E. J. Wheeler. “My dear Lord, never marry a witty wife!”
Don Pedro.
[Coughing nervously.] Well, the truth is, Claudio’s marriage hasn’t been exactly one of my successes. You remember I madethatmatch too?
Benedick.
I remember. Don’t they hit it off?
Don Pedro.
[Querulously.] It was all Claudio’s suspicious temper. He never would disabuse his mind of the idea that Hero was making love to somebody else. You remember he began that even before he was married. First it wasmehe suspected. Then it was the mysterious man under her balcony.
Benedick.
You suspected him too.
Don Pedro.
That’s true. But that was all my brother John’s fault. Anyhow, I thought when they were once married things would settle down comfortably.
Benedick.
You were curiously sanguine. I should have thought anyone would have seen that after that scene in the church they would never be happy together.
Don Pedro.
Perhaps so. Anyhow, they weren’t. Of course, everything was against them. What with my brother John’s absolute genius for hatching plots, and my utter inability to detect them, not to speak of Claudio’s unfortunate propensity for overhearing conversations and misunderstanding them, the intervals of harmony between them were extremely few, and, at last, Hero lost patience and divorced him.
Benedick.
So bad as that? How did it happen?
Don Pedro.
Oh, in the old way. My brother pretended that Hero was unfaithful, and as he could produce no evidence of the fact whatever, of course Claudio believed him. So, with his old passion for making scenes, he selected the moment when I and half-a-dozen others were staying at the house and denounced her before us all after dinner.
Benedick.
The church scene over again?
Don Pedro.
No. It took place in the drawing-room. Hero behaved with her usual dignity, declined to discuss Claudio’s accusations altogether, put the matter in the hands of her solicitor, and the decree was made absolute last week.
Benedick.
She was perfectly innocent, of course?
Don Pedro.
Completely. It was merely anotherruseon the part of my amiable brother. Really, John’s behaviour was inexcusable.
Benedick.
Was Claudio greatly distressed when he found how he had been deceived?
Don Pedro.
He was distracted. But Hero declined to have anything more to do with him. She said she could forgive a man for making a fool of himself once, but twice was too much of a good thing.
Benedick.
[Frowning.] That sounds rather more epigrammatic than a reallynicewife’s remarks should be.
Don Pedro.
She had great provocation.
Benedick.
That’s true. And one can see her point of view. It was the publicity of the thing that galled her, no doubt. But poor Claudio had no reticence whatever. That scene in the church was in the worst possible taste. But I forgot.Youhad a share in that.
Don Pedro.
[Stiffly.] I don’t think we need go into that question.
Benedick.
And now to select the hour, after a dinner party, for taxing his wife with infidelity! How like Claudio! Really, he must be an absolute fool.
Don Pedro.
Oh, well,yourmarriage doesn’t seem to have been a conspicuous success, if you come to that.
Benedick.
[Savagely.] That’s no great credit to you, is it?Youmade the match. You said as much a moment ago.
Don Pedro.
I know, I know. But seriously, my dear Benedick, what is wrong?
Benedick.
[Snappishly.] Beatrice, of course. You don’t supposeI’mwrong, do you?
Don Pedro.
Come, that’s better. A spark of the old Benedick. Let me call your wife to you, and we’ll have one of your old encounters of wit.
Benedick.
[Seriously alarmed.] For Heaven’s sake, no. Ah, my dear Lord, if you only knew how weary I am of wit, especially Beatrice’s wit.
Don Pedro.
You surprise me. I remember I thought her a most amusing young lady.
Benedick.
[Tersely.] You weren’t married to her.
Don Pedro.
But what is it you complain of?
Benedick.
Beatricebores me. It is all very well to listen to sparkling sallies for ten minutes or so, but Beatrice sparkles for hours together. She is utterly incapable of answering the simplest question without a blaze of epigram. When I ask her what time it is, she becomes so insufferably facetious that all the clocks stop in disgust. And once when I was thoughtless enough to enquire what there was for dinner, she made so many jokes on the subject that I had to go down without her. And even then the soup was cold!
Don Pedro.
[Quoting.] “Here you may see Benedick, the married man!”
Benedick.
Don’tyoutry to be funny too! One joker in a household is quite enough, I can tell you. And poor Beatrice’s jokes aren’t always in the best of taste either. The other day, when the Vicar came to lunch he was so shocked at her that he left before the meal was half over and his wife has never called since.
Don Pedro.
