Mrs. Candour’s first appearance in The School for Scandal is a hilarious example of situational irony, setting up one of the biggest themes of the play: the lines between rumor, wit, and cruelty. From the moment she enters Lady Sneerwell’s home, Mrs. Candour begins to gossip about the people in her life:
Mrs. Candour: And at the same time, Miss Tattle, who was by, affirmed, that Lord Buffalo had discovered his lady at a house of no extraordinary fame; and that Sir H. Boquet and Tom Saunter were to measure swords on a similar provocation.—But, Lord, do you think I would report these things?—No, no! tale-bearers, as I said before, are just as bad as the tale-makers.
Joseph: Ah! Mrs. Candour, if everybody had your forbearance and good-nature!
Mrs. Candour: I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to hear people attacked behind their backs; and when ugly circumstances come out against our acquaintance, I own I always love to think the best.—By the by, I hope ’tis not true that your brother is absolutely ruined?
In the passage above, Mrs. Candour demonstrates a strong level of cognitive dissonance. Despite enthusiastically and joyously gossiping to her heart’s content, she professes in the same breath that “tale-bearers […] are just as bad as the tale-makers.” Mrs. Candour is unable to recognize that by her own admission, her repetition of these rumors makes her just as bad as those who originated them. Her blatant lack of situational awareness turns the audience’s amusement towards her, making her the subject of ridicule. In this way, Sheridan uses situational irony to comment upon the hypocritical nature of those who claim that they abhor gossip for propriety’s sake yet take pleasure in spreading rumors themselves.
Joseph Surface’s attempts to get close to Lady Teazle in order to facilitate his relationship with her husband Sir Peter (and therefore his ward, Maria) backfires when he discovers she is considering taking him on as a lover, in a wonderful example of situational irony:
A curious dilemma my politics have run me into! I wanted, at first, only to ingratiate myself with Lady Teazle, that she might not be my enemy with Maria; and I have, I don’t know how, become her serious lover. Sincerely I begin to wish I had never made such a point of gaining so very good a character, for it has led me into so many cursed rogueries that I doubt I shall be exposed at last.
Joseph’s dismay at the crossed signals between himself and Lady Teazle is a textbook illustration of a moment going differently than a character expected it would go. This scene is especially ironic because he is ultimately the cause of his own troubles—rather than Lady Teazle misinterpreting his actions, it is Joseph’s own intentionally duplicitous ingratiation that heralds his imminent downfall. There is further irony in the fact that he cannot actually determine whether to follow through on the situation he has created regarding this new potential romantic entanglement. Despite self-professing that he “made such a point of gaining so very good a character,” in reality, Joseph lives up to the promise of his name; his “good character” is only surface-level—underneath, he totally lacks any sort of moral or ethical backbone.
When the moneylender Moses is introduced, Sir Oliver and Sir Peter inquire about the inner workings of his business practices. As they do so, the pair make thinly veiled antisemitic jabs at Moses and his profession through the use of verbal irony:
Sir Oliver: Hey!—what the plague!—how much then?
Moses: That depends upon the circumstances. If he appears not very anxious for the supply, you should require only 40 or 50 per cent; but if you find him in great distress, and want the moneys very bad, you may ask double.
Sir Peter: A good honest trade you’re learning, Sir Oliver!
Sir Oliver: Truly, I think so—and not unprofitable.
Moses: Then, you know, you haven’t the moneys yourself, but are forced to borrow them for him of an old friend.
[...]
Sir Oliver: He is forced to sell stock at a great loss, is he? Well, that’s very kind of him.
Although Sir Oliver and Sir Peter’s conversational tone is light and humorous, the meaning of their words is entirely different. Moses is repeatedly associated with the word “honest”—Rowley calls him “the honest Israelite,” while Sir Oliver refers to him as both “honest Moses” and “honest fellow." However, this label of trustworthiness is not actually meant to be taken as an indication of the man’s character. When Sir Peter tells Sir Oliver that Moses is teaching him a “good honest trade,” he is in fact using verbal irony to sarcastically deride the practice of usury. The pair’s over-enthusiastic discussion of Moses’s honesty transforms him into an exception used to prove the rule, problematically affirming their antisemitic beliefs that Jewish people are selfish and duplicitous. While elsewhere in the play, Sir Oliver and Sir Peter deride the other characters for their gossip and harmful words, in this scene, the two are blind to the ways that their own version of humorous, witty banter is actually far more insidious.
