by Thomas Moore
It has often been remarked as singular, that the lovers, Charles and Maria, should never be brought in presence of each other till the last scene; and Mr. Sheridan used to say, that he was aware, in writing the Comedy, of the apparent want of dramatic management which such an omission would betray; but that neither of the actors, for whom he had destined those characters, was such as he could safely trust with a love scene. There might, perhaps, too, have been, in addition to this motive, a little consciousness, on his own part, of not being exactly in his element in that tender style of writing, which such a scene, to make it worthy of the rest, would have required; and of which the specimens left us in the serious parts of The Rivals are certainly not among his most felicitous efforts.
By some critics the incident of the screen has been censured, as a contrivance unworthy of the dignity of comedy. [Footnote: “In the old comedy, the catastrophe is occasioned, in general, by a change in the mind of some principal character, artfully prepared and cautiously conducted; — in the modern, the unfolding of the plot is effected by the overturning of a screen, the opening of a door, or some other equally dignified machine.” — GIFFORD, Essay on the Writings of Massinger.] But in real life, of which comedy must condescend to be the copy, events of far greater importance are brought about by accidents as trivial; and in a world like ours, where the falling of an apple has led to the discovery of the laws of gravitation, it is surely too fastidious to deny to the dramatist the discovery of an intrigue by the falling of a screen. There is another objection as to the manner of employing this machine, which, though less grave, is perhaps less easily answered. Joseph, at the commencement of the scene, desires his servant to draw the screen before the window, because “his opposite neighbor is a maiden lady of so anxious a temper;” yet, afterwards, by placing Lady Teazle between the screen and the window, he enables this inquisitive lady to indulge her curiosity at leisure. It might be said, indeed, that Joseph, with the alternative of exposure to either the husband or neighbor, chooses the lesser evil; — but the oversight hardly requires a defence.
From the trifling nature of these objections to the dramatic merits of the School for Scandal, it will be seen, that, like the criticism of Momus on the creaking of Venus’s shoes, they only show how perfect must be the work in which no greater faults can be found. But a more serious charge has been brought against it on the score of morality, and the gay charm thrown around the irregularities of Charles is pronounced to be dangerous to the interests of honesty and virtue. There is no doubt that in this character only the fairer side of libertinism is presented, — that the merits of being in debt are rather too fondly insisted upon, and with a grace and spirit that might seduce even creditors into admiration. It was, indeed, playfully said, that no tradesman who applauded Charles could possibly have the face to dun the author afterwards. In looking, however, to the race of rakes that had previously held possession of the stage, we cannot help considering our release from the contagion of so much coarseness and selfishness to be worth even the increased risk of seduction that may have succeeded to it; and the remark of Burke, however questionable in strict ethics, is, at least, true on the stage, — that “vice loses half its evil by losing all its grossness.”
It should be recollected, too, that, in other respects, the author applies the lash of moral satire very successfully. That group of slanderers who, like the Chorus of the Eumenides, go searching about for their prey with “eyes that drop poison,” represent a class of persons in society who richly deserve such ridicule, and who — like their prototypes in Aeschylus trembling before the shafts of Apollo — are here made to feel the full force of the archery of wit. It is indeed a proof of the effect and use of such satire, that the name of “Mrs. Candor” has become one of those formidable bye-words, which have more power in putting folly and ill-nature out of countenance, than whole volumes of the wisest remonstrance and reasoning.
The poetical justice exercised upon the Tartuffe of sentiment, Joseph, is another service to the cause of morals, which should more than atone for any dangerous embellishment of wrong that the portraiture of the younger brother may exhibit. Indeed, though both these characters are such as the moralist must visit with his censure, there can be little doubt to which we should, in real life, give the preference; — the levities and errors of the one, arising from warmth of heart and of youth, may be merely like those mists that exhale from summer streams, obscuring them awhile to the eye, without affecting the native purity of their waters; while the hypocrisy of the other is like the mirage of the desert, shining with promise on the surface, but all false and barren beneath.
