by Thomas Moore
“I have been very seriously at work on a book, which I am just now sending to the press, and which I think will do me some credit, if it leads to nothing else. However, the profitable affair is of another nature. There will be a Comedy of mine in rehearsal at Covent- Garden within a few days. I did not set to work on it till within a few days of my setting out for Crome, so you may think I have not, for these last six weeks, been very idle. I have done it at Mr. Harris’s (the manager’s) own request; it is now complete in his hands, and preparing for the stage. He, and some of his friends also who have heard it, assure me in the most flattering terms that there is not a doubt of its success. It will be very well played, and Harris tells me that the least shilling I shall get (if it succeeds) will be six hundred pounds. I shall make no secret of it towards the time of representation, that it may not lose any support my friends can give it. I had not written a line of it two months ago, except a scene or two, which I believe you have seen in an odd act of a little farce.
“Mr. Stanley was with me a day or two ago on the subject of the oratorios. I found Mr. Smith has declined, and is retiring to Bath. Mr. Stanley informed me that on his applying to the king for the continuance of his favor, he was desired by his Majesty to make me an offer of Mr. Smith’s situation and partnership in them, and that he should continue his protection, &c. I declined the matter very civilly and very peremptorily. I should imagine that Mr. Stanley would apply to you; — I started the subject to him, and said you had twenty Mrs. Sheridans more. However, he said very little: — if he does, and you wish to make an alteration in your system at once, I should think you may stand in Smith’s place. I would not listen to him on any other terms, and I should think the King might be made to signify his pleasure for such an arrangement. On this you will reflect, and if any way strikes you that I can move in it, I need not add how happy I shall be in its success.
* * * * *
“I hope you will let me have the pleasure to hear from you soon, as I shall think any delay unfair, — unless you can plead that you are writing an opera, and a folio on music besides. Accept Betsey’s love and duty.
“Your sincere and affectionate
“R. B. SHERIDAN.”
What the book here alluded to was, I cannot with any accuracy ascertain. Besides a few sketches of plays and poems, of which I shall give some account in a subsequent Chapter, there exist among his papers several fragments of Essays and Letters, all of which — including the unfinished plays and poems — must have been written by him in the interval between 1769, when he left Harrow, and the present year; though at what precise dates during that period there are no means of judging.
Among these there are a few political Letters, evidently designed for the newspapers; — some of them but half copied out, and probably never sent. One of this description, which must have been written immediately on his leaving school, is a piece of irony against the Duke of Grafton, giving reasons why that nobleman should not lose his head, and, under the semblance of a defence, exaggerating all the popular charges against him.
The first argument (he says) of the Duke’s adversaries, “is founded on the regard which ought to be paid to justice, and on the good effects which, they affirm, such an example would have, in suppressing the ambition of any future minister. But if I can prove that his —— might be made a much greater example of by being suffered to live, I think I may, without vanity, affirm that their whole argument will fall to the ground. By pursuing the methods which they propose, viz. chopping off his — — ‘s head, I allow the impression would be stronger at first; but we should consider how soon that wears off. If, indeed, his — — ‘s crimes were of such a nature, as to entitle his head to a place on Temple-Bar, I should allow some weight to their argument. But, in the present case, we should reflect how apt mankind are to relent after they have inflicted punishment; — so that, perhaps, the same men who would have detested the noble Lord, while alive and in prosperity, pointing him as a scarecrow to their children, might, after being witnesses to the miserable fate that had overtaken him, begin in their hearts to pity him; and from the fickleness so common to human nature, perhaps, by way of compensation, acquit him of part of his crimes; insinuate that he was dealt hardly with, and thus, by the remembrance of their compassion, on this occasion, be led to show more indulgence to any future offender in the same circumstances.” There is a clearness of thought and style here very remarkable in so young a writer.
In affecting to defend the Duke against the charge of fickleness and unpunctuality, he says, “I think I could bring several instances which should seem to promise the greatest steadiness and resolution. I have known him make the Council wait, on the business of the whole nation, when he has had an appointment to Newmarket. Surely, this is an instance of the greatest honor; and, if we see him so punctual in private appointments, must we not conclude that he is infinitely more so in greater matters? Nay, when W —— s [Footnote: Wilkes.] came over, is it not notorious that the late Lord Mayor went to His Grace on that evening, proposing a scheme which, by securing this fire-brand, might have put an end to all the troubles he has caused? But His Grace did not see him; — no, he was a man of too much honor; — he had promised that evening to attend Nancy Parsons to Ranelagh, and he would not disappoint her, but made three thousand people witnesses of his punctuality.”
