an author's style through the erasures and alterations of his rough copy, is, in itself, no ordinary gratification of curiosity; and the _brouillon_ of Rousseau's Heloise, in the library of the Chamber of Deputies at Paris, affords a study in which more than the mere "auceps syllabarum" might delight. But it is still more interesting to follow thus the course of a writer's thoughts--to watch the kindling of new fancies as he goes--to accompany him in his change of plans, and see the various vistas that open upon him at every step. It is, indeed, like being admitted by some magical power, to witness the mysterious processes of the natural world --to see the crystal forming by degrees round its primitive nucleus, or observe the slow ripening of

"the imperfect ore,
And know it will be gold another day!"

In respect of mere style, too, the workmanship of so pure a writer of English as Sheridan is well worth the attention of all who would learn the difficult art of combining ease with polish, and being, at the same time, idiomatic and elegant. There is not a page of these manuscripts that does not bear testimony to the fastidious care with which he selected, arranged, and moulded his language, so as to form it into that transparent channel of his thoughts, which it is at present.

His chief objects in correcting were to condense and simplify--to get rid of all unnecessary phrases and epithets, and, in short, to strip away from the thyrsus of his wit every leaf that could render it less light and portable. One instance out of many will show the improving effect of these operations. [Footnote: In one or two sentences he has left a degree of stiffness in the style, not so much from inadvertence as from the sacrifice of ease to point. Thus, in the following example, he has been tempted by an antithesis into an inversion of phrase by no means idiomatic. "The plain state of the matter is this--I am an extravagant young fellow _who want money to borrow_; you, I take to be a prudent old fellow who have got money to lend."

In the Collection of his Works this phrase is given differently--but without authority from any of the manuscript copies.] The following is the original form of a speech of Sir Peter's:--

"People who utter a tale of scandal, knowing it to be forged, deserve the pillory more than for a forged bank-note. They can't pass the lie without putting their names on the back of it. You say no person has a right to come on you because you didn't invent it; but you should know that, if the drawer of the lie is out of the way, the injured party has a right to come on any of the indorsers."

When this is compared with the form in which the same thought is put at present, it will be perceived how much the wit has gained in lightness and effect by the change:--

"_Mrs. Candor._ But sure you would not be quite so severe on those who only report what they hear?

"_Sir P._ Yes, madam, I would have Law-merchant for them too, and in all cases of slander currency, [Footnote: There is another simile among his memorandums of the same mercantile kind:--"A sort of broker in scandal, who transfers lies without fees."] whenever the drawer of the lie was not to be found, the injured party should have a right to come on any of the indorsers."

Another great source of the felicities of his style, and to which he attended most anxiously in revision, was the choice of epithets; in which he has the happy art of making these accessary words not only minister to the clearness of his meaning, but bring out new effects in his wit by the collateral lights which they strike upon it--and even where the principal idea has but little significance, he contrives to enliven it into point by the quaintness or contrast of his epithets.

Among the many rejected scraps of dialogue that lie about, like the chippings of a Phidias, in this workshop of wit, there are some precious enough to be preserved, at least, as relics. For instance,--"She is one of those, who convey a libel in a frown, and wink a reputation down." The following touch of costume, too, in Sir Peter's description of the rustic dress of Lady Teazle before he married her:--"You forget when a little wire and gauze, with a few beads, made you a fly-cap not much bigger than a blue-bottle."

The specimen which Sir Benjamin Backbite gives of his poetical talents was taken, it will be seen, from the following verses, which I find in Mr. Sheridan's hand-writing--one of those trifles, perhaps, with which he and his friend Tickell were in the constant habit of amusing themselves, and written apparently with the intention of ridiculing some woman of fashion:--

"Then behind, all my hair is done up in a plat,
And so, like a cornet's, tuck'd under my hat.
Then I mount on my palfrey as gay as a lark,
And, follow'd by John, take the dust in High Park.
[Footnote: This phrase is made use of in the dialogue:--"As Lady Betty
Curricle was taking the dust in Hyde Park."]

In the way I am met by some smart macaroni,
Who rides by my side on a little bay poney--
No sturdy Hibernian, with shoulders so wide,
But as taper and slim as the ponies they ride;
Their legs are as slim, and their shoulders no wider,
Dear sweet little creatures, both poney and rider!

But sometimes, when hotter, I order my chaise,
And manage, myself, my two little grays.
Sure never were seen two such sweet little ponies,
Other horses are clowns, and these macaronies,
And to give them this title, I'm sure isn't wrong,
Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long.

In Kensington Gardens to stroll up and down,
You know was the fashion before you left town,--
The thing's well enough, when allowance is made
For the size of the trees and the depth of the shade,
But the spread of their leaves such a shelter affords
To those noisy, impertinent creatures called birds,
Whose ridiculous chirruping ruins the scene,
Brings the country before me, and gives me the spleen.

