Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

  “Pev. And art thou not ashamed to draw the sword for thou know’st not what — and to be the victim and food of others’ folly?

  “Ludov. Vastly.

  “Pev. (to the Devils.) Well, take him for to-day, and only score his skin and pepper it with powder — then chain him to a cannon, and let the Devils practise at his head — his be the reward who hits it with a single ball.

  “Ludov. Oh mercy, mercy!

  “Pev. Bring Savodi.

  “(A Devil brings in SAVODI.)

  “Chorus as before.

  “Welcome, welcome, &c.

  “Pev. Who art thou?

  “Sav. A courtier at Your Grace’s service.

  “Pev. Your name?

  “Sav. Savodi, an’ please Your Highnesses.

  “Pev. Your use?

  “Sav. A foolish utensil of state — a clock kept in the waiting- chamber, to count the hours.

  “Pev. Are you not one of those who fawn and lie, and cringe like spaniels to those a little higher, and take revenge by tyranny on all beneath?

  “Sav. Most true, Your Highnesses.

  “Pev. Is’t not thy trade to promise what thou canst not do, — to gull the credulous of money, to shut the royal door on unassuming merit — to catch the scandal for thy master’s ear, and stop the people’s voice….

  “Sav. Exactly, an’ please Your Highnesses’ Worships.

  “Pev. Thou dost not now deny it?

  “Sav. Oh no, no, no.

  “Pev. Here — baths of flaming sulphur! — quick — stir up the cauldron of boiling lead — this crime deserves it.

  “1st Dev. Great Judge of this infernal place, allow him but the mercy of the court.

  “Sav. Oh kind Devil! — yes, Great Judge, allow.

  “1st Dev. The punishment is undergone already — truth from him is something.

  “Sav. Oh, most unusual — sweet devil!

  “1st Dev. Then, he is tender, and might not be able to endure —

  “Sav. Endure! I shall be annihilated by the thoughts of it — dear devil.

  “1st Dev. Then let him, I beseech you, in scalding brimstone be first soaked a little, to inure and prepare him for the other.

  “Sav. Oh hear me, hear me.

  “Pev. Well, be it so.

  “(Devils take him out and bring in PAMPHILES.)

  “Pev. This is he we rescued from the ladies — a dainty one, I warrant.

  “Pamphil. (affectedly.) This is Hell certainly by the smell.

  “Pev. What, art thou a soldier too?

  “Pamphil. No, on my life — a Colonel, but no soldier — innocent even of a review, as I exist.

  “Pev. How rose you then? come, come — the truth.

  “Pamphil. Nay, be not angry, sir — if I was preferred it was not my fault — upon my soul, I never did anything to incur preferment.

  “Pev. Indeed! what was thy employment then, friend?

  “Pamphil. Hunting —

  “Pev. ’Tis false.

  “Pamphil. Hunting women’s reputations.

  “Pev. What, thou wert amorous?

  “Pamphil. No, on my honor, sir, but vain, confounded vain — the character of bringing down my game was all I wished, and, like a true sportsman, I would have given my birds to my pointers.

  “Pev. This crime is new — what shall we do with him?” &c. &c.

  This singular Drama does not appear to have been ever finished. With respect to the winding up of the story, the hermit, we may conclude, would have turned out to be the banished counsellor, and the devils, his followers; while the young huntsman would most probably have proved to be the rightful heir of the dukedom.

  In a more crude and unfinished state are the fragments that remain of his projected opera of “The Foresters.” To this piece (which appears to have been undertaken at a later period than the preceding one) Mr. Sheridan often alluded in conversation — particularly when any regret was expressed at his having ceased to assist Old Drury with his pen,— “wait (he would say smiling) till I bring out my Foresters.” The plot, as far as can be judged from the few meagre scenes that exist, was intended to be an improvement upon that of the Drama just described — the Devils being transformed into Foresters, and the action commencing, not with the loss of a son, but the recovery of a daughter, who had fallen by accident into the hands of these free-booters. At the opening of the piece the young lady has just been restored to her father by the heroic Captain of the Foresters, with no other loss than that of her heart, which she is suspected of having left with her preserver. The list of the Dramatis Personae (to which however he did not afterwards adhere) is as follows: —

  Old Oscar.