There is another Letter, which happens to be dated (1770), addressed to “Novus,” — some writer in Woodfall’s Public Advertiser, — and appearing to be one of a series to the same correspondent. From the few political allusions introduced in this letter, (which is occupied chiefly in an attack upon the literary style of “Novus,”) we can collect that the object of Sheridan was to defend the new ministry of Lord North, who had, in the beginning of that year, succeeded the Duke of Grafton. Junius was just then in the height of his power and reputation; and as, in English literature, one great voice always produces a multitude of echoes, it was thought at that time indispensable to every letter-writer in a newspaper, to be a close copyist of the style of Junius: of course, our young political tyro followed this “mould of form” as well as the rest. Thus, in addressing his correspondent:— “That gloomy seriousness in your style, — that seeming consciousness of superiority, together with the consideration of the infinite pains it must have cost you to have been so elaborately wrong, — will not suffer me to attribute such numerous errors to any thing but real ignorance, joined with most consummate vanity.” The following is a specimen of his acuteness in criticising the absurd style of his adversary:— “You leave it rather dubious whether you were most pleased with the glorious opposition to Charles I. or the dangerous designs of that monarch, which you emphatically call ‘the arbitrary projects of a Stuart’s nature.’ What do you mean by the projects of a man’s nature? A man’s natural disposition may urge him to the commission of some actions; — Nature may instigate and encourage, but I believe you are the first that ever made her a projector.”
It is amusing to observe, that, while he thus criticises the style and language of his correspondent, his own spelling, in every second line, convicts him of deficiency in at least one common branch of literary acquirement: — we find thing always spelt think; — whether, where, and which, turned into wether, were, and wich; — and double m’s and s’s almost invariably reduced to “single blessedness.” This sign of a neglected education remained with him to a very late period, and, in his hasty writing, or scribbling, would occasionally recur to the last.
From these Essays for the newspapers it may be seen how early was the bias of his mind towards politics. It was, indeed, the rival of literature in his affections during all the early part of his life, and, at length, — whether luckily for himself or not it is difficult to say, — gained the mastery.
There are also among his manuscripts some commencements of Periodical Papers, under various names, “The Detector,” “The Dramatic Censor,” &c.; — none of them, apparently, carried beyond the middle of the first number. But
one of the most curious of these youthful productions is a Letter to the Queen, recommending the establishment of an Institution, for the instruction and maintenance of young females in the better classes of life, who, from either the loss of their parents, or from poverty, are without the means of being brought up suitably to their station. He refers to the asylum founded by Madame de Maintenon, at St. Cyr, as a model, and proposes that the establishment should be placed under the patronage of Her Majesty, and entitled “The Royal Sanctuary.” The reader, however, has to arrive at the practical part of the plan, through long and flowery windings of panegyric, on the beauty, genius, and virtue of women, and their transcendent superiority, in every respect, over men.
The following sentence will give some idea of the sort of eloquence with which he prefaces this grave proposal to Her Majesty:— “The dispute about the proper sphere of women is idle. That men should have attempted to draw a line for their orbit, shows that God meant them for comets, and above our jurisdiction. With them the enthusiasm of poetry and the idolatry of love is the simple voice of nature.” There are, indeed, many passages of this boyish composition, a good deal resembling in their style those ambitious apostrophes with which he afterwards ornamented his speeches on the trial of Hastings.
He next proceeds to remark to Her Majesty, that in those countries where “man is scarce better than a brute, he shows his degeneracy by his treatment of women,” and again falls into metaphor, not very clearly made out:— “The influence that women have over us is as the medium through which the finer Arts act upon us. The incense of our love and respect for them creates the atmosphere of our souls, which corrects and meliorates the beams of knowledge.”
The following is in a better style:— “However, in savage countries, where the pride of man has not fixed the first dictates of ignorance into law, we see the real effects of nature. The wild Huron shall, to the object of his love, become gently as his weary rein-deer; — he shall present to her the spoil of his bow on his knee;-he shall watch without reward the cave where she sleeps; — he shall rob the birds for feathers for her hair, and dive for pearls for her neck; — her look shall be his law, and her beauties his worship!” He then endeavors to prove that, as it is the destiny of man to be ruled by woman, he ought, for his own sake, to render her as fit for that task as possible:—” How can we be better employed than in perfecting that which governs us? The brighter they are, the more we shall be illumined. Were the minds of all women cultivated by inspiration, men would become wise of course. They are a sort of pentagraphs with which nature writes on the heart of man; — what she delineates on the original map will appear on the copy.”
In showing how much less women are able to struggle against adversity than men, he says,— “As for us, we are born in a state of warfare with poverty and distress. The sea of adversity is our natural element, and he that will not buffet with the billows deserves to sink. But you, oh you, by nature formed of gentler kind, can you endure the biting storm? shall you be turned to the nipping blast, and not a door be open to give you shelter?”
After describing, with evident seriousness, the nature of the institution of Madame de Maintenon, at St. Cyr, he adds the following strange romantic allusion: “Had such a charity as I have been speaking of existed here, the mild Parthenia and my poor Laura would not have fallen into untimely graves.”
