by Thomas Moore
“Genius,” says Buffon, “is Patience;” or, (as another French writer has explained his thought)— “La Patience cherche, et le Genie trouve;” and there is little doubt that to the co-operation of these two powers all the brightest inventions of this world are owing; — that Patience must first explore the depths where the pearl lies hid, before Genius boldly dives and brings it up full into light. There are, it is true, some striking exceptions to this rule; and our own times have witnessed more than one extraordinary intellect, whose depth has not prevented their treasures from lying ever ready within reach. But the records of Immortality furnish few such instances; and all we know of the works, that she has hitherto marked with her seal, sufficiently authorize the general position, — that nothing great and durable has ever been produced with ease, and that Labor is the parent of all the lasting wonders of this world, whether in verse or stone, whether poetry or pyramids.
The first sketch of the School for Scandal that occurs was written, I am inclined to think, before the Rivals, or at least very soon after it; — and that it was his original intention to satirize some of the gossips of Bath appears from the title under which I find noted down, as follows, the very first hints, probably, that suggested themselves for the dialogue.
“THE SLANDERERS. — A Pump-Room Scene.
“Friendly caution to the newspapers.
“It is whispered —
“She is a constant attendant at church, and very frequently takes Dr.
M’Brawn home with her.
“Mr. Worthy is very good to the girl; — for my part, I dare swear he has no ill intention.
“What! Major Wesley’s Miss Montague?
“Lud, ma’am, the match is certainly broke — no creature knows the cause; some say a flaw in the lady’s character, and others, in the gentleman’s fortune.
“To be sure they do say —
“I hate to repeat what I hear.
“She was inclined to be a little too plump before she went.
“The most intrepid blush; — I’ve known her complexion stand fire for an hour together.
“‘She had twins,’ — How ill-natured! as I hope to be saved, ma’am, she had but one; and that a little starved brat not worth mentioning.”
The following is the opening scene of his first sketch, from which it will be perceived that the original plot was wholly different from what it is at present, — Sir Peter and Lady Teazle being at that time not in existence.
“LADY SNEERWELL and SPATTER.
“Lady S. The paragraphs, you say, were all inserted.
“Spat. They were, madam.
“Lady S. Did you circulate the report of Lady Brittle’s intrigue with Captain Boastall?
“Spat. Madam, by this Lady Brittle is the talk of half the town; and in a week will be treated as a demirep.
“Lady S. What have you done as to the innuendo of Miss Niceley’s fondness for her own footman?
“Spat. ’Tis in a fair train, ma’am. I told it to my hair- dresser, — he courts a milliner’s girl in Pall Mall, whose mistress has a first cousin who is waiting-woman to Lady Clackit. I think in about fourteen hours it must reach Lady Clackit, and then you know the business is done.
“Lady S. But is that sufficient, do you think?
“Spat. O Lud, ma’am, I’ll undertake to ruin the character of the primmest prude in London with half as much. Ha! ha! Did your ladyship never hear how poor Miss Shepherd lost her lover and her character last summer at Scarborough? this was the whole of it. One evening at Lady — — ‘s, the conversation happened to turn on the difficulty of breeding Nova Scotia sheep in England. ‘I have known instances,’ says Miss — , ‘for last spring, a friend of mine, Miss Shepherd of Ramsgate, had a Nova Scotia sheep that produced her twins.’— ‘What!’ cries the old deaf dowager Lady Bowlwell, ‘has Miss Shepherd of Ramsgate been brought to bed of twins?’ This mistake, as you may suppose, set the company laughing. However, the next day, Miss Verjuice Amarilla Lonely, who had been of the party, talking of Lady Bowlwell’s deafness, began to tell what had happened; but unluckily, forgetting to say a word of sheep, it was understood by the company, and, in every circle, many believed, that Miss Shepherd of Ramsgate had actually been brought to bed of a fine boy and a girl; and, in less than a fortnight, there were people who could name the father, and the farm-house where the babies were put out to nurse.
“Lady S. Ha! ha! well, for a stroke of luck, it was a very good one. I suppose you find no difficulty in spreading the report on the censorious Miss —— .