  Young Oscar.

  Colona.

  Morven.

  Harold.

  Nico.

  Miza.

  Malvina.

  Allanda.

  Dorcas.

  Emma.

  To this strange medley of nomenclature is appended a memorandum— “Vide Petrarch for names.”

  The first scene represents the numerous lovers of Malvina rejoicing at her return, and celebrating it by a chorus; after which Oscar, her father, holds the following dialogue with one of them: —

  “Osc. I thought, son, you would have been among the first and most eager to see Malvina upon her return.

  “Colin. Oh, father, I would give half my flock to think that my presence would be welcome to her.

  “Osc. I am sure you have never seen her prefer any one else.

  “Col. There’s the torment of it — were I but once sure that she loved another better, I think I should be content — at least she should not know but that I was so. My love is not of that jealous sort that I should pine to see her happy with another — nay, I could even regard the man that would make her so.

  “Osc. Haven’t you spoke with her since her return?

  “Col. Yes, and I think she is colder to me than ever. My professions of love used formerly to make her laugh, but now they make her weep — formerly she seemed wholly insensible; now, alas, she seems to feel — but as if addressed by the wrong person,” &c. &c.

  In a following scene are introduced two brothers, both equally enamored of the fair Malvina, yet preserving their affection unaltered towards each other. With the recollection of Sheridan’s own story fresh in our minds, we might suppose that he meant some reference to it in this incident, were it not for the exceeding niaiserie that he has thrown into the dialogue. For instance: —

  “Osc. But we are interrupted — here are two more of her lovers — brothers, and rivals, but friends.

  “Enter NICO and LUBIN.

  “So, Nico — how comes it you are so late in your inquiries after your mistress?

  “Nico. I should have been sooner; but Lubin would stay to make himself fine — though he knows that he has no chance of appearing so to Malvina.

  “Lubin. No, in truth — Nico says right — I have no more chance than himself.

  “Osc. However, I am glad to see you reconciled, and that you live together, as brothers should do.

  “Nico. Yes, ever since we found your daughter cared for neither of us, we grew to care for one another. There is a fellowship in adversity that is consoling; and it is something to think that Lubin is as unfortunate as myself.

  “Lub. Yes, we are well matched — I think Malvina dislikes him, if possible, more than me, and that’s a great comfort.

  “Nico. We often sit together, and play such woeful tunes on our pipes, that the very sheep are moved at it.

  “Osc. But why don’t you rouse yourselves, and, since you can meet with no requital of your passion, return the proud maid scorn for scorn?

  “Nico. Oh mercy, no — we find a great comfort in our sorrow — don’t we, Lubin?

  “Lubin. Yes, if I meet no crosses, I shall be undone in another twelve-month — I let all go to wreck and ruin.

  “Osc. But suppose Malvina should be brought to give you encouragement.

  “Nico. Heaven
forbid! that would spoil all.

  “Lubin. Truly I was almost assured within this fortnight that she was going to relax.

  “Nico. Ay, I shall never forget how alarmed we were at the appearance of a smile one day,” &c. &c.

  Of the poetical part of this opera, the only specimens he has left are a skeleton of a chorus, beginning “Bold Foresters we are,” and the following song, which, for grace and tenderness, is not unworthy of the hand that produced the Duenna: —

  “We two, each other’s only pride,

  Each other’s bliss, each other’s guide,

  Far from the world’s unhallow’d noise,

  Its coarse delights and tainted joys,

  Through wilds will roam and deserts rude —

  For, Love, thy home is solitude.

  “There shall no vain pretender be,

  To court thy smile and torture me,

  No proud superior there be seen,

  But nature’s voice shall hail thee, queen.

  “With fond respect and tender awe,

  I will receive thy gentle law,

  Obey thy looks, and serve thee still,

  Prevent thy wish, foresee thy will,

  And, added to a lover’s care,

  Be all that friends and parents are.”

