The Rivals by Richard Brinsley Sheridan (good book club books TXT) 📕

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Title: The Rivals A Comedy

Author: Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Release Date: March 6, 2008 [EBook #24761]

Language: English

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Produced by Kent Cooper

The RIVALS
A Comedy

By Richard Brinsley Sheridan

* * * * * * *

A preface to a play seems generally to be considered as a kind of closet-prologue, in which—if his piece has been successful—the author solicits that indulgence from the reader which he had before experienced from the audience: but as the scope and immediate object of a play is to please a mixed assembly in representation (whose judgment in the theatre at least is decisive,) its degree of reputation is usually as determined as public, before it can be prepared for the cooler tribunal of the study. Thus any farther solicitude on the part of the writer becomes unnecessary at least, if not an intrusion: and if the piece has been condemned in the performance, I fear an address to the closet, like an appeal to posterity, is constantly regarded as the procrastination of a suit, from a consciousness of the weakness of the cause. From these considerations, the following comedy would certainly have been submitted to the reader, without any farther introduction than what it had in the representation, but that its success has probably been founded on a circumstance which the author is informed has not before attended a theatrical trial, and which consequently ought not to pass unnoticed.

I need scarcely add, that the circumstance alluded to was the withdrawing of the piece, to remove those imperfections in the first representation which were too obvious to escape reprehension, and too numerous to admit of a hasty correction. There are few writers, I believe, who, even in the fullest consciousness of error, do not wish to palliate the faults which they acknowledge; and, however trifling the performance, to second their confession of its deficiencies, by whatever plea seems least disgraceful to their ability. In the present instance, it cannot be said to amount either to candour or modesty in me, to acknowledge an extreme inexperience and want of judgment on matters, in which, without guidance from practice, or spur from success, a young man should scarcely boast of being an adept. If it be said, that under such disadvantages no one should attempt to write a play, I must beg leave to dissent from the position, while the first point of experience that I have gained on the subject is, a knowledge of the candour and judgment with which an impartial public distinguishes between the errors of inexperience and incapacity, and the indulgence which it shows even to a disposition to remedy the defects of either.

It were unnecessary to enter into any further extenuation of what was thought exceptionable in this play, but that it has been said, that the managers should have prevented some of the defects before its appearance to the public—and in particular the uncommon length of the piece as represented the first night. It were an ill return for the most liberal and gentlemanly conduct on their side, to suffer any censure to rest where none was deserved. Hurry in writing has long been exploded as an excuse for an author;—however, in the dramatic line, it may happen, that both an author and a manager may wish to fill a chasm in the entertainment of the public with a hastiness not altogether culpable. The season was advanced when I first put the play into Mr. Harris's hands: it was at that time at least double the length of any acting comedy. I profited by his judgment and experience in the curtailing of it—till, I believe, his feeling for the vanity of a young author got the better of his desire for correctness, and he left many excrescences remaining, because he had assisted in pruning so many more. Hence, though I was not uninformed that the acts were still too long, I flattered myself that, after the first trial, I might with safer judgment proceed to remove what should appear to have been most dissatisfactory. Many other errors there were, which might in part have arisen from my being by no means conversant with plays in general, either in reading or at the theatre. Yet I own that, in one respect, I did not regret my ignorance: for as my first wish in attempting a play was to avoid every appearance of plagiary, I thought I should stand a better chance of effecting this from being in a walk which I had not frequented, and where, consequently, the progress of invention was less likely to be interrupted by starts of recollection: for on subjects on which the mind has been much informed, invention is slow of exerting itself. Faded ideas float in the fancy like half-forgotten dreams; and the imagination in its fullest enjoyments becomes suspicious of its offspring, and doubts whether it has created or adopted.

With regard to some particular passages which on the first night's representation seemed generally disliked, I confess, that if I felt any emotion of surprise at the disapprobation, it was not that they were disapproved of, but that I had not before perceived that they deserved it. As some part of the attack on the piece was begun too early to pass for the sentence of judgment, which is ever tardy in condemning, it has been suggested to me, that much of the disapprobation must have arisen from virulence of malice, rather than severity of criticism: but as I was more apprehensive of there being just grounds to excite the latter than conscious of having deserved the former, I continue not to believe that probable, which I am sure must have been unprovoked. However, if it was so, and I could even mark the quarter from whence it came, it would be ungenerous to retort: for no passion suffers more than malice from disappointment. For my own part, I see no reason why the author of a play should not regard a first night's audience as a candid and judicious friend attending, in behalf of the public, at his last rehearsal. If he can dispense with flattery, he is sure at least of sincerity, and even though the annotation be rude, he may rely upon the justness of the comment. Considered in this light, that audience, whose fiat is essential to the poet's claim, whether his object be fame or profit, has surely a right to expect some deference to its opinion, from principles of politeness at least, if not from gratitude.

As for the little puny critics, who scatter their peevish strictures in private circles, and scribble at every author who has the eminence of being unconnected with them, as they are usually spleen-swoln from a vain idea of increasing their consequence, there will always be found a petulance and illiberality in their remarks, which should place them as far beneath the notice of a gentleman, as their original dulness had sunk them from the level of the most unsuccessful author.

