Memoirs of the Life of the Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley Sheridan Volume I Part 19

However, I think we have taken care to ruin my brother's character with my uncle, should he come to-morrow. Frank has not an ill quality in his nature; yet, a neglect of forms, and of the opinion of the world, has hurt him in the estimation of all his graver friends. I have profited by his errors, and contrived to gain a character, which now serves me as a mask to lie under.

"_Enter_ LADY TEAZLE.

"_Lady T._ What, musing, or thinking of me?

"_Young P._ I was thinking unkindly of you; do you know now that you must repay me for this delay, or I must be coaxed into good humor?

"_Lady T._ Nay, in faith you should pity me--this old curmudgeon of late is growing so jealous, that I dare scarce go out, till I know he is secure for some time.

"_Young P._ I am afraid the insinuations we have had spread about Frank have operated too strongly on him--we meant only to direct his suspicions to a wrong object.

"_Lady T._ Oh, hang him! I have told him plainly that if he continues to be so suspicious, I'll leave him entirely, and make him allow me a separate maintenance.

"_Young P._ But, my charmer, if ever that should be the case, you see before you the man who will ever be attached to you. But you must not let matters come to extremities; you can never be revenged so well by leaving him, as by living with him, and let my sincere affection make amends for his brutality.

"_Lady T._ But how shall I be sure now that you are sincere? I have sometimes suspected that you loved my niece. [Footnote: He had not yet decided whether to make Maria the daughter-in-law or niece of Lady Teazle.]

"_Young P._ Oh, hang her, a puling idiot, without sense or spirit.

"_Lady T._ But what proofs have I of your love to me, for I have still so much of my country prejudices left, that if I were to do a foolish thing (and I think I can't promise) it shall be for a man who would risk every thing for me alone. How shall I be sure you love me?

"_Young P._ I have dreamed of you every night this week past.

"_Lady T._ That's a sign you have slept every night for this week past; for my part, I would not give a pin for a lover who could not wake for a month in absence.

"_Young P._ I have written verses on you out of number.

"_Lady T._ I never saw any.

"_Young P._ No--they did not please me, and so I tore them.

"_Lady T._ Then it seems you wrote them only to divert yourself.

"_Young P._ Am I doomed for ever to suspense?

"_Lady T._ I don't know--if I was convinced--

"_Young P._ Then let me on my knees--

"_Lady T._ Nay, nay, I will have no raptures either. This much I can tell you, that if I am to be seduced to do wrong, I am not to be taken by storm, but by deliberate capitulation, and that only where my reason or my heart is convinced.

"_Young P._ Then, to say it at once--the world gives itself liberties--

"_Lady T._ Nay, I am sure without cause; for I am as yet unconscious of any ill, though I know not what I may be forced to.

"_Young P._ The fact is, my dear Lady Teazle, that your extreme innocence is the very cause of your danger; it is the integrity of your heart that makes you run into a thousand imprudences which a full consciousness of error would make you guard against. Now, in that case, you can't conceive how much more circ.u.mspect you would be.

"_Lady T._ Do you think so?

"_Young P._ Most certainly. Your character is like a person in a plethora, absolutely dying of too much health.

"_Lady T._ So then you would have me sin in my own defence, and part with my virtue to preserve my reputation. [Footnote: This sentence seems to have haunted him--I find it written in every direction, and without any material change in its form, over the pages of his different memorandum books.]

"_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, a.s.suming 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 Flect.i.tur 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 workmans.h.i.+p 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 ma.n.u.scripts 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 ant.i.thesis 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 ma.n.u.script 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 pa.s.s 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 princ.i.p.al idea has but little significance, he contrives to enliven it into point by the quaintness or contrast of his epithets.

Among the many rejected sc.r.a.ps 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 fas.h.i.+on:--

"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 st.u.r.dy 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 t.i.tle, 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 fas.h.i.+on 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.