The School for Scandal by Richard Brinsley Sheridan (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📕
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One of the most celebrated English comedies of manners, Sheridan’s The School for Scandal was first produced in 1777 at London’s Drury Lane Theatre. It opened just a year after Sheridan succeeded the famous actor/manager David Garrick as manager and, after Garrick had read the play, he even volunteered to write the prologue—lending his much desired endorsement to the production. The School for Scandal was extremely well received by its audiences as well as by many contemporary critics.
The plot revolves around members of London’s Georgian society who delight in rumor and gossip and the infelicities and flaws of others. Although they draw their victims from their own membership, they let no action go un-noted or uncriticized. But as the plot unfolds events don’t always prove quite so titillating, and not a few find themselves victims of their own love of scandal.
The comedy of manners was a staple of Restoration theatre with William Congreve and Molière being its most famous proponents. After it fell out of favor it was revived in the later part of the 1700s when a new generation of playwrights like William Goldsmith and Richard Sheridan took up writing them again. Praised for its tight writing and razor wit, The School for Scandal skewered high-society with such spirited ridicule and insight that it earned Sheridan the epithet of “the modern Congreve.”
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- Author: Richard Brinsley Sheridan
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A room in Sir Peter Teazle’s house
Enter Sir Peter and Lady Teazle. Sir Peter Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I’ll not bear it! Lady Teazle 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 Peter Very well, ma’am, very well;—so a husband is to have no influence, no authority? Lady Teazle Authority! No, to be sure:—if you want authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me: I am sure you were old enough. Sir Peter 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 Teazle My extravagance! I’m sure I’m not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be. Sir Peter No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. ’Slife! 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 fête champêtre at Christmas. Lady Teazle 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 Peter 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 Teazle No, no, I don’t; ’twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you. Sir Peter 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 Teazle 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 lapdog. Sir Peter Yes, yes, ma’am, ’twas so indeed. Lady Teazle 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 Peter 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-à-vis—and three powdered footmen before your chair;4 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.5 Lady Teazle No—I swear I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach-horse. Sir Peter 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 Teazle Well, then, and there is but one thing more you can make me to add to the obligation, that is— Sir Peter My widow, I suppose? Lady Teazle Hem! hem! Sir Peter 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 Teazle Then why will you endeavour to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense? Sir Peter ’Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me? Lady Teazle Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me be out of the fashion? Sir Peter The fashion, indeed! what had you to do with the fashion before you married me? Lady Teazle For my part, I should think you would
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