Chapter XXVII: From "the School for Scandal."g

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.--1751-1816.

SCENE.--_A Room in_ SIR PETER TEAZLE'S _House._

_Enter_ SIR PETER TEAZLE.

_Sir Pet._ When an old bachelor marries a young wife, what is he to expect? 'Tis now six months since Lady Teazle made me the happiest of men--and I have been the most miserable dog ever since. We tiffed a little going to church, and fairly quarrelled before the bells had done ringing. I was more than once nearly choked with gall during the honeymoon, and had lost all comfort in life before my friends had done wishing me joy. Yet I chose with caution--a girl bred wholly in the country, who never knew luxury beyond one silk gown, nor dissipation above the annual gala of a race ball. Yet she now plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies of fashion and the town with as ready a grace as if she never had seen a bush or a grass-plot out of Grosvenor Square! I am sneered at by all my acquaintance, and paragraphed in the newspapers. She dissipates my fortune, and contradicts all my humors; yet the worst of it is, I doubt I love her, or I should never bear all this. However, I'll never be weak enough to own it. But I meet with nothing but crosses and vexations--and the fault is entirely hers. I am, myself, the sweetest-tempered man alive, and hate a teasing temper; and so I tell her a hundred times a day.--Ay! and what is very extraordinary, in all our disputes she is always in the wrong. But Lady Sneerwell, and the set she meets at her house, encourage the perverseness of her disposition. Then, to complete my vexation, Maria, my ward, whom I ought to have the power of a father over, is determined to turn rebel too, and absolutely refuses the man whom I have long resolved on for her husband--

_Enter_ LADY TEAZLE.

Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it!

_Lady Teaz._ Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in everything, and, what's more, I will too. What! though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married.

_Sir Pet._ Very well, ma'am, very well; so a husband is to have no influence, no authority?

_Lady Teaz._ Authority! No, to be sure. If you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me: I am sure you were old enough.

_Sir Pet._ Old enough!--ay, there it is. Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance!

_Lady Teaz._ My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be.

_Sir Pet._ No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. Such wastefulness! to spend as much to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon into a greenhouse, and give a _fete champetre_ at Christmas.

_Lady Teaz._ And am I to blame, Sir Peter, because flowers are dear in cold weather? You should find fault with the climate, and not with me. For my part, I'm sure I wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet.

_Sir Pet._ Oons! madam--if you had been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when I married you.

_Lady Teaz._ No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you.

_Sir Pet._ Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler style--the daughter of a plain country squire. Recollect, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side, your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted, of your own working.

_Lady Teaz._ Oh, yes! I remember it very well, and a curious life I led. My daily occupation--to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog.

_Sir Pet._ Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed.

_Lady Teaz._ And then you know my evening amusements! To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up; to play Pope Joan with the curate; to read a sermon to my aunt; or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase.

_Sir Pet._ I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, these were the recreations I took you from; but now you must have your coach--_vis-a-vis_--and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a docked coach-horse.

_Lady Teaz._ No--I vow I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach-horse.

_Sir Pet._ This, madam, was your situation; and what have I done for you? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank--in short, I have made you my wife.

_Lady Teaz._ Well, then, and there is but one thing more you can make me to add to the obligation, that is----

_Sir Pet._ My widow, I suppose?

_Lady Teaz._ Hem! hem!

_Sir Pet._ I thank you, madam--but don't flatter yourself; for, though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you: however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint.

_Lady Teaz._ Then why will you endeavor to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense?

_Sir Pet._ Madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me?

_Lady Teaz._ Sir Peter! would you have me be out of the fashion?

_Sir Pet._ The fashion, indeed! what had you to do with the fashion before you married me?

_Lady Teaz._ For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste.

_Sir Pet._ Ay--there again--taste! Zounds! madam, you had no taste when you married me!

_Lady Teaz._ That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter! and after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's.

_Sir Pet._ Ay, there's another precious circumstance--a charming set of acquaintances you have made there!

_Lady Teaz._ Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation.

_Sir Pet._ Yes, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose anybody should have a character but themselves! Such a crew! Ah! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales; coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation.

_Lady Teaz._ What, would you restrain the freedom of speech?

_Sir Pet._ Ah! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society.

_Lady Teaz._ Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace.

_Sir Pet._ Grace, indeed!

_Lady Teaz._ But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse; when I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humor; and I take it for granted they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too.

_Sir Pet._ Well, well, I'll call in, just to look after my own character.

_Lady Teaz._ Then, indeed, you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So good-bye to ye. [_Exit._

_Sir Pet._ So--I have gained much by my intended expostulation! Yet with what a charming air she contradicts everything I say; and how pleasantly she shows her contempt for my authority! Well, though I can't make her love me; there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing everything in her power to plague me. [_Exit_.

SCENE.--_A room in_ LADY SNEERWELL'S _House._

LADY SNEERWELL, MRS. CANDOUR, CRABTREE, SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE, _and_ JOSEPH SURFACE, _discovered_.

