Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

  On the 21st of November, 1775, The Duenna was performed at Covent Garden, and the following is the original cast of the characters, as given in the collection of Mr. Sheridan’s Dramatic Works: —

  Don Ferdinand Mr. Mattocks.

  Isaac Mendoza Mr. Quick.

  Don Jerome Mr. Wilson.

  Don Antonio Mr. Dubellamy.

  Father Paul Mr. Watson.

  Lopez Mr. Wewitzer.

  Don Carlos Mr. Leoni.

  Francis Mr. Fox.

  Lay Brother Mr. Baker.

  Donna Louisa Mrs. Mattocks.

  Donna Clara Mrs. Cargill. [Footnote: This is incorrect:

  it was Miss Brown that played Donna Clara for the first few nights.]

  The Duenna Mrs. Green.

  The run of this opera has, I believe, no parallel in the annals of the drama. Sixty-three nights was the career of the Beggar’s Opera; but the Duenna was acted no less than seventy-five times during the season, the only intermissions being a few days at Christmas, and the Fridays in every week; — the latter on account of Leoni, who, being a Jew, could not act on those nights.

  In order to counteract this great success of the rival house, Garrick found it necessary to bring forward all the weight of his own best characters; and even had recourse to the expedient of playing off the mother against the son, by reviving Mrs. Frances Sheridan’s comedy of The Discovery, and acting the principal part in it himself. In allusion to the increased fatigue which this competition with The Duenna brought upon Garrick, who was then entering on his sixtieth year, it was said, by an actor of the day, that “the old woman would be the death of the old man.”

  The Duenna is one of the very few operas in our language, which combine the merits of legitimate comedy with the attractions of poetry and song; — that divorce between sense and sound, to which Dr. Brown and others trace the cessation of the early miracles of music, being no where more remarkable than in the operas of the English stage. The “Sovereign of the willing soul” (as Gray calls Music) always loses by being made exclusive sovereign, — and the division of her empire with poetry and wit, as in the instance of The Duenna, doubles her real power.

  The intrigue of this piece (which is mainly founded upon an incident borrowed from the “Country Wife” of Wycherley) is constructed and managed with considerable adroitness, having just material enough to be wound out into three acts, without being encumbered by too much intricacy, or weakened by too much extension. It does not appear, from the rough copy in my possession, that any material change was made in the plan of the work, as it proceeded. Carlos was originally meant to be a Jew, and is called “Cousin Moses” by Isaac, in the first sketch of the dialogue; but possibly from the consideration that this would apply too personally to Leoni, who was to perform the character, its designation was altered. The scene in the second act, where Carlos is introduced by Isaac to the Duenna, stood, in its original state, as follows: —

  “Isaac. Moses, sweet coz, I thrive, I prosper.

  “Moses. Where is your mistress?

  “Isaac. There, you booby, there she stands.

  “Moses. Why she’s damn’d ugly.

  “Isaac. Hush! (stops his mouth.)

  “Duenna. What is your friend saying, Don?

  “Isaac. Oh, Ma’am, he’s expressing his raptures at such charms as he never saw before.

  “Moses. Ay, such as I never saw before indeed. (aside.)

  “Duenna. You are very obliging, gentlemen; but, I dare say, Sir, your friend is no stranger to the influence of beauty. I doubt not but he is a lover himself.

  “Moses. Alas! Madam, there is now but one woman living, whom I have any love for, and truly, Ma’am, you resemble her wonderfully.

  “Duenna. Well, Sir, I wish she may give you her hand as speedily as I shall mine to your friend.

  “Moses. Me her hand! — O Lord, Ma’am — she is the last woman in the world I could think of marrying.

  “Duenna. What then, Sir, are you comparing me to some wanton — some courtezan?

  “Isaac. Zounds! he durstn’t.

  “Moses. O not I, upon my soul.

  “Duenna. Yes, he meant some young harlot — some —

  “Moses. Oh, dear Madam, no — it was my mother I meant, as I hope to be saved.

  “Isaac. Oh the blundering villain! (aside.)

  “Duenna. How, Sir — am I so like your mother?

  “Isaac. Stay, dear Madam — my friend meant — that you put him in mind of what his mother was when a girl — didn’t you, Moses?

  “Moses. Oh yes, Madam, my mother was formerly a great beauty, a great toast, I assure you; — and when she married my father about thirty years ago, as you may perhaps remember, Ma’am —

  “Duenna. I, Sir! I remember thirty years ago!

  “Isaac. Oh, to be sure not, Ma’am — thirty years! no, no — it was thirty months he said, Ma’am — wasn’t it, Moses?

  “Moses. Yes, yes, Ma’am — thirty months ago, on her marriage with my father, she was, as I was saying, a great beauty; — but catching cold, the year afterwards, in child-bed of your humble servant —

  “Duenna. Of you, Sir! — and married within these thirty months!

  “Isaac. Oh the devil! he has made himself out but a year old! — Come, Moses, hold your tongue. — You must excuse him, Ma’am — he means to be civil — but he is a poor, simple fellow — an’t you, Moses?

  “Moses. ’Tis true, indeed, Ma’am,” &c. &c. &c.