“Spat. None in the world, — she has always been so prudent and reserved, that every body was sure there was some reason for it at bottom.
“Lady S. Yes, a tale of scandal is as fatal to the credit of a prude as a fever to those of the strongest constitutions; but there is a sort of sickly reputation that outlives hundreds of the robuster character of a prude.
“Spat. True, ma’am, there are valetudinarians in reputation as in constitutions; and both are cautious from their appreciation and consciousness of their weak side, and avoid the least breath of air. [Footnote: This is one of the many instances, where the improving effect of revision may be traced. The passage at present stands thus:— “There are valetudinarians in reputation as well as constitution; who, being conscious of their weak part, avoid the least breath of air, and supply the want of stamina by care and circumspection.”]
“Lady S. But, Spatter, I have something of greater confidence now to entrust you with. I think I have some claim to your gratitude.
“Spat. Have I ever shown myself one moment unconscious of what I owe you?
“Lady S. I do not charge you with it, but this is an affair of importance. You are acquainted with my situation, but not all my weaknesses. I was hurt, in the early part of my life, by the envenom’d tongue of scandal, and ever since, I own, have no joy but in sullying the fame of others. In this I have found you an apt tool: you have often been the instrument of my revenge, but you must now assist me in a softer passion. A young widow with a little beauty and easy fortune is seldom driven to sue, — yet is that my case. Of the many you have seen here, have you ever observed me, secretly, to favor one?
“Spat. Egad! I never was more posed: I’m sure you cannot mean that ridiculous old knight, Sir Christopher Crab?
“Lady S. A wretch! his assiduities are my torment.
“Spat. Perhaps his nephew, the baronet, Sir Benjamin Backbite, is the happy man?
“Lady S. No, though he has ill-nature, and a good person on his side, he is not to my taste. What think you of Clerimont? [Footnote: Afterwards called Florival.]
“Spat. How! the professed lover of your ward, Maria; between whom, too, there is a mutual affection.
“Lady S. Yes, that insensible, that doater on an idiot, is the man.
“Spat. But how can you hope to succeed?
“Lady S. By poisoning both with jealousy of the other, till the credulous fool, in a pique, shall be entangled in my snare.
“Spat. Have you taken any measure for it?
“Lady S. I have. Maria has made me the confidante of Clerimont’s love for her: in return, I pretended to entrust her with my affection for Sir Benjamin, who is her warm admirer. By strong representation of my passion, I prevailed on her not to refuse to see Sir Benjamin, which she once promised Clerimont to do. I entreated her to plead my cause, and even drew her in to answer Sir Benjamin’s letters with the same intent. Of this I have made Clerimont suspicious; but ’tis you must inflame him to the pitch I want.
“Spat. But will not Maria, on the least unkindness of Clerimont, instantly come to an explanation?
“Lady S. This is what we must prevent by blinding….”
The scene that follows, between Lady Sneerwell and Maria, gives some insight into the use that was to be made of this intricate ground-work, [Footnote: The following is his own arrangement of the Scenes of the Second Act. “Act II. Scene 1st. All. — 2d. Lady S. and Mrs. C. — 3d. Lady S. and … Em
. and Mrs. C. listening. — 4th. L. S. and Flor. shows him into the room, — bids him return the other way. — L. S. and Emma. — Emma and Florival; — fits, — maid. — Emma fainting and sobbing:— ‘Death, don’t expose me!’ — enter maid, — will call out — all come on with cards and smelling bottles.”] and it was, no doubt, the difficulty of managing such an involvement of his personages dramatically, that drove him, luckily for the world, to the construction of a simpler, and, at the same time, more comprehensive plan. He might also, possibly, have been influenced by the consideration, that the chief movement of this plot must depend upon the jealousy of the lover, — a spring of interest which he had already brought sufficiently into play in the Rivals.
“Lady Sneerwell. Well, my love, have you seen Clerimont to-day?
“Maria. I have not, nor does he come as often as he used. Indeed, madam, I fear what I have done to serve you has by some means come to his knowledge, and injured me in his opinion. I promised him faithfully never to see Sir Benjamin. What confidence can he ever have in me, if he once finds I have broken my word to him?