  But, of all Mr. Sheridan’s unfinished designs, the Comedy which he meditated on the subject of Affectation is that of which the abandonment is most to be regretted. To a satirist, who would not confine his ridicule to the mere outward demonstrations of this folly, but would follow and detect it through all its windings and disguises, there could hardly perhaps be a more fertile theme. Affectation, merely of manner, being itself a sort of acting, does not easily admit of any additional coloring on the stage, without degenerating into farce; and, accordingly, fops and fine ladies — with very few exceptions — are about as silly and tiresome in representation as in reality. But the aim of the dramatist, in this comedy, would have been far more important and extensive; — and how anxious he was to keep before his mind’s eye the whole wide horizon of folly which his subject opened upon him, will appear from the following list of the various species of Affectation, which I have found written by him, exactly as I give it, on the inside cover of the memorandum-book, that contains the only remaining vestiges of this play: —

  “An Affectation of Business. of Accomplishments, of Love of Letters and “Wit Music. of Intrigue. of Sensibility. of Vivacity. of Silence and Importance. of Modesty. of Profligacy. of Moroseness.”

  In this projected comedy he does not seem to have advanced as far as even the invention of the plot or the composition of a single scene. The memorandum-book alluded to — on the first leaf of which he had written in his neatest hand (as if to encourage himself to begin) “Affectation” — contains, besides the names of three of the intended personages, Sir Babble Bore, Sir Peregrine Paradox, and Feignwit, nothing but unembodied sketches of character, and scattered particles of wit, which seem waiting, like the imperfect forms and seeds in chaos, for the brooding of genius to nurse them into system and beauty.

  The reader will not, I think, be displeased at seeing some of these curious materials here. They will show that in this work, as well as in the School for Scandal, he was desirous of making the vintage of his wit as rich as possible, by distilling into it every drop that the collected fruits of his thought and fancy could supply. Some of the jests are far- fetched, and others, perhaps, abortive — but it is pleasant to track him in his pursuit of a point, even when he misses. The very failures of a man of real wit are often more delightful than the best successes of others — the quick-silver, even in escaping from his grasp, shines; “it still eludes him, but it glitters still.”

  I shall give the memorandums as I find them, with no other difference, than that of classing together those that have relation to the same thought or subject.

  “Character — Mr. BUSTLE.

  “A man who delights in hurry and interruption — will take any one’s business for them — leaves word where all his plagues may follow him — governor of all hospitals, &c. — share in Ranelagh — speaker every where, from the Vestry to the House of Commons— ‘I am not at home — gad, now he heard me and I must be at home.’— ‘Here am I so plagued, and there is nothing I love so much as retirement and quiet.’— ‘You never sent after me.’ — Let servants call in to him such a message as ’Tis nothing but the window tax,’ he hiding in a room that communicates. — A young man tells him some important business in the middle of fifty trivial interruptions, and the calling in of idlers; such as fidlers, wild-beast men, foreigners with recommendatory letters, &c. — answers notes on his knee, ‘and so your uncle died? — for your obliging inquiries — and left you an orphan — to cards in the evening.’

  “Can’t bear to be doing nothing.— ‘Can I do anything for any body any where?’— ‘Have been to the Secretary — written to the Treasury.’— ‘Must proceed to meet the Commissioners, and write Mr. Price’s little boy’s exercise.’ — The most active idler and laborious trifler.

  “He does not in reality love business — only the appearance of it. ‘Ha! ha! did my Lord say that I was always very busy? What, plagued to death?’

  “Keeps all his letters and copies—’ Mem. to meet the Hackney-coach

  Commissioners — to arbitrate between,’ &c. &c.

  “Contrast with the man of indolence, his brother.— ‘So, brother, just up! and I have been,’ &c. &c. — one will give his money from indolent generosity, the other his time from restlessness—’ ‘Twill be shorter to pay the bill than look for the receipt.’ — Files letters, answered and unanswered— ‘Why, here are more unopened than answered!’