_Enter_ LADY TEAZLE _and_ MARIA.

_Lady Sneer._ Lady Teazle, I hope we shall see Sir Peter?

_Lady Teaz._ I believe he'll wait on your ladyship presently.

_Lady Sneer._ Maria, my love, you look grave. Come, you shall sit down to piquet with Mr. Surface.

_Mar._ I take very little pleasure in cards--however, I'll do as your ladyship pleases.

_Mrs. Can._ Now I'll die; but you are so scandalous, I'll forswear your society.

_Lady Teaz._ What's the matter, Mrs. Candour?

_Mrs. Can._ They'll not allow our friend Miss Vermillion to be handsome.

_Lady Sneer._ Oh, surely she is a pretty woman.

_Crab._ I am very glad you think so, ma'am.

_Mrs. Can._ She has a charming fresh color.

_Lady Teaz._ Yes, when it is fresh put on.

_Mrs. Can._ Oh, fie! Her color is natural: I have seen it come and go!

_Lady Teaz._ I dare say you have, ma'am: it goes off at night, and comes again in the morning.

_Sir Ben._ True, ma'am, it not only comes and goes; but, what's more, her maid can fetch and carry it!

_Mrs. Can._ Ha! ha! ha! how I hate to hear you talk so! But surely now, her sister is, or was, very handsome.

_Crab._ Who? Mrs. Evergreen? Oh! she's six-and-fifty if she's an hour!

_Mrs. Can._ Now positively you wrong her; fifty-two or fifty-three is the utmost--and I don't think she looks more.

_Sir Ben._ Ah! there's no judging by her looks, unless one could see her face.

_Lady Sneer._ Well, well, if Mrs. Evergreen does take some pains to repair the ravages of time, you must allow she effects it with great ingenuity; and surely that's better than the careless manner in which the widow Ochre caulks her wrinkles.

_Sir Ben._ Nay, now, Lady Sneerwell, you are severe upon the widow. Come, come, 'tis not that she paints so ill--but, when she has finished her face, she joins it on so badly to her neck, that she looks like a mended statue, in which the connoisseur may see at once that the head is modern, though the trunk's antique.

_Crab._ Ha! ha! ha! Well said, nephew!

_Mrs. Can._ Ha! ha! ha! Well, you make me laugh; but I vow I hate you for it. What do you think of Miss Simper?

_Sir Ben._ Why, she has very pretty teeth.

_Lady Teaz._ Yes, and on that account, when she is neither speaking nor laughing (which very seldom happens), she never absolutely shuts her mouth, but leaves it always on a-jar, as it were--thus.

[_Shows her teeth._

_Mrs. Can._ How can you be so ill-natured?

_Lady Teaz._ Nay, I allow even that's better than the pains Mrs. Prim takes to conceal her losses in front. She draws her mouth till it positively resembles the aperture of a poor's-box, and all her words appear to slide out edgewise as it were--thus: _How do you do, madam? Yes, madam._ [_Mimics._

_Lady Sneer._ Very well, Lady Teazle; I see you can be a little severe.

_Lady Teaz._ In defence of a friend it is but justice. But here comes Sir Peter to spoil our pleasantry.

_Enter_ SIR PETER TEAZLE.

_Sir Pet._ Ladies, your most obedient.--[_Aside,_] Mercy on me, here is the whole set! a character dead at every word, I suppose.

_Mrs. Can._ I am rejoiced you are come, Sir Peter. They have been so censorious--and Lady Teazle as bad as any one.

_Sir Pet._ That must be very distressing to you, indeed, Mrs. Candour.

_Mrs. Can._ Oh, they will allow good qualities to nobody: not even good nature to our friend Mrs. Pursy.

_Lady Teaz._ What, the fat dowager who was at Mrs. Quadrille's last night?

_Mrs. Can._ Nay, her bulk is her misfortune; and, when she takes so much pains to get rid of it, you ought not to reflect on her.

_Lady Sneer._ That's very true, indeed.

_Lady Teaz._ Yes, I know she almost lives on acids and small whey; laces herself by pulleys; and often, in the hottest noon in summer, you may see her on a little squat pony, with her hair plaited up behind like a drummer's, and puffing round the ring on a full trot.

_Mrs. Can._ I thank you, Lady Teazle, for defending her.

_Sir Pet._ Yes, a good defence, truly.

_Mrs. Can._ Truly, Lady Teazle is as censorious as Miss Sallow.

_Crab._ Yes, and she is a curious being to pretend to be censorious--an awkward thing, without any one good point under the sun.

_Mrs. Can._ Positively you shall not be so very severe. Miss Sallow is a near relation of mine by marriage, and, as for her person, great allowance is to be made; for, let me tell you, a woman labors under many disadvantages who tries to pass for a girl of six-and-thirty.

_Lady Sneer._ Though, surely, she is handsome still--and for the weakness in her eyes, considering how much she reads by candlelight, it is not to be wondered at.