  The greater part of the humor of Moses here was afterwards transferred to the character of Isaac, and it will be perceived that a few of the points are still retained by him.

  The wit of the dialogue, except in one or two instances, is of that accessible kind which lies near the surface — which may be enjoyed without wonder, and rather plays than shines. He had not yet searched his fancy for those curious fossils of thought which make The School for Scandal such a rich museum of wit. Of this precious kind, however, is the description of Isaac’s neutrality in religion— “like the blank leaf between the Old and New Testament.” As an instance, too, of the occasional abuse of this research, which led him to mistake labored conceits for fancies, may be mentioned the far-fetched comparison of serenaders to Egyptian embalmers, “extracting the brain through the ears.” For this, however, his taste, not his invention, is responsible, as we have already seen that the thought was borrowed from a letter of his friend Halhed.

  In the speech of Lopez, the servant, with which the opera opens, there are, in the original copy, some humorous points, which appear to have fallen under the pruning knife, but which are not unworthy of being gathered up here: —

  “A plague on these haughty damsels, say I: — when they play their airs on their whining gallants, they ought to consider that we are the chief sufferers, — we have all their ill-humors at second-hand. Donna Louisa’s cruelty to my master usually converts itself into blows, by the time it gets to me: — she can frown me black and blue at any time, and I shall carry the marks of the last box on the ear she gave him to my grave. Nay, if she smiles on any one else, I am the sufferer for it: — if she says a civil word to a rival, I am a rogue and a scoundrel; and, if she sends him a letter, my back is sure to pay the postage.”

  In the scene between Ferdinand and Jerome (act ii. scene 3) the following lively speech of the latter was, I know not why, left out: —

  “Ferdin. ….but he has never sullied his honor, which, with his title, has outlived his means.

  “Jerome. Have they? More shame for them! — What business have honor or titles to survive, when property is extinct? Nobility is but as a helpmate to a good fortune, and, like a Japanese wife, should perish on the funeral pile of the estate!”

  In the first act, too, (scene 3) where Jerome abuses the Duenna, there is an equally unaccountable omission of a sentence, in which he compares the old lady’s face to “parchment, on which Time and Deformity have engrossed their titles.”

  Though some of the poetry of this opera
is not much above that ordinary kind, to which music is so often doomed to be wedded — making up by her own sweetness for the dulness of her help-mate — by far the greater number of the songs are full of beauty, and some of them may rank among the best models of lyric writing. The verses, “Had I a heart for falsehood framed,” notwithstanding the stiffness of this word “framed,” and one or two other slight blemishes, are not unworthy of living in recollection with the matchless air to which they are adapted.

  There is another song, less known, from being connected with less popular music, which, for deep, impassioned feeling and natural eloquence, has not, perhaps, its rival, through the whole range of lyric poetry. As these verses, though contained in the common editions of The Duenna, are not to be found in the opera, as printed in the British Theatre, and, still more strangely, are omitted in the late Collection of Mr. Sheridan’s Works, [Footnote: For this Edition of his Works I am no further responsible than in having communicated to it a few prefatory pages, to account and apologize to the public for the delay of the Life.] I should feel myself abundantly authorized in citing them here, even if their beauty were not a sufficient excuse for recalling them, under any circumstances, to the recollection of the reader: —

  “Ah, cruel maid, how hast thou changed

  The temper of my mind!

  My heart, by thee from love estrang’d,

  Becomes, like thee, unkind.

  “By fortune favor’d, clear in fame,

  I once ambitious was;

  And friends I had who fann’d the flame,

  And gave my youth applause.

  “But now my weakness all accuse,

  Yet vain their taunts on me;

  Friends, fortune, fame itself I’d lose,

  To gain one smile from thee.

  “And only thou should’st not despise

  My weakness or my woe;

  If I am mad in others’ eyes,

  ’Tis thou hast made me so.

  “But days, like this, with doubting curst,

  I will not long endure —

  Am I disdain’d — I know the worst,

  And likewise know my cure.

  “If, false, her vow she dare renounce,

  That instant ends my pain;

  For, oh! the heart must break at once,

  That cannot hate again.”

  It is impossible to believe that such verses as these had no deeper inspiration than the imaginary loves of an opera. They bear, burnt into every line, the marks of personal feeling, and must have been thrown off in one of those passionate moods of the heart, with which the poet’s own youthful love had made him acquainted, and under the impression or vivid recollection of which these lines were written.

  In comparing this poem with the original words of the air to which it is adapted, (Parnell’s pretty lines, “My days have been so wondrous free,”) it will be felt, at once, how wide is the difference between the cold and graceful effusions of taste, and the fervid bursts of real genius — between the delicate product of the conservatory, and the rich child of the sunshine.

  I am the more confirmed in the idea that this song was written previously to the opera, and from personal feeling, by finding among his earlier pieces the originals of two other songs— “I ne’er could any lustre see,” and “What bard, oh Time, discover.” The thought, upon which the latter turns, is taken from a poem already cited, addressed by him to Mrs. Sheridan in 1773; and the following is the passage that supplied the material: —

  “Alas, thou hast no wings, oh Time,

  It was some thoughtless lover’s rhyme,

  Who, writing in his Chloe’s view,

  Paid her the compliment through you.