  * * * * *

  “He regulates every action by a love for fashion — will grant annuities though he doesn’t want money — appear to intrigue, though constant; to drink, though sober — has some fashionable vices — affects to be distressed in his circumstances, and, when his new vis-a-vis comes out, procures a judgment to be entered against him — wants to lose, but by ill-luck wins five thousand pounds.

  * * * * *

  “One who changes sides in all arguments the moment any one agrees with him.

  “An irresolute arguer, to whom it is a great misfortune that there are not three sides to a question — a libertine in argument; conviction, like enjoyment, palls him, and his rakish understanding is soon satiated with truth — more capable of being faithful to a paradox— ‘I love truth as I do my wife; but sophistry and paradoxes are my mistresses — I have a strong domestic respect for her, but for the other the passion due to a mistress.’

  “One, who agrees with every one, for the pleasure of speaking their sentiments for them — so fond of talking that he does not contradict only because he can’t wait to hear people out.

  “A tripping casuist, who veers by others’ breath, and gets on to information by tacking between the two sides — like a hoy, not made to go straight before the wind.

  “The more he talks, the further he is off the argument, like a bowl on a wrong bias.

  * * * * *

  “What are the affectations you chiefly dislike?

  “There are many in this company, so I’ll mention others. — To see two people affecting intrigue, having their assignations in public places only; he affecting a warm pursuit, and the lady, acting the hesitation of retreating virtue— ‘Pray, ma’am, don’t you think,’ &c. — while neither party have words between ’em to conduct the preliminaries of gallantry, nor passion to pursue the object of it.

  “A plan of public flirtation — not to get beyond a profile.

  * * * * *

  “Then I hate to see one, to whom heaven has given real beauty, settling her features at the glass of fashion, while she speaks — not thinking so much of what she says as how she looks, and more careful of the action of her lips than of what shall come from them.

  * * * * *

  “A pretty woman studying looks and endeavoring to recollect a
n ogle, like Lady —— , who has learned to play her eyelids like Venetian blinds. [Footnote: This simile is repeated in various shapes through his manuscripts— “She moves her eyes up and down like Venetian blinds”— “Her eyelids play like a Venetian blind,” &c &c.]

  “An old woman endeavoring to put herself back to a girl.

  * * * * *

  “A true-trained wit lays his plan like a general — foresees the circumstances of the conversation — surveys the ground and contingencies — detaches a question to draw you into the palpable ambuscade of his ready-made joke.

  * * * * *

  “A man intriguing, only for the reputation of it — to his confidential servant: ‘Who am I in love with now?’— ‘The newspapers give you so and so — you are laying close siege to Lady L., in the Morning Post, and have succeeded with Lady G. in the Herald — Sir F. is very jealous of you in the Gazetteer.’— ‘Remember to-morrow the first thing you do, to put me in love with Mrs. C.’

  “‘I forgot to forget the billet-doux at Brooks’s’— ‘By the bye, an’t I in love with you?’— ‘Lady L. has promised to meet me in her carriage to- morrow — where is the most public place?’

  “‘You were rude to her!’— ‘Oh, no, upon my soul, I made love to her directly.’

  “An old man, who affects intrigue, and writes his own reproaches in the Morning Post, trying to scandalize himself into the reputation of being young, as if he could obscure his age by blotting his character — though never so little candid as when he’s abusing himself.

  * * * * *

  “‘Shall you be at Lady — — ‘s? I’m told the Bramin is to be there, and the new French philosopher.’— ‘No — it will be pleasanter at Lady — — ‘s conversazione — the cow with two heads will be there.’

  * * * * *

  “‘I shall order my valet to shoot me the very first thing he does in the morning.’

  “‘You are yourself affected and don’t know it — you would pass for morose.’

  “He merely wanted to be singular, and happened to find the character of moroseness unoccupied in the society he lived with.

  “He certainly has a great deal of fancy and a very good memory; but with a perverse ingenuity he employs these qualities as no other person does — for he employs his fancy in his narratives, and keeps his recollections for his wit — when he makes his jokes you applaud the accuracy of his memory, and ’tis only when he states his facts that you admire the flights of his imagination. [Footnote: The reader will find how much this thought was improved upon afterwards.]