Sir Oliver’s disguised interaction with his nephew Charles Surface in Act 4, Scene 1 is an instance of dramatic irony:
Sir Oliver. Well, well, anything to accommodate you;—they are mine. But there is one portrait which you have always passed over.
Careless. What, that ill-looking little fellow over the settee?
Sir Oliver. Yes, sir, I mean that, though I don’t think him so ill-looking a little fellow, by any means.
[...]
Charles. No, hang it; I’ll not part with poor Noll. The old fellow has been very good to me, and, egad, I’ll keep his picture while I’ve a room to put it in.
Sir Oliver. The rogue’s my nephew after all! [Aside.]—But, sir, I have somehow taken a fancy to that picture.
In the passage above, Sir Oliver has falsely approached Charles while pretending to be a moneylender named Mr. Premium who wants to purchase family heirlooms. Sir Oliver conducts this undercover operation for the express purpose of gauging the character of his roguish nephew, whose deplorable reputation has given him cause for great concern. Charles’s refusal to sell Sir Oliver’s portrait, and especially his emphatic declaration that his uncle “has been very good” to him, is a welcome surprise, demonstrating that there is more to the man than meets the (rumor-addled) eye. By defying the expectations of Sir Oliver and the audience, Charles endears everyone to his cause, beginning the process of reforming their impression of his rakish persona.
In an example of situational irony, when Lady Teazle complains to Joseph that she is being suspected of adultery in Act 4, Scene 3, Joseph reveals his lack of morality by suggesting that the only way to alleviate her guilty conscience is to actually commit the sin of which she is accused:
Ah! my dear madam, there is the great mistake: ’tis this very conscious innocence that is of the greatest prejudice to you. What is it makes you negligent of forms, and careless of the world’s opinion?—why, the consciousness of your own innocence. What makes you thoughtless in your conduct, and apt to run into a thousand little imprudences?—why, the consciousness of your own innocence. What makes you impatient of Sir Peter’s temper, and outrageous at his suspicions?—why, the consciousness of your innocence.
Joseph’s logic in the passage above is paradoxical and unsound, and therefore deeply ironic—rather than offering rational advice, he makes the unexpected and unintuitive suggestion that Lady Teazle should do exactly what most people would tell her not to do: betray her husband’s trust. Joseph’s insistence that Lady Teazle’s discomfort will be resolved with the loss of her innocence, rather than the restoration of her good name and relationship with her husband, instead demonstrates his own hypocrisy and failure to live up to his pristine social image. The quote below, from later in the same conversation, further emphasizes this discrepancy in Joseph’s character:
Oh! I am sure on’t; and then you would find all scandal would cease at once, for, in short, your character at present is like a person in a plethora, absolutely dying from too much health.
By characterizing Lady Teazle’s qualms as evidence that she is “dying from too much health,” Joseph demonstrates his inability to conceive that a person might want, let alone be able, to truly live up to their moral ideals.
Act 4, Scene 3 of The School for Scandal, otherwise known as the “screen scene,” is the most sensational and well-known scene in the entire play. Uproarious and chaotic in equal measure, it is also a quintessential example of dramatic irony. In the passage below, Sheridan utilizes staging and timing to hilarious effect, playing each character’s differing amounts of knowledge against both each other and the audience’s fuller awareness of the entire picture:
Sir Peter: Come, you shall not refuse me: here, behind this screen will be—Hey! what the devil! there seems to be one listener there already—I’ll swear I saw a petticoat!
Joseph: Ha! ha! ha! Well, this is ridiculous enough. [...] Hark’ee, ’tis a little French milliner—a silly rogue that plagues me,—and having some character to lose, on your coming, sir, she ran behind the screen.