In a late work, professing to be the Memoirs of Mr. Sheridan, there are some wise doubts expressed as to his being really the author of the School for Scandal, to which, except for the purpose of exposing absurdity, I should not have thought it worth while to allude. It is an old trick of Detraction, — and one, of which it never tires, — to father the works of eminent writers upon others; or, at least, while it kindly leaves an author the credit of his worst performances, to find some one in the background to ease him of the fame of his best. When this sort of charge is brought against a cotemporary, the motive is intelligible; but, such an abstract pleasure have some persons in merely unsettling the crowns of Fame, that a worthy German has written an elaborate book to prove, that the Iliad was written, not by that particular Homer the world supposes, but by some other Homer! Indeed, if mankind were to be influenced by those Qui tam critics, who have, from time to time, in the course of the history of literature, exhibited informations of plagiarism against great authors, the property of fame would pass from its present holders into the hands of persons with whom the world is but little acquainted. Aristotle must refund to one Ocellus Lucanus — Virgil must make a cessio bonorum in favor of Pisander — the Metamorphoses of Ovid must be credited to the account of Parthenius of Nicaea, and (to come to a modern instance) Mr. Sheridan must, according to his biographer, Dr. Watkins, surrender the glory of having written the School for Scandal to a certain anonymous young lady, who died of a consumption in Thames Street!
To pass, however, to less hardy assailants of the originality of this comedy, — it is said that the characters of Joseph and Charles were suggested by those of Blifil and Tom Jones; that the incident of the arrival of Sir Oliver from India is copied from that of the return of Warner in Sidney Biddulph; and that the hint of the famous scandal scene at Lady Sneerwell’s is borrowed from a comedy of Moliere.
Mr. Sheridan, it is true, like all men of genius, had, in addition to the resources of his own wit, a quick apprehension of what suited his purpose in the wit of others, and a power of enriching whatever he adopted from them with such new grace, as gave him a sort of claim of paternity over it, and made it all his own. “C’est mon bien,” said Moliere, when accused of borrowing, “et je le reprens partout ou je le trouve;” and next, indeed, to creation, the re-production, in a new and more perfect form, of materials already existing, or the full development of thoughts that had but half blown in the hands of others, are the noblest miracles for which we look to the hand of genius. It is not my intention therefore to defend Mr. Sheridan from this kind of plagiarism, of which he was guilty in common with the rest of his fellow-descendants from Prometheus, who all steal the spark wherever they can find it. But the instances, just alleged, of his obligations to others, are too questionable and trivial to be taken into any serious account. Contrasts of character, such as Charles and Joseph exhibit, are as common as the lights and shadows of a landscape, and belong neither to Fielding nor Sheridan, but to nature. It is in the manner of transferring them to the canvas that the whole difference between the master and the copyist lies; and Charles and Joseph would, no doubt, have been what they are, if Tom Jones had never existed. With respect to the hint supposed to be taken from the novel of his mother, he at least had a right to consider any aid from that quarter as “son bien” — talent being the only patrimony to which he had succeeded. But the
use made of the return of a relation in the play is wholly different from that to which the same incident is applied in the novel. Besides, in those golden times of Indian delinquency, the arrival of a wealthy relative from the East was no very unobvious ingredient in a story.
The imitation of Moliere (if, as I take for granted, the Misanthrope be the play, in which the origin of the famous scandal scene is said to be found) is equally faint and remote, and, except in the common point of scandal, untraceable. Nothing, indeed, can be more unlike than the manner in which the two scenes are managed. Celimene, in Moliere, bears the whole frais of the conversation; and this female La Bruyere’s tedious and solitary dissections of character would be as little borne on the English stage, as the quick and dazzling movement of so many lancets of wit as operate in the School for Scandal would be tolerated on that of the French.