My poor Benedick, I wish I could advise you. But I really don’t know what to suggest. My brother could have helped you, I’m sure. He was always so good at intrigue. But unfortunately I had him executed after his last exploit with Claudio. It’s most unlucky. But that’s the worst of making away with a villain. You never know when you may need him. Poor John could always be depended upon in an emergency of this kind.
Benedick.
[Gloomily.] He is certainly a great loss.
Don Pedro.
Don’t you think you could arrange so that Beatrice should overhear you making love to someone else? We’ve tried that sort of thing more than once in this play.
Benedick.
[Acidly.] As the result has invariably been disastrous, I think we may dismiss that expedient from our minds. No, there’s nothing for it but to put up with the infliction, and by practising a habit of mental abstraction, reduce the evil to within bearable limits.
Don Pedro.
I don’t think I quite follow you.
Benedick.
In plain English, my dear Lord, I find the only way to go on living with Beatrice is never to listen to her. As soon as she begins to be witty I fall into a kind of swoon, and in that comatose condition I can live through perfect coruscations of brilliancy without inconvenience.
Don Pedro.
Does she like that?
Benedick.
Candidly, I don’t think she does.
Don Pedro.
Hold! I have an idea.
Benedick.
[Nervously.] I hope not. Your ideas have been singularly unfortunate hitherto in my affairs.
Don Pedro.
Ah, but you’ll approve of this.
Benedick.
What is it?
Don Pedro.
Leave your wife, and come away with me.
Benedick.
[Doubtfully.] She’d come after us.
Don Pedro.
Yes, but we should have the start.
Benedick.
That’s true. By Jove, I’ll do it! Let’s go at once.
[Rises hastily.
Don Pedro.
I think you ought to leave some kind of message for her—just to say good-bye; you know. It seems more polite.
Benedick.
Perhaps so. [Tears leaf out of pocket-book.] What shall it be, prose or verse? I remember Claudio burst into poetry when he was taking leave of Hero. Such bad poetry too!
Don Pedro.
I think you might make it verse—as you’re leaving her for ever. It seems more in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion.
Benedick.
So it does. [Writes.]
Bored to death byBeatrice’tongueWas the hero that lived here——
Bored to death byBeatrice’tongueWas the hero that lived here——
Bored to death byBeatrice’tongue
Was the hero that lived here——
Don Pedro.
Hush! Isn’t that your wife over there in the arbour?
Benedick.
[Losing his temper.] Dash it all! There’s nothing but eaves-dropping in this play.
Don Pedro.
Perhaps she doesn’t see us. Let’s steal off, anyhow, on the chance.
[They creep off on tip-toe(r)asBeatriceenters with similar caution(l).
Beatrice.
[Watching them go.] Bother! I thought I should overhear what they were saying. I believe Benedick isreally running away. It’s just as well. If he hadn’t,Ishould. He had really grown too dull for anything. [Sees note whichBenedickhas left.] Ah, so he’s left a message. “Farewell for ever,” I suppose. [Reads it. Stamps her foot.] Monster! If I ever see him again I’ll scratch him!
Curtain.
Everybody who has seen “The Critic” must have been filled with curiosity to read the Press notices on Mr. Puff’s tragedy “The Spanish Armada.” The following sequel to Sheridan’s comedy embodies some of these.
Scene.—Dangle’shouse.Mr.andMrs. Dangle,SneerandSir Fretful Plagiarydiscovered discussing the first performance ofPuff’splay, which has taken place a week previously. A table is littered with Press cuttings dealing with the event, supplied by the indispensable Romeike.
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
I give you my word, the duel scene was taken wholly from my comedyThe Lovers Abandoned—pilfered, egad!
Dangle.
Bless my soul! You don’t say so?
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
AndTilburina’sspeech about the“finches of the grove.” ’TwasIfirst thought of finches, in my tragedy ofAntoninus!
Dangle.
But I can’t believe my friend Puff can have borrowed deliberately fromyou, Sir Fretful.
Sneer.
No one could possibly believethat!
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Eh?
Mrs. Dangle.
It must have been a coincidence.
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Coincidence! Egad, Madam, ’twas sheer theft. And that use of the white handkerchief! Stolen bodily, on my conscience. Coincidence!
Dangle.
[Judicially.] It may be so—though heismy friend.
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Maybe so! Itisso! Zounds, Dangle, I take it very ill that you should have any doubt at all about the matter!
Dangle.
[Hedging.] The resemblances are certainly very marked—though heismy friend. But will you hear what the critics say about it?
[Turning nervously to pile of Press cuttings.
E. J. Wheeler. “But they’re very severe on the play.”
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Do they say anything about his indebtedness tome?
Sneer.