The practical details of his plan, in which it is equally evident that he means to be serious, exhibit the same flightiness of language and notions. The King, he supposes, would have no objection to “grant Hampton-Court, or some other palace, for the purpose;” and “as it is (he continues, still addressing the Queen) to be immediately under your majesty’s patronage, so should your majesty be the first member of it. Let the constitution of it be like that of a university, Your Majesty, Chancellor; some of the first ladies in the kingdom sub-chancellors; whose care it shall be to provide instructors of real merit. The classes are to be distinguished by age — none by degree. For, as their qualification shall be gentility, they are all on a level. The instructors shall be women, except for the languages. Latin and Greek should not be learned; — the frown of pedantry destroys the blush of humility. The practical part of the sciences, as of astronomy, &c., should be taught. In history they would find that there are other passions in man than love. As for novels, there are some I would strongly recommend; but romances infinitely more. The one is a representation of the effects of the passions as they should be, though extravagant; the other, as they are. The latter is falsely called nature, and is a picture of depraved and corrupted society; the other is the glow of nature. I would therefore exclude all novels that show human nature depraved: — however well executed, the design will disgust.”
He concludes by enumerating the various good effects which the examples of female virtue, sent forth from such an institution, would produce upon the manners and morals of the other sex; and in describing, among other kinds of coxcombs, the cold, courtly man of the world, uses the following strong figure: “They are so clipped, and rubbed, and polished, that God’s image and inscription is worn from them, and when He calls in his coin, He will no longer know them for his own.”
There is still another Essay, or rather a small fragment of an Essay, on the letters of Lord Chesterfield, which, I am inclined to think, may have formed a part of the rough copy of the book, announced by him to Mr. Linley as ready in the November of this year. Lord Chesterfield’s Letters appeared for the first time in 1774, and the sensation they produced was exactly such as would tempt a writer in quest of popular subjects to avail himself of it. As the few pages which I have found, and which contain merely scattered hints of thoughts, are numbered as high as 232, it is possible that the preceding part of the work may have been sufficiently complete to go into the printer’s hands, and that there, — like so many more of his “unshelled brood,” — it died without ever taking wing. A few of these memorandums will, I have no doubt, be acceptable to the reader.
“Lord C.’s whole system in no one article calculated to make a great man. — A noble youth should be ignorant of the things he wishes him to know; — such a one as he wants would be too soon a man.
“Emulation is a dangerous passion to encourage, in some points, in young men; it is so linked with envy: if you reproach your son for not surpassing his school-fellows, he will hate those who are before him. Emulation not to be encouraged even in virtue. True virtue will, like the Athenian, rejoice in being surpassed; a friendly emulation cannot exist in two minds; one must hate the perfections in which he is eclipsed by the other; — thus, from hating the quality in his competitor, he loses the respect for it in himself: — a young man by himself better educated than two. — A Roman’s emulation was not to excel his countrymen, but to make his country excel: this is the true, the other selfish. — Epaminondas, who reflected on the pleasure his success would give his father, most glorious; — an emulation for that purpose, true.
“The selfish vanity of the father appears in all these letters — his sending the copy of a letter for his sister. — His object was the praise of his own mode of education. — How much more noble the affection of Morni in Ossian; ‘Oh, that the name of Morni,’ &c. &c. [Footnote: “Oh, that the name of Morni were forgot among the people; that the heroes would only say, ‘Behold the father of Gaul!’” Sheridan applied this, more than thirty years after, in talking of his own son, on the hustings of Westminster, and said that, in like manner, he would ask no greater distinction than for men to point at him and say, “There goes the father of Tom Sheridan.”]
“His frequent directions for constant employment entirely ill founded: — a wise man is formed more by the action of his own thoughts than by continually feeding it. ‘Hurry,’ he says, ‘from play to study; never be doing nothing’ — I say, ‘Frequently be unemployed; sit and think.’ There are on every subject but a few leading and fixed ideas; their tracks may be traced by your own genius as well as by reading: — a man of deep thought, who sh
all have accustomed himself to support or attack all he has read, will soon find nothing new: thought is exercise, and the mind, like the body, must not be wearied.”
These last two sentences contain the secret of Sheridan’s confidence in his own powers. His subsequent success bore him out in the opinions he thus early expressed, and might even have persuaded him that it was in consequence, not in spite, of his want of cultivation that he succeeded.
On the 17th of January, 1775, the comedy of The Rivals was brought out at Covent-Garden, and the following was the cast of the characters on the first night: —
Sir Anthony Absolute Mr. Shuter.
Captain Absolute Mr. Woodward.
Falkland Mr. Lewis.
Acres Mr. Quick.
Sir Lucius O’Trigger Mr. Lee.
Fag Mr. Lee Lewes.
David Mr. Dunstal.
Coachman Mr. Fearon.
Mrs. Malaprop Mrs. Green.
Lydia Languish Miss Barsanti.
Julia Mrs. Bulkley.
Lucy Mrs. Lessingham.
This comedy, as is well known, failed on its first representation, — chiefly from the bad acting of Mr. Lee in Sir Lucius O’Trigger. Another actor, however, Mr. Clinch, was substituted in his place, and the play being lightened of this and some other incumbrances, rose at once into that high region of public favor, where it has continued to float so buoyantly and gracefully ever since.
The following extracts from letters written at that time by Miss Linley (afterwards Mrs. Tickell) to her sister, Mrs. Sheridan, though containing nothing remarkable, yet, as warm with the feelings of a moment so interesting in Sheridan’s literary life, will be read, perhaps, with some degree of pleasure. The slightest outline of a celebrated place, taken on the spot, has often a charm beyond the most elaborate picture finished at a distance.