_Mrs. Can._ True, and then as to her manner; upon my word I think it is particularly graceful, considering she never had the least education; for you know her mother was a Welsh milliner, and her father a sugar-baker at Bristol.

_Sir Ben._ Ah! you are both of you too good-natured!

_Sir Pet._ Yes, distressingly good-natured! This their own relation! Mercy on me! [_Aside._

_Mrs. Can._ For my part, I own I cannot bear to hear a friend ill-spoken of.

_Sir Pet._ No, to be sure!

_Sir Ben._ Oh! you are of a moral turn. Mrs. Candour and I can sit for an hour and hear Lady Stucco talk sentiment.

_Lady Teas._ Nay, I vow Lady Stucco is very well with the dessert after dinner; for she's just like the French fruit one cracks for mottoes--made up of paint and proverb.

_Mrs. Can._ Well, I will never join in ridiculing a friend; and so I constantly tell my cousin Ogle, and you all know what pretensions she has to be critical on beauty.

_Crab._ Oh, to be sure! she has herself the oddest countenance that ever was seen; 'tis a collection of features from all the different countries of the globe.

_Sir Ben._ So she has, indeed--an Irish front----

_Crab._ Caledonian locks----

_Sir Ben._ Dutch nose----

_Crab._ Austrian lips----

_Sir Ben._ Complexion of a Spaniard----

_Crab._ And teeth _a la Chinoise_.

_Sir Ben._ In short, her face resembles a _table d'hote_ at Spa--where no two guests are of a nation----

_Crab._ Or a congress at the close of a general war--wherein all the members, even to her eyes, appear to have a different interest, and her nose and chin are the only parties likely to join issue.

_Mrs. Can._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Sir Pet._ Mercy on my life!--a person they dine with twice a week! [_Aside._

_Mrs. Can._ Nay, but I vow you shall not carry the laugh off so--for give me leave to say that Mrs. Ogle----

_Sir Pet._ Madam, madam, I beg your pardon--there's no stopping these good gentlemen's tongues. But when I tell you, Mrs. Candour, that the lady they are abusing is a particular friend of mine, I hope you'll not take her part.

_Lady Sneer._ Ha! ha! ha! well said, Sir Peter! but you are a cruel creature--too phlegmatic yourself for a jest, and too peevish to allow wit in others.

_Sir Pet._ Ah, madam, true wit is more nearly allied to good nature than your ladyship is aware of.

_Lady Teas._ True, Sir Peter; I believe they are so near akin that they can never be united.

_Sir Ben._ Or rather, suppose them man and wife, because one seldom sees them together.

_Lady Teaz._ But Sir Peter is such an enemy to scandal, I believe he would have it put down by parliament.

_Sir Pet._ Positively, madam, if they were to consider the sporting with reputation of as much importance as poaching on manors, and pass an act for the preservation of fame, as well as game, I believe many would thank them for the bill.

_Lady Sneer._ Why! Sir Peter; would you deprive us of our privileges?

_Sir Pet._ Ay, madam; and then no person should be permitted to kill characters and run down reputations but qualified old maids and disappointed widows.

_Lady Sneer._ Go, you monster!

_Mrs. Can._ But, surely, you would not be quite so severe on those who only report what they hear?

_Sir Pet._ Yes, madam, I would have law merchant for them too; and in all cases of slander currency, whenever the drawer of the lie was not to be found, the injured parties should have a right to come on any of the indorsers.

_Crab._ Well, for my part, I believe there never was a scandalous tale without some foundation.

_Lady Sneer._ Come, ladies, shall we sit down to cards in the next room?

_Enter_ Servant, _who whispers_ Sir Peter.

_Sir Pet._ I'll be with them directly.--[_Exit_ SERVANT.] I'll get away unperceived. [_Aside._

_Lady Sneer._ Sir Peter, you are not going to leave us?

_Sir Pet._ Your ladyship must excuse me; I'm called away by particular business. But I leave my character behind me. [_Exit._

_Sir Ben._ Well--certainly, Lady Teazle, that lord of yours is a strange being: I could tell you some stories of him would make you laugh heartily if he were not your husband.

_Lady Teaz._ Oh, pray, don't mind that; come, do let's hear them. [_Exeunt all but_ JOSEPH SURFACE _and_ MARIA.

_Jos. Surf._ Maria, I see you have no satisfaction in this society.

_Mar._ How is it possible I should? If to raise malicious smiles at the infirmities or misfortunes of those who have never injured us be the province of wit or humor, Heaven grant me a double portion of dulness!

_Jos. Surf._ Yet they appear more ill-natured than they are; they have no malice at heart.

_Mar._ Then is their conduct still more contemptible; for, in my opinion, nothing could excuse the intemperance of their tongues but a natural and uncontrollable bitterness of mind.

FOOTNOTES:

[G] For the sake of brevity a part of the first scene has been excised. It subsequently appears that Lady Teazle abandons the society of the scandal-mongers, and she and her fond but somewhat irascible husband become happily reconciled.

* * * * *

_Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel's as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
And foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
And e'en devotion!_

ROBERT BURNS.