Not a word, I dare be sworn.
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Then I don’t want to hear them. None of the rogues know their business.
Dangle.
But they’re very severe on the play.
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Are they? There’s something in the fellows, after all. Pray read us some of the notices.
Dangle.
Shall I begin withThe Times? ’Tis very satirical, and as full of quotations as a pudding is of plums.
Sneer.
I know the style—a vocabulary recruited from all the dead and living languages. ’Tis the very Babel of dramatic criticism. Begin, Dangle.
Dangle.
[Reading.] “The philosopher who found in thought the proof of existence, crystallised his theory in the phrase ‘Cogito ergo sum,’ ‘I think, therefore, I exist.’ In this he found the explanation of what Hugo called thenéant géant. The theory of the author ofThe Spanish Armada, on the contrary, seems to be ‘Sum, ergo non cogitabo,’ ‘I exist, therefore I need not think’——”
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Ha! Ha! Very good, i’ faith.
Dangle.
[Continuing.] “‘Lasciate ogni speranza’ the audience murmurs with Dante, as three mortal hours pass and Mr. Puff is still prosing. Nor has he any dramatic novelty to offer us. Thescène à faireis on conventional lines. The boards are hoar with theneiges d’antan. There is theanagnorisisdesiderated by Aristotle, and the unhappy ending required by the Elizabethans. The inevitableperipeteia——”
Mrs. Dangle.
You know, Mr. Dangle, I don’t understand a single word you’re reading.
Sneer.
Nor I, upon my soul.
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
It is certainly somewhat difficult.
Dangle.
Shall I omit a few sentences, and go on again, where the allusions are less obscure? [Reads half aloud to himself, knitting his brows in the effort to understand what it is all about.] “No trace of Heine’sWeltschmerz...capo e espada... Nietschze’sUebermensch...ne coram pueros... Petrarch’s immortalIo t’amo...le canif du jardinier et celui de mon père——”
Mrs. Dangle.
Really, Mr. Dangle, if you can find nothing more intelligible to read than that farrago of jargon, I shall go away. Pray read us something inEnglish, for a change.
Dangle.
[Much relieved, selecting another cutting.] Here’s theDaily Telegraph—a whole column.
Sneer.
Not muchEnglishthere, I’ll warrant.
Dangle.
[Reading.] “Time was when the London playhouses had not been invaded by the coarse suggestiveness or the veiled indelicacy of the Norwegian stage, whenPaterfamiliascould still take his daughters to the theatre without a blush. Those days are past. The Master—as his followers call him—like a deadly upas tree, has spread his blighting influence over our stage. Morality, shocked at the fare that is nightly set before her, shuns the playhouse, and vice usurps the scene once occupied by the manly and the true——”
Sneer.
[Who has been beating time.] Hear! hear!
Dangle.
“In the good old days, when Macready——”
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Zounds, Mr. Dangle, don’t you think we might leave Macready out of the question? I notice that when theDaily Telegraphmentions Macready the reference never occupies less than a quarter of a column. You might omit that part, and take up the thread further on.
Dangle.
Very well. [Continuing.] “It is impossible not to be astonished that a writer of Mr. Puff’s talents should break away from the noble traditions of Shakspeare to follow in the footsteps of the Scandinavian——”
Mrs. Dangle.
Surely, Mr. Dangle, we’ve had that before.
Dangle.
[Testily.] No; not in the same words.
Mrs. Dangle.
But the sense——
Dangle.
Egad, why will you interrupt! You can’t expect a writer for the penny press to have something new to say in every sentence! How the plague is a dramatic critic who has nothing to say to fill a column, if he is never to be allowed to repeat himself?
Sneer.
How, indeed!
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Ah, I remember when my playThe Indulgent Husbandwas produced——
Sneer.
[Yawning.] I think, Dangle, you might leave theTelegraphand try one of the weekly papers. What doesThe Worldsay?
Dangle.
As you will. [Selecting a new cutting.] “In his new playThe Spanish ArmadaMr. Puff has set himself to deal with one of those problems of feminine psychology with which Ibsen, Hauptmann, and Sudermann, and all the newer school of continental dramatists have made us familiar. The problem is briefly this. When filial duty beckons a woman one way and passion another, which call should she obey? Should she set herself to ‘live her life,’ in the modern phrase, to realise her individuality and stand forth glad and free as Gregers Werle says? Or should she deny herego, bow to the old conventions, accept the old Shibboleths and surrender her love? LikeNora, likeHedda,Tilburinais a personality at war with its environment....”