  For, had he, if he truly lov’d,

  But once the pangs of absence prov’d,

  He’d cropt thy wings, and, in their stead,

  Have painted thee with heels of lead.”

  It will be seen presently, that this poem was again despoiled of some of its lines, for an epilogue which he began a few years after, upon a very different subject. There is something, it must be owned, not very sentimental in this conversion of the poetry of affection to other and less sacred uses — as if, like the ornaments of a passing pageant, it might be broken up after the show was over, and applied to more useful purposes. That the young poet should be guilty of such sacrilege to love, and thus steal back his golden offerings from the altar, to melt them down into utensils of worldly display, can only be excused by that demand upon the riches of his fancy, which the rapidity of his present career in the service of the dramatic muse occasioned.

  There is not the same objection to the approbation of the other song, which, it will be seen, is a selection of the best parts of the following Anacreontic verses: —

  “I ne’er could any lustre see

  [Footnote: Another mode of beginning this song in the MS. —

  “Go tell the maid who seeks to move

  My lyre to praise, my heart to love,

  No rose upon her cheek can live,

  Like those assenting blushes give.”]

  In eyes that would not look on me:

  When a glance aversion hints,

  I always think the lady squints.

  I ne’er saw nectar on a lip,

  But where my own did hope to sip.

  No pearly teeth rejoice my view,

  Unless a ‘yes’ displays their hue —

  The prudish lip, that noes me back.

  Convinces me the teeth are black,

  To me the cheek displays no roses,

  Like that th’ assenting blush discloses;

  But when with proud disdain ’tis spread,

  To me ’tis but a scurvy red.

  Would she have me praise her hair?

  Let her place my garland there.

  Is her hand so white and pure?

  I must press it to be sure;

  Nor can I be certain then,

  Till it grateful press again.

  Must I praise her melody?

  Let her sing of love and me.

  If she choose another theme,

  I’d rather hear a peacock scream.

  Must I, with attentive eye,

  Watch her heaving bosom sigh?

  I will do so, when I see

  That heaving bosom sigh for me.

  None but bigots will in vain

  Adore a heav’n they cannot gain.

  If I must religious prove

  To the mighty God of Love,

  Sure I am it is but fair

  He, at least, should hear my prayer.

  But, by each joy of his I’ve known,

  And all I yet shall make my own,

  Never will I, with humble speech,

  Pray to a heav’n I cannot reach.”

  In the song, beginning “Friendship is the bond of reason,” the third verse was originally thus: —

  “And, should I cheat the world and thee,

  One smile from her I love to win,

  Such breach of human faith would be

  A sacrifice, and not a sin.”

  To the song “‘Give Isaac the nymph,” there were at first two more verses, which, merely to show how judicious was the omission of them, I shall here transcribe. Next to the advantage of knowing what to put into our writings, is that of knowing what to leave out: —

  “To one thus accomplished I durst speak my mind,

  And flattery doubtless would soon make her kind;

  For the man that should praise her she needs must adore,

  Who ne’er in her life receiv’d praises before.

  “But the frowns of a beauty in hopes to remove,

  Should I prate of her charms, and tell of my love;

  No thanks wait the praise which she knows to be true,

  Nor smiles for the homage she takes as her due.”

  Among literary piracies or impostures, there are few more audacious than the Dublin edition of the Duenna, — in which, though the songs are given accurately,
an entirely new dialogue is substituted for that of Sheridan, and his gold, as in the barter of Glaucus, exchanged for such copper as the following: —

  “Duen. Well, Sir, I don’t want to stay in your house; but I must go and lock up my wardrobe.”

  “Isaac. Your wardrobe! when you came into my house you could carry your wardrobe in your comb-case, you could, you old dragon.”

  Another specimen: —

  “Isaac. Her voice, too, you told me, was like a Virginia Nightingale; why, it is like a cracked warming-pan: — and as for dimples! — to be sure, she has the devil’s own dimples. — Yes! and you told me she had a lovely down upon her chin, like the down of a peach; but, damn me if ever I saw such down upon any creature in my life, except once upon an old goat.”

  These jokes, I need not add, are all the gratuitous contributions of the editor.

  Towards the close of the year 1775, it was understood that Garrick meant to part with his moiety of the patent of Drury Lane Theatre, and retire from the stage. He was then in the sixtieth year of his age, and might possibly have been influenced by the natural feeling, so beautifully expressed for a great actor of our own time, by our greatest living writer:

  — — “Higher duties crave

  Some space between the theatre and the grave;

  That, like the Roman in the Capitol,

  I may adjust my mantle, ere I fall.”

  [Footnote: Kemble’s Farewell Address on taking leave of the Edinburgh stage, written by Sir Walter Scott.]

  The progress of the negotiation between him and Mr. Sheridan, which ended in making the latter patentee and manager, cannot better be traced than in Sheridan’s own letters, addressed at the time to Mr. Linley, and most kindly placed at my disposal by my friend Mr. William Linley.