Transcribed from the 1895 Methuen and Co. edition (Comediesof William Congreve, Volume 1) , email
p.viiINTRODUCTION
I.
Before repeating such known factsof Congreve’s life as seem agreeable to the presentoccasion, and before attempting (with the courage of one’soffice) to indicate with truth what manner of man he was, andwhat are the varying qualities of his four comedies, it seemswell to discuss and have done with two questions, obviouslypertinent indeed, but of a wider scope than the works of any onewriter.
The first is a stupid question, which may be happily dismissedwith brief ceremony. Grossness of language—the phraseis an assumption—is a matter of time and place, a relativematter altogether. There is a thing, and a generation findsa name for it. The delicacy which prompts a latergeneration to reject that name is by no means necessarily aresult of stricter habits, is far more often due to the flatnesswhich comes of untiring repetition and to the greater piquancy oflitotes. I am told that there are, or were, people inAmerica who reject the word ‘leg’ as a gross word,but they must have found a synonym. So there is not a wordin Congreve for which there is not some equivalent expression incontemporary writing. He says this or that: your modernwriters say so-and-so. One man may even think themonosyllables in better taste than the periphrases. Anothermay sacrifice to his intolerance thereof such enjoyment as he wascapable of taking from the greatest triumphs of diction orobservation: he is free to choose. It may be granted thatto one unfamiliar with the English of two centuries since thegrossness of Congreve’s language may seem p.viiiexcessive—like splashes of colour occurring toofrequently in the arrangement of a wall. But that is merelya result of novelty: given time and habit, a more artisticperspective will be achieved.
The second question is more complex. Since JeremyCollier let off his Short View of the Immorality andProfaneness of the English Stage, there has never lacked acritic to chastise or to deplore—the more effective andirritating course—not simply the coarseness but, theimmorality of our old comedies, their attitude towards and theirpeculiar interests in life. Without affirming that we arenow come to the Golden Age of criticism, one may rejoice thatmodern methods have taught quite humble critics to discriminatebetween issues, and to deal with such a matter as this with somemental detachment. The great primal fallacy comes from ahabit of expecting everything in everything. Just as in apicture it is not enough for some people that it is well drawnand well painted, but they demand an interesting story, a finesentiment, a great thought: so since our national glory isunderstood to be the happy home, the happy home must betriumphant everywhere, even in satiric comedy. The bestexpression of this fallacy is in Thackeray. Concluding amost eloquent, and a somewhat patronising examination ofCongreve, ‘Ah!’ he exclaims, ‘it’s aweary feast, that banquet of wit where no love is.’ The answer is plain: comedy of manners is comedy of manners, andsatire is satire; introduce ‘love’—an appeal,one supposes, to sympathy with strictly legitimate and commonaffection and a glorification of the happy home—and therules of your art compel you to satirise affection and to mak