“Lady S. Nay, you are too grave. If he should suspect any thing, it will always be in my power to undeceive him.
“Mar. Well, you have involved me in deceit, and I must trust to you to extricate me.
“Lady S. Have you answered Sir Benjamin’s last letter in the manner I wished?
“Mar. I have written exactly as you desired me: but I wish you would give me leave to tell the whole truth to Clerimont at once. There is a coldness in his manner of late, which I can no ways account for.
“Lady S. (aside.) I’m glad to find I have worked on him so far; — fie, Maria, have you so little regard for me? would you put me to the shame of being known to love a man who disregards me? Had you entrusted me with such a secret, not a husband’s power should have forced it from me. But, do as you please. Go, forget the affection I have shown you: forget that I have been as a mother to you, whom I found an orphan. Go, break through all ties of gratitude, and expose me to the world’s derision, to avoid one sullen hour from a moody lover.
“Mar. Indeed, madam, you wrong me; and you who know the apprehension of love, should make allowance for its weakness. My love for Clerimont is so great —
“Lady S. Peace; it cannot exceed mine.
“Mar. For Sir Benjamin, perhaps not, ma’am — and, I am sure, Clerimont has as sincere an affection for me.
“Lady S. Would to heaven I could say the same!
“Mar. Of Sir Benjamin: — I wish so too, ma’am. But I am sure you would be extremely hurt, if, in gaining your wishes, you were to injure me in the opinion of Clerimont.
“Lady S. Undoubtedly; I would not for the world — Simple fool! (aside.) But my wishes, my happiness depend on you — for, I doat so on the insensible, that it kills me to see him so attached to you. Give me but Clerimont, and —
“Mar. Clerimont!
“Lady S. Sir Benjamin, you know, I meant. Is he not attached to you? am I not slighted for you? Yet, do I bear any enmity to you, as my rival? I only request your friendly intercession, and you are so ungrateful, you would deny me that.
“Mar. Nay, madam, have I not done everything you wished? For you, I have departed from truth, and contaminated my mind with falsehood — what could I do more to serve you?
“Lady S. Well, forgive me, I was too warm. I know you would not betray me. I expect Sir Benjamin and his uncle this morning — why, Maria, do you always leave our little parties?
“Mar. I own, madam, I have no pleasure in their conversation. I have myself no gratification in uttering detraction, and therefore none in hearing it.
“Lady S. Oh fie, you are serious— ’tis only a little harmless raillery.
“Mar. I never can think that harmless which hurts the peace of youth, draws tears from beauty, and gives many a pang to the innocent.
“Lady S. Nay, you must allow that many people of sense and wit have this foible — Sir Benjamin Backbite, for instance.
“Mar. He may, but I confess I never can perceive wit where I see malice.
“Lady S. Fie, Maria, you have the most unpolished way of thinking! It is absolutely impossible to be witty without being a little ill-natured. The malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick. I protest now when I say an ill-natured thing, I have not the least malice against the person; and, indeed, it may be of one whom I never saw in my life; for I hate to abuse a friend — but I take it for granted, they all speak as ill-naturedly of me.
“Mar. Then you are, very probably, conscious you deserve it — for my part, I shall only suppose myself ill-spoken of, when I am conscious I deserve it.”
“Enter Servant.
“Ser. Mrs. Candor.
“Mar. Well, I’ll leave you.
“Lady S. No, no, you have no reason to avoid her, she is good nature itself.
“Mar. Yes, with an artful affectation of candor, she does more injury than the worst backbiter of them all.”
“Enter MRS. CANDOR.
“Mrs. Cand. So, Lady Sneerwell, how d’ye do? Maria, child, how dost? Well, who is’t you are to marry at last? Sir Benjamin or Clerimont? The town talks of nothing else.”
Through the remainder of this scene the only difference in the speeches of Mrs. Candor is, that they abound more than at present in ludicrous names and anecdotes, and occasionally straggle into that loose wordiness, which, knowing how much it weakens the sap of wit, the good taste of Sheridan was always sure to lop away. The same may be said of the greater part of that scene of scandal which at present occurs in the second Act, and in which all that is now spoken by Lady Teazle, was originally put into the mouths of Sir Christopher Crab and others — the caustic remarks of Sir Peter Teazle being, as well as himself, an after creation.
