by Thomas Moore
“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. ,) 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
Such, indeed, was the predominant attraction of this comedy during the two years subsequent to its first appearance, that, in the official account of receipts for 1779, we find the following remark subjoined by the Treasurer:— “School for Scandal damped the new pieces.” I have traced it by the same unequivocal marks of success through the years 1780 and 1781, and find the nights of its representation always rivalling those on which the King went to the theatre, in the magnitude of their receipts.
The following note from Garrick [Footnote: Murphy tells us that Mr. Garrick attended the rehearsals, and “was never known on any former occasion to be more anxious for a favorite piece. He was proud of the new manager; and in a triumphant manner boasted of the genius to whom he had consigned the conduct of the theatre.” — Life of Garrick.] to the author, dated May 12 (four days after the first appearance of the comedy), will be read with interest by all those for whom the great names of the drama have any charm: —
“MR. GARRICK’S best wishes and compliments to Mr. Sheridan.
“How is the Saint to-day? A gentleman who is as mad as myself about ye School remark’d, that the characters upon the stage at ye falling of the screen stand too long before they speak; — I thought so too ye first night: — he said it was the same on ye 2nd, and was remark’d by others; — tho’ they should be astonish’d, and a little petrify’d, yet it may be carry’d to too great a length. — All praise at Lord Lucan’s last night.”
The beauties of this Comedy are so universally known and felt, that criticism may be spared the trouble of dwelling upon them very minutely. With but little interest in the plot, with no very profound or ingenious development of character, and with a group of personages, not one of whom has any legitimate claims upon either our affection or esteem, it yet, by the admirable skill with which its materials are managed, — the happy contrivance of the situations, at once both natural and striking, — the fine feeling of the ridiculous that smiles throughout, and that perpetual play of wit which never tires, but seems, like running water, to be kept fresh by its own flow, — by all this general animation and effect, combined with a finish of the details almost faultless, it unites the suffrages, at once, of the refined and the simple, and is not less successful in ministering to the natural enjoyment of the latter, than in satisfying and delighting the most fastidious tastes among the former. And this is the true triumph of genius in all the arts, — whether in painting, sculpture, music, or literature, those works which have pleased the greatest number of people of all classes, for the longest space of time, may without hesitation be pronounced the best; and, however mediocrity may enshrine itself in the admiration of the select few, the palm of excellence can only be awarded by the many.
The defects of The School for Scandal, if they can be allowed to amount to defects, are, in a great measure, traceable to that amalgamation of two distinct plots, out of which, as I have already shown, the piece was formed. From this cause, — like an accumulation of wealth from the union of two rich families, — has devolved that excessive opulence of wit, with which, as some critics think, the dialogue is overloaded; and which Mr. Sheridan himself used often to mention, as a fault of whic
h he was conscious in his work. That he had no such scruple, however, in writing it, appears evident from the pains which he took to string upon his new plot every bright thought and fancy which he had brought together for the two others; and it is not a little curious, in turning over his manuscript, to see how the outstanding jokes are kept in recollection upon the margin, till he can find some opportunity of funding them to advantage in the text. The consequence of all this is, that the dialogue, from beginning to end, is a continued sparkling of polish and point: and the whole of the Dramatis Personae might be comprised under one common designation of Wits. Even Trip, the servant, is as pointed and shining as the rest, and has his master’s wit, as he has his birth- day clothes, “with the gloss on.” [Footnote: This is one of the phrases that seem to have perplexed the taste of Sheridan, — and upon so minute a point, as, whether it should be “with the gloss on,” or, “with the gloss on them.” After various trials of it in both ways, he decided, as might be expected from his love of idiom, for the former.] The only personage among them that shows any “temperance in jesting,” is old Rowley; and he, too, in the original, had his share in the general largess of bon-mots, — one of the liveliest in the piece [Footnote: The answer to the remark, that “charity begins at home,”— “and his, I presume, is of that domestic sort which never stirs abroad at all.”] being at first given to him, though afterwards transferred, with somewhat more fitness, to Sir Oliver. In short, the entire Comedy is a sort of El-Dorado of wit, where the precious metal is thrown about by all classes, as carelessly as if they had not the least idea of its value.
Another blemish that hypercriticism has noticed, and which may likewise be traced to the original conformation of the play, is the uselessness of some of the characters to the action or business of it — almost the whole of the “Scandalous College” being but, as it were, excrescences, through which none of the life-blood of the plot circulates. The cause of this is evident: — Sir Benjamin Backbite, in the first plot to which he belonged, was a principal personage; but, being transplanted from thence into one with which he has no connection, not only he, but his uncle Crabtree, and Mrs. Candor, though contributing abundantly to the animation of the dialogue, have hardly anything to do with the advancement of the story; and, like the accessories in a Greek drama, are but as a sort of Chorus of Scandal throughout. That this defect, or rather peculiarity, should have been observed at first, when criticism was freshly on the watch for food, is easily conceivable; and I have been told by a friend, who was in the pit on the first night of performance, that a person, who sat near him, said impatiently, during the famous scene at Lady Sneerwell’s, in the Second Act,— “I wish these people would have done talking, and let the play begin.”