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
[Interrupting.] Pray, Mr. Dangle, did you not tell me the critics were all unfavourable to Mr. Puff’s play?
Dangle.
Nearly all of them. But if the other critics abuse a play, you will always find the critic ofThe Worldwill praise it. ’Tis the nature of the man.
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
But how does he know what the other fellows will say?
Dangle.
Easily. You see, he writes only for a weekly paper, and always reads what the others have said first.Thenhe takes the opposite view.
Sneer.
No wonder he’s so often right!
Dangle.
[Continuing.] “In Whiskerandos we have the man of primary emotions only. Like Solnes, he climbs no steeples; like Lövborg, he may now and then be seen with the vine leaves in his hair....”
Mrs. Dangle.
Stop, stop, Mr. Dangle! Surely there must be some mistake. I don’t remember that Whiskerandos had anything in his hair. He wore a helmet all the time!
Dangle.
[Irritably.] Metaphor, madam, metaphor! [Continuing.] “In Lord Burleigh we hear something of the epic silence which is so tremendous in Borkman....”
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Egad, Mr. Dangle, doesn’t the fellow abuse the play at all?
Dangle.
[Looking through the article.] I don’t think he does.
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
Then I’ll hear no more of him. What possible pleasure can there be in hearing criticisms of other people’s plays if they are favourable?
Sneer.
None whatever!
[EnterServant.
Servant.
[Announcing.] Mr. Puff!
Dangle.
[Advancing to meet him with a smile of the warmest affability.] Ah, my dear friend, we were reading the notice of your tragedy inThe World. ’Tis extremely friendly. And as Sir Fretful remarked a moment since, “What pleasure can there be in reading criticisms of people’s plays if they aren’t favourable?”
Puff.
Sir Fretful is most obliging.
Sir Fretful Plagiary.
TheTelegraphwas somewhat severe, though, eh, Mr. Puff?
Puff.
’Tis very like.
Dangle.
You have not seen it? Let me read it to you.
[Searches eagerly in pile of cuttings.
Puff.
[Indifferently.] I never look at unfavourable criticisms.
Sneer.
A wise precaution, truly!
Puff.
Very. It saves valuable time. For if a notice is unfavourable, I am always sure to have it read aloud to me by one d——d good-natured friend or another!
Curtain.
“The School for Scandal” ends, it will be remembered, with the reconciliation of Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, the complete exposure of Joseph Surface and the rehabilitation of Charles. But how long did the Teazle reconciliation last? And if Sir Oliver Surface left all his fortune to his nephew Charles, how long did that young gentleman take to run through it?
Scene.—Room inSir Peter Teazle’shouse.Sir PeterandLady Teazlediscovered wrangling as in Act II.
Sir Peter.
Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I’ll not bear it.
Lady Teazle.
Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you’ve told me that a hundred times. This habit of repeating yourself is most distressing. ’Tis a sure sign of old age.
Sir Peter.
[In a passion.] Oons, Madam, will you never be tired of flinging my age in my face?
Lady Teazle.
Lud, Sir Peter, ’tis you that fling it in mine. How often have you said to me [beating time] “when an old bachelor marries ayoungwife——”
Sir Peter.
And if I have, Lady Teazle, you needn’t repeat it after me. But you live only to plague me. And yet ’twas but six months ago you vowed never to cross me again. Yes, Madam, six months ago, when I found you concealed behind a screen in Mr. Surface’s library, you promised that if I would forgive you your future conduct should prove the sincerity of your repentance. I forgave you, Madam, and this is my reward!
Lady Teazle.
And amIto blame, Sir Peter, for your ill-humours? Must I always be making concessions? To please you, I have given up all routs and assemblies, attend no balls nor quadrilles, talk no scandal, never ogle nor flirt. I gono more to my Lady Sneerwell’s, though I vow hers was a most delightful house to visit. Such fashion and elegance. Such wit! Such delicate malice!
Sir Peter.
[Fretfully.] Just so, Madam; that is what I complain of. All the while you are longing to return to these follies. You are not happy when you are alone with me.
Lady Teazle.
Great heavens, Sir Peter: you must not ask for miracles. What woman of fashion is ever happy alone with her husband?
Sir Peter.
There it is, Lady Teazle. You think only of fashion. And yet, when I married you——
Lady Teazle.
[Yawning.] Lud, Sir Peter, why will you be always returning to that painful subject?
Sir Peter.
Vastly painful, no doubt, Madam, since it prevents you from marrying Mr. Surface, behind whose screen I found you.
Lady Teazle.
[Yawning more heartily.] Mr. Surface? But ’twas Charles you used to suspect.