It is chiefly, however, in Clerimont, the embryo of Charles Surface, that we perceive how imperfect may be the first lineaments, that Time and Taste contrive to mould gradually into beauty. The following is the scene that introduces him to the audience, and no one ought to be disheartened by the failure of a first attempt after reading it. The spiritless language — the awkward introduction of the sister into the plot — the antiquated expedient [Footnote: This objection seems to have occurred to himself; for one of his memorandums is— “Not to drop the letter, but take it from the maid.] of dropping the letter — all, in short, is of the most undramatic and most unpromising description, and as little like what it afterwards turned to as the block is to the statue, or the grub to the butterfly.
“Sir C. This Clerimont is, to be sure, the drollest mortal! he is one of your moral fellows, who does unto others as he would they should do unto him.
“Lady Sneer. Yet he is sometimes entertaining.
“Sir C. Oh hang him, no — he has too much good nature to say a witty thing himself, and is too ill-natured to praise wit in others.
“Enter CLERIMONT.
“Sir B. So, Clerimont — we were just wishing for you to enliven us with your wit and agreeable vein.
“Cler. No, Sir Benjamin, I cannot join you.
“Sir B. Why, man, you look as grave as a young lover the first time he is jilted.
“Cler. I have some cause to be grave, Sir Benjamin. A word with you all. I have just received a letter from the country, in which I understand that my sister has suddenly left my uncle’s house, and has not since been heard of.
“Lady S. Indeed! and on what provocation?
“Cler. It seems they were urging her a little too hastily to marry some country squire that was not to her taste.
“Sir B. Positively I love her for her spirit.
“Lady S. And so do I, and would protect her, if I knew where she was.
“Cler. Sir Benjamin, a word with you — (takes him apart.) I think, sir, we have lived for some years on what the world calls the footing of friends.
“Sir B. To my great honor, sir. — Well, my dear friend?
“Cler. You know that you once paid your addresses to my sis
ter. My uncle disliked you; but I have reason to think you were not indifferent to her.
“Sir B. I believe you are pretty right there; but what follows?
“Cler. Then I think I have a right to expect an implicit answer from you, whether you are in any respect privy to her elopement?
“Sir B. Why, you certainly have a right to ask the question, and I will answer you as sincerely — which is, that though I make no doubt but that she would have gone with me to the world’s end, I am at present entirely ignorant of the whole affair. This I declare to you upon my honor — and, what is more, I assure you my devotions are at present paid to another lady — one of your acquaintance, too.
“Cler. (Aside.) Now, who can this other be whom he alludes to? — I have sometimes thought I perceived a kind of mystery between him and Maria — but I rely on her promise, though, of late, her conduct to me has been strangely reserved.
“Lady S. Why, Clerimont, you seem quite thoughtful. Come with us; we are going to kill an hour at ombre — your mistress will join us.
“Cler. Madam, I attend you.
“Lady S. (Taking Sir B. aside.) Sir Benjamin, I see Maria is now coming to join us — do you detain her awhile, and I will contrive that Clerimont should see you, and then drop this letter.
“[Exeunt all but Sir. B.]
“Enter MARIA.
“Mar. I thought the company were here, and Clerimont —
“Sir B. One, more your slave than Clerimont, is here.
“Mar. Dear Sir Benjamin, I thought you promised me to drop this subject. If I have really any power over you, you will oblige me —
“Sir B. Power over me! What is there you could not command me in? Have you not wrought on me to proffer my love to Lady Sneerwell? Yet though you gain this from me, you will not give me the smallest token of gratitude.
“Enter CLERIMONT behind.
“Mar. How can I believe your love sincere, when you continue still to importune me?
“Sir B. I ask but for your friendship, your esteem.
“Mar. That you shall ever be entitled to — then I may depend upon your honor?
“Sir B. Eternally — dispose of my heart as you please.