It is frequently said that Mr. Sheridan was a good deal indebted to Wycherley; and he himself gave, in some degree, a color to the charge, by the suspicious impatience which he betrayed whenever any allusion was made to it. He went so far, indeed, it is said, as to deny having ever read a line of Wycherley (though of Vanbrugh’s dialogue he always spoke with the warmest admiration); — and this assertion, as well as some others equally remarkable, such as, that he never saw Garrick on the stage, that he never had seen a play throughout in his life, however strange and startling they may appear, are, at least, too curious and characteristic not to be put upon record. His acquaintance with Wycherley was possibly but at second-hand, and confined, perhaps, to Garrick’s alteration of the Country Wife, in which the incident, already mentioned as having been borrowed for the Duenna, is preserved. There is, however, a scene in the Plain Dealer (Act II.), where Nevil and Olivia attack the characters of the persons with whom Nevil had dined, of which it is difficult to believe that Mr. Sheridan was ignorant: as it seems to contain much of that Hyle, or First Matter, out of which his own more perfect creations were formed.
In Congreve’s Double Dealer, too, (Act III. Scene 10) there is much which may, at least, have mixed itself with the recollections of Sheridan, and influenced the course of his fancy — it being often found that the images with which the memory is furnished, like those pictures hung up before the eyes of pregnant women at Sparta, produce insensibly a likeness to themselves in the offspring which the imagination brings forth. The admirable drollery in Congreve about Lady Froth’s verses on her coachman —
“For as the sun shines every day,
So of our coachman I may say” —
is by no means unlikely to have suggested the doggerel of Sir Benjamin Backbite; and the scandalous conversation in this scene, though far inferior in delicacy and ingenuity to that of Sheridan, has somewhat, as the reader will see, of a parental resemblance to it: —
“Lord Froth. Hee, hee, my dear; have you done? Won’t you join with us? We were laughing at my lady Whifler and Mr. Sneer.
“Lady F. Ay, my dear, were you? Oh, filthy Mr. Sneer! he is a nauseous figure, a most fulsamick fop. He spent two days together in going about Covent Garden to suit the lining of his coach with his complexion.
“Ld. F. Oh, silly! yet his aunt is as fond of him, as if she had brought the ape into the world herself.
“Brisk. Who? my Lady Toothless? Oh, she is a mortifying spectacle; she’s always chewing the cud like an old ewe,
“Ld. F. Then she’s always ready to laugh, when Sneer offers to speak; and sits in expectation of his no jest, with her gums bare, and her mouth open —
“Brisk. Like an oyster at low ebb, egad — ha, ha, ha!
“Cynthia. (Aside.) Well, I find there are no fools so inconsiderable themselves, but they can render other people contemptible by exposing their infirmities.
“Lady F. Then that t’other great strapping Lady — I can’t hit off her name: the old fat fool, that paints so exorbitantly.
“Brisk. I know whom you mean — but, deuce take her, I can’t hit off her name either — paints, d’ye say? Why she lays it on with a trowel. Then she has a great beard that bristles through it, and makes her look as if she was plastered with lime and hair, let me perish.”
It would be a task not uninteresting, to enter into a detailed comparison of the characteristics and merits of Mr. Sheridan, as a dramatic writer, with those of the other great masters of the art; and to consider how far they differed or agreed with each other, in the structure of their plots and management of their dialogue — in the mode of laying the train of their repartee, or pointing the artillery of their wit. But I have already devoted to this part of my subject a much ampler space, than to some of my readers will appear either necessary or agreeable; — though by others, more interested in such topics, my diffuseness will, I trust, be readily pardoned. In tracking Mr. Sheridan through his too distinct careers of literature and of politics, it is on the highest point of his elevation in each that the eye naturally rests; and the School for Scandal in one, and the Begum speeches in the other, are the two grand heights — the “summa biverticis umbra Parnassi” — from which he will stand out to after times, and round which, therefore, his biographer may be excused for lingering with most fondness and delay.
It appears singular that, during the life of Mr. Sheridan, no authorized or correct edition of this play should have been published in England. He had, at one time, disposed of the copy right to Mr. Ridgway of Piccadilly, but, after repeated applications from the latter for the manuscript, he was told by Mr. Sheridan, as an excuse for keeping it back, that he had been nineteen years endeavoring to satisfy himself with the style of the School for Scandal, but had not yet succeeded. Mr. Ridgway, upon this, ceased to give him any further trouble on the subject.