It is not without pleasure that I catch at an opportunity of justifying myself from the charge of intending any national reflection in the character of Sir Lucius O'Trigger. If any gentlemen opposed the piece from that idea, I thank them sincerely for their opposition; and if the condemnation of this comedy (however misconceived the provocation) could have added one spark to the decaying flame of national attachment to the country supposed to be reflected on, I should have been happy in its fate, and might with truth have boasted, that it had done more real service in its failure, than the successful morality of a thousand stage-novels will ever effect.

It is usual, I believe, to thank the performers in a new play, for the exertion of their several abilities. But where (as in this instance) their merit has been so striking and uncontroverted, as to call for the warmest and truest applause from a number of judicious audiences, the poet's after-praise comes like the feeble acclamation of a child to close the shouts of a multitude. The conduct, however, of the principals in a theatre cannot be so apparent to the public. I think it therefore but justice to declare, that from this theatre (the only one I can speak of from experience) those writers who wish to try the dramatic line will meet with that candour and liberal attention, which are generally allowed to be better calculated to lead genius into excellence, than either the precepts of judgment, or the guidance of experience.

The AUTHOR

* * * * * * *

As originally acted at COVENT GARDEN THEATRE in 1775

  Sir ANTHONY ABSOLUTE
  CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE
  FAULKLAND
  ACRES
  Sir LUCIUS O'TRIGGER
  FAG
  DAVID
  THOMAS
  Mrs. MALAPROP
  LYDIA LANGUISH
  JULIA
  LUCY
  Maid, Boy, Servants, &c.

Time of action—Five hours.

* * * * * * *

PROLOGUE
By the AUTHOR

[Enter SERJEANT-AT-LAW, and ATTORNEY following, and giving a paper.]

SERJEANT
  What's here!—a vile cramp hand! I cannot see
  Without my spectacles.

ATTORNEY
                        He means his fee.
  Nay, Mr. Serjeant, good sir, try again. [Gives money.]

SERJEANT
  The scrawl improves! [more] O come, 'tis pretty plain.
  Hey! how's this? Dibble!—sure it cannot be!
  A poet's brief! a poet and a fee!

ATTORNEY
  Yes, sir! though you without reward, I know,
  Would gladly plead the Muse's cause.

SERJEANT
                                      So!—so!

ATTORNEY
  And if the fee offends, your wrath should fall
  On me.

SERJEANT
        Dear Dibble, no offence at all.

ATTORNEY
  Some sons of Phoebus in the courts we meet,

SERJEANT
  And fifty sons of Phoebus in the Fleet!

ATTORNEY
  Nor pleads he worse, who with a decent sprig
  Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig.

SERJEANT
  Full-bottom'd heroes thus, on signs, unfurl
  A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl!
  Yet tell your client, that, in adverse days,
  This wig is warmer than a bush of bays.

ATTORNEY
  Do you, then, sir, my client's place supply,
  Profuse of robe, and prodigal of tie—
  Do you, with all those blushing powers of face,
  And wonted bashful hesitating grace,
  Rise in the court, and flourish on the case. [Exit.]

SERJEANT
  For practice then suppose—this brief will show it,—
  Me, Serjeant Woodward,—counsel for the poet.
  Used to the ground, I know 'tis hard to deal
  With this dread court, from whence there's no appeal;
  No tricking here, to blunt the edge of law,
  Or, damn'd in equity, escape by flaw:
  But judgment given, your sentence must remain;
  No writ of error lies—to Drury Lane:
    Yet when so kind you seem, 'tis past dispute
  We gain some favour, if not costs of suit.
  No spleen is here! I see no hoarded fury;—
  I think I never faced a milder jury!
  Sad else our plight! where frowns are transportation.
  A hiss the gallows, and a groan damnation!
  But such the public candour, without fear
  My client waives all right of challenge here.
  No newsman from our session is dismiss'd,
  Nor wit nor critic we scratch off the list;
  His faults can never hurt another's ease,
  His crime, at worst, a bad attempt to please:
  Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all,
  And by the general voice will stand or fall.

* * * * * * *

Prologue
By the AUTHOR

  Granted our cause, our suit and trial o'er,
  The worthy serjeant need appear no more:
  In pleasing I a different client choose,
  He served the Poet—I would serve the Muse.
  Like him, I'll try to merit your applause,
  A female counsel in a female's cause.
    Look on this form—where humour, quaint and sly,
  Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye;
  Where gay invention seems to boast its wiles
  In amorous hint, and half-triumphant smiles;
  While her light mask or covers satire's strokes,
  Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes.
  Look on her well—does she seem form'd to teach?
  Should you expect to hear this lady preach?
  Is grey experience suited to her youth?
  Do solemn sentiments become that mouth?
  Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove
  To every theme that slanders mirth or love.
    Yet, thus adorn'd with every graceful art
  To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart—
  Must we displace her? And instead advance
  The goddess of the woful countenance—
  The sentimental Muse!—Her emblems view,
  The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue!
  View her—too chaste to look like flesh and blood—
  Primly portray'd on emblematic wood!
  There, fix'd in usurpation, should she stand,
  She'll snatch the dagger from her sister's hand:
  And having made her votaries weep a flood,
  Good heaven! she'll end her comedies in blood—
  Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal's crown!
  Imprison Quick,