Yet, tho' 'tis too rural--to come near the mark,
We all herd in _one_ walk, and that, nearest the Park,
There with ease we may see, as we pass by the wicket,
The chimneys of Knightsbridge and--footmen at cricket.
I must tho', in justice, declare that the grass,
Which, worn by our feet, is diminished apace,
In a little time more will be brown and as flat
As the sand at Vauxhall or as Ranelagh mat.
Improving thus fast, perhaps, by degrees,
We may see rolls and butter spread under the trees,
With a small pretty band in each seat of the walk,
To play little tunes and enliven our talk."

Though Mr. Sheridan appears to have made more easy progress, after he had incorporated his two first plots into one, yet, even in the details of the new plan, considerable alterations were subsequently made--whole scenes suppressed or transposed, and the dialogue of some entirely re- written. In the third Act, for instance, as it originally stood, there was a long scene, in which Rowley, by a minute examination of Snake, drew from him, in the presence of Sir Oliver and Sir Peter, a full confession of his designs against the reputation of Lady Teazle. Nothing could be more ill-placed and heavy; it was accordingly cancelled, and the confession of Snake postponed to its natural situation, the conclusion. The scene, too, where Sir Oliver, as Old Stanley, comes to ask pecuniary aid of Joseph, was at first wholly different from what it is at present; and in some parts approached much nearer to the confines of caricature than the watchful taste of Mr. Sheridan would permit. For example, Joseph is represented in it as giving the old suitor only half- a-guinea, which the latter indignantly returns, and leaves him; upon which Joseph, looking at the half-guinea, exclaims, "Well, let him starve--this will do for the opera."

It was the fate of Mr. Sheridan, through life,--and, in a great degree, perhaps, his policy,--to gain credit for excessive indolence and carelessness, while few persons, with so much natural brilliancy of talents, ever employed more art and circumspection in their display. This was the case, remarkably, in the instance before us. Notwithstanding the labor which he bestowed upon this comedy, (or we should rather, perhaps, say in consequence of that labor,) the first representation of the piece was announced before the whole of the copy was in the hands of the actors. The manuscript, indeed, of the five last scenes bears evident marks of this haste in finishing,--there being but one rough draught of them scribbled upon detached pieces of paper; while, of all the preceding acts, there are numerous transcripts, scattered promiscuously through six or seven books, with new interlineations and memorandums to each. On the last leaf of all, which exists just as we may suppose it to have been despatched by him to the copyist, there is the following curious specimen of doxology, written hastily, in the hand-writing of the respective parties, at the bottom:--

"Finished at last. Thank God!

"R. B. SHERIDAN.

"Amen!

"W. HOPKINS." [Footnote: The Prompter,]

The cast of the play, on the first night of representation (May 8, 1777), was as follows:--

Sir Peter Teazle _Mr. King._ Sir Oliver Surface _Mr. Yates._ Joseph Surface _Mr. Palmer._ Charles _Mr. Smith._ Crabtree _Mr. Parsons._ Sir Benjamin Backbite _Mr. Dodd._ Rowley _Mr. Aickin._ Moses _Mr. Baddeley._ Trip _Mr. Lamash._ Snake _Mr. Packer._ Careless _Mr. Farren._ Sir Harry Bumper _Mr. Gawdry._ Lady Teazle _Mrs. Abington._ Maria _Miss P. Hopkins_ Lady Sneerwell _Miss Sherry._ Mrs. Candor _Miss Pope._

The success of such a play, so acted, could not be doubtful. Long after its first uninterrupted run, it continued to be played regularly two or three times a week; and a comparison of the receipts of the first twelve nights, with those of a later period, will show how little the attraction of the piece had abated by repetition:--

May 8th, 1777. L s. d.
School for Scandal 225 9 0
Ditto 195 6 0
Ditto A. B. (Author's night) 73 10 0 (Expenses)
Ditto 257 4 6
Ditto 243 0 0
Ditto A. B. 73 10 0
Committee 65 6 6
School for Scandal 262 19 6
Ditto 263 13 6
Ditto A. B 73 10 0
Ditto K. (the King) 272 9 6
Ditto 247 15 0
Ditto 255 14 0

The following extracts are taken at hazard from an account of the weekly receipts of the Theatre, for the year 1778, kept with exemplary neatness and care by Mrs. Sheridan herself: [Footnote: It appears from a letter of Holcroft to Mrs. Sheridan, (given in his Memoirs, vol. i. p. 275,) that she was also in the habit of reading for Sheridan the new pieces sent in by dramatic candidates:--"Mrs. Crewe (he says) has spoken to Mr. Sheridan concerning it (the Shepherdess of the Alps), as he informed me last night, desiring me at the same time to send it to you, who, he said, would not only read it yourself, but remind him of it."]

1778. L s. d.
January 3d. Twelfth Night Queen Mab 139 14 6
5th. Macbeth Queen Mab 212 19 0
6th. Tempest Queen Mab 107 15 6
7th. School for Scandal Comus 292 16 0
8th. School for Fathers Queen Mab 181 10 6
9th. School for Scandal Padlock 281 6 0

March 14th. School for Scandal Deserter 263 18 6
16th. Venice Preserved Belphegor (New) 195 3 6
17th. Hamlet Belphegor 160 19 0
19th. School for Scandal Belphegor 261 10 0