The edition printed in Dublin is, with the exception of a few unimportant omissions and verbal differences, perfectly correct. It appears that, after the success of the comedy in London, he presented a copy of it to his eldest sister, Mrs. Lefanu, to be disposed of, for her own advantage, to the manager of the Dublin Theatre. The sum of a hundred guineas, and free admissions for her family, were the terms upon which Ryder, the manager at that period, purchased from this lady the right of acting the play; and it was from the copy thus procured that the edition afterwards published in Dublin was printed. I have collated this edition with the copy given by Mr. Sheridan to Lady Crewe (the last, I believe, ever revised by himself), [Footnote: Among the corrections in this copy (which are in his own hand-writing, and but few in number), there is one which shows not only the retentiveness of his memory, but the minute attention which he paid to the structure of his sentences. Lady Teazle, in her scene with Sir Peter in the Second Act, says: “That’s very true, indeed, Sir Peter: and, after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow.” It was thus that the passage stood at first in Lady Crewe’s copy, — as it does still, too, in the Dublin edition, and in that given in the Collection of his Works, — but in his final revision of this copy, the original reading of the sentence, such as I find it in all his earlier manuscripts of the play, is restored.— “That’s very true, indeed, Sir Peter; and, after having married you, I am sure I should never pretend to taste again.”] and find it, with the few exceptions already mentioned, correct throughout.
The School for Scandal has been translated into most of the languages of Europe, and, among the French particularly, has undergone a variety of metamorphoses. A translation, undertaken, it appears, with the permission of Sheridan himself, was published in London, in the year 1789, by a Monsieur Bunell Delille, who, in a dedication to “Milord Macdonald,” gives the following account of the origin of his task: “Vous savez, Milord, de quelle maniere mysterieuse cette piece, qui n’a jamais ete imprime que furtivement, se trouva l’ete dernier sur ma table, en manuscrit, in-folio; et, si vous daignez vous le rappeler, apres vous avoir fait part de l’aventure, je courus chez Monsieur Sheridan pour lui demander la permission,” &c. &c.
The scenes of the Auction and the Screen were introduced, for the first time, I believe
, on the French stage, in a little piece called, “Les Deux Neveux,” acted in the year 1788, by the young comedians of the Comte de Beaujolais. Since then, the story has been reproduced under various shapes and names:— “Les Portraits de Famille,” “Valsain et Florville,” and, at the Theatre Francais, under the title of the “Tartuffe de Moeurs.” Lately, too, the taste for the subject has revived. The Vaudeville has founded upon it a successful piece, called “Les Deux Cousins;” and there is even a melodrame at the Porte St. Martin, entitled “L’Ecole du Scandale.”
CHAPTER VI.
FURTHER PURCHASE OF THEATRICAL PROPERTY. — MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF GARRICK. — ESSAY ON METRE.-THE CRITIC. — ESSAY ON ABSENTEES. — POLITICAL CONNECTIONS. — THE “ENGLISHMAN.” — ELECTED FOR STAFFORD.
The document in Mr. Sheridan’s handwriting, already mentioned, from which I have stated the sums paid in 1776 by him, Dr. Ford, and Mr. Linley, for Garrick’s moiety of the Drury Lane Theatre, thus mentions the new purchase, by which he extended his interest in this property in the year 1778:— “Mr. Sheridan afterwards was obliged to buy Mr. Lacy’s moiety at a price exceeding 45,000l.: this was in the year 1778.” He then adds — what it may be as well to cite, while I have the paper before me, though relating to subsequent changes in the property:— “In order to enable Mr. S. to complete this purpose, he afterwards consented to divide his original share between Dr. Ford and Mr. Linley, so as to make up each of theirs a quarter. But the price at which they purchased from Mr. Sheridan was not at the rate which he bought from Lacy, though at an advance on the price paid to Garrick. Mr. S. has since purchased Dr. Ford’s quarter for the sum of 17,000l., subject to the increased incumbrance of the additional renters.”