Sir Peter: Ah! you rogue! But, egad, she has overheard all I have been saying of my wife.
Joseph: Oh, ’twill never go any farther, you may depend upon it.
Sir Peter: No! then, faith, let her hear it out.—Here’s a closet will do as well.
The audience knows that the "petticoat" Sir Peter sees behind the screen belongs not to “a little French milliner,” as Joseph Surface claims, but rather to his very own wife, Lady Teazle. Although Sir Peter is none the wiser, Lady Teazle is present in the room during his discussion of her suspected infidelity. Adding to the humor of the scene, when Sir Peter learns that Charles Surface (the man he believes is her adulterous paramour) is about to enter the same room, he attempts to hide—in the very same spot Lady Teazle has claimed! In this perfect demonstration of dramatic irony, characters hide, secrets and feelings are disclosed unwittingly, and conflicts come to a much-anticipated head. Joseph’s panicked scramble to evade discovery results in a mad dash that eventually comes crashing down around him, as Sir Peter and Lady Teazle finally confront each other.
Sir Oliver disguises himself as Mr. Premium the moneylender to test the character of his nephew Charles Surface in Act 4, Scene 1. Similarly, he dons another disguise in Act 5, Scene 1 in order to ascertain the heart of his other nephew, Joseph. This time, he poses as a poor relative named Mr. Stanley and suggests that he's in need of charity. As in Sir Oliver’s first attempt at reconnaissance, the audience is fully aware that “Mr. Stanley” is nothing more than a disguise. Thus, the interaction between uncle and nephew below is an instance of dramatic irony:
Joseph: My dear sir, you were strangely misinformed. Sir Oliver is a worthy man, a very worthy man; but avarice, Mr. Stanley, is the vice of age. I will tell you, my good sir, in confidence, what he has done for me has been a mere nothing; though people, I know, have thought otherwise, and, for my part, I never chose to contradict the report.
Joseph’s refusal to aid “Mr. Stanley” despite his ability to do so reveals the true selfish, duplicitous nature of his character. Because he does not know that he is speaking to his uncle, Joseph feels safe lying, claiming he does not have the funds to offer charity even if he wanted to.
This scene is especially ironic because it is Joseph’s last chance to earn Sir Oliver’s respect— the audience knows that Sir Oliver has already formed a good opinion of Charles (because he refused to sell Sir Oliver’s portrait), and so Joseph lacks the edge he was counting on in his competition for the inheritance. By refusing to live up to the image he has cultivated for himself, Joseph sabotages himself. In this way, Sir Oliver and the audience watch together as Joseph seals his own fate, ripping away his mask of goodness.
The first half of Act 5, Scene 2 is an example of dramatic irony. Mrs. Candour, the maid, Benjamin Backbite, Lady Sneerwell, and Mr. Crabtree all gather to postulate on what they think may have happened between the Teazles and the Surface brothers in Act 4. Each of their suggested versions of events grow more and more outlandish with every false re-telling, culminating in Sir Benjamin’s ludicrous invention of a duel:
Sir Benjamin: Well, I’ll not dispute with you, Mrs. Candour; but, be it which it may, I hope that Sir Peter’s wound will not—
Mrs. Candour: Sir Peter’s wound! Oh, mercy! I didn’t hear a word of their fighting.
Lady Sneerwell:. Nor I, a syllable.
Sir Benjamin: No! what, no mention of the duel?
Sir Benjamin’s invention of a duel and wound (on the part of Sir Peter) is ironic on two levels. First, there is the fact that the audience is already aware of what happened by the time the gossipmongers gather for their little competition of one-upmanship. In this way, the gossips themselves become the butt of the joke, as their shallow natures are exposed to each other and the audience. Second, audience members (and readers) with prior knowledge of Sheridan’s life story may be aware of the duels Sheridan fought while courting his soon-to-be wife Elizabeth, which garnered so much attention they were covered in the newspaper. This knowledge contributes to the irony of the scene, as these rumors become a meta-commentary that mirrors the playwright's own life.