Sir Peter.
[Angrily.] And now ’tis Joseph. Zounds, Madam, is a man never to be allowed to change his mind? [Raising his voice in fury.] I say ’tis Joseph! Joseph!! Joseph!!!
[EnterJoseph Surface.Sir PeterandLady Teazleare obviously disconcerted at this inopportune arrival, and say nothing.Josephhas greatly changed in appearance in the six months which have elapsed between the play and the sequel. He has lost his sleekness and his air of conscious virtue, and looks like a careless, good-humoured man-about-town.
Joseph.
[Obviously enjoying their discomfort.] Sir Peter, your servant. Lady Teazle, your most obedient [bows profoundly].
Sir Peter.
[Stiffly.] To what, Mr. Surface, do we owe thehonourof this visit?
Joseph.
[Blandly, correcting him.]Pleasure, Sir Peter.
Sir Peter.
[Testily.] I said “honour,” Sir.
Joseph.
[Easily.] I came at the invitation of Sir Oliver, who is staying in your house. He desired to see me.
Lady Teazle.
[Viciously, toSir Peter.] If this gentleman’s business is with Sir Oliver, perhaps he will explain why he has intruded inthisroom.
Joseph.
[Amused.] With pleasure. My attention was arrested by the sound of voices raised in dispute. I heard my name mentioned loudly more than once, and, recognizing one of the voices as that of Lady Teazle [with a low bow], I thought it better to interpose to defend my character at once.
Lady Teazle.
[Stamping her foot.] Insolent!
Sir Peter.
[Chuckling.] Ha, ha! Very good. I’ faith, Mr. Surface, I could almost find it in my heart to forgive you for your injuries towards me when you talk like that.
Joseph.
Injuries, Sir Peter? I never did you an injury. That affair of the screen was the merest misunderstanding. I had no desire at all to capture the affections of Lady Teazle. On the contrary, ’twould have been highly inconvenient for me. ’Twas your ward Maria that I wished to win.
Lady Teazle.
Monster!
Joseph.
[Continuing.] Unhappily, Lady Teazle mistook the nature of my attentions and I, knowing her temper [bowing toLady Teazle], feared to undeceive her lest she should use her influence to prejudice me in the eyes of your ward. That, Sir Peter, is the true explanation of the situation in which you found Lady Teazle on that unlucky morning.
Lady Teazle.
[With suppressed fury.] Pray Sir Peter, do you propose to continue to permit this gentleman to speak of me in this way?
Sir Peter.
Certainly, Madam. Everything that Mr. Surface has said seems to me to bear the stamp of truth.
Lady Teazle.
Ah!
Joseph.
So, you see, Sir Peter, you never had any real cause of jealousy towards me. My conduct was foolish, I admit, but it was never criminal.
Sir Peter.
Joseph, I believe you. Give me your hand. Six months ago I thought you guilty of the basest treachery towards me. But a year of marriage with Lady Teazle has convinced me that, in her relations with you as in her relations with me, it is always Lady Teazle who is in the wrong.
[They shake hands warmly.
Lady Teazle.
I will not stay here to be insulted in this manner. I will go straight to Lady Sneerwell’s, and tear both your characters to tatters.
[Exit in a violent passion.
Sir Peter.
Oons, what a fury! But when an old bachelor marries a young wife——
Joseph.
Come, come, Sir Peter, no sentiments!
Sir Peter.
What,yousay that! My dear Joseph, this is indeed a reformation. Had it been Charles now, I should not have been surprised.
Joseph.
Egad, Sir Peter, in the matter of sentiments Charles, for a long time, had a most unfair advantage of me. For, having no character to lose, he had no need of sentiments to support it. But now I have as little character as he, and we start fair. Now I am a free man; I say what I think, do what I please. Scandal has done its worst with me, and I no longer fear it. Whereas, when I had a character for morality to maintain, all my time was wasted in trying to live up to it. I had to conceal every trifling flirtation, and had finally wrapped myself in such a web of falsehood that when your hand tore away the veil, I give you my word, I was almost grateful. Depend upon it, Sir Peter, there’s no possession in the world so troublesome as a good reputation.
Sir Peter.
[Digging him in the ribs.] Ah, Joseph, you’re a sad dog. But here comes your uncle, Sir Oliver. I’ll leave you with him.
[Exit.
EnterSir Oliver, reading a sheaf of legal documents.
Sir Oliver.
[Reading.] Eighty, one hundred and twenty, two hundred and twenty, three hundred pounds! Gad, the dog will ruin me.
Joseph.
Sir Oliver, your servant.