William Congreve’s comedy The Way of the World was first performed in 1700 at the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London. It was not well received, and as a result Congreve vowed never to write for the stage again—a vow he kept. Nonetheless the comedy was printed in the same year and has come to be regarded as the author’s masterpiece, a classic of Restoration drama.
In a world still reacting against the puritanism of Cromwell and the Commonwealth, Restoration drama had slowly transitioned from celebrating the licentiousness and opulence of the newly returned court to the more thoughtful and refined comedy of manners that was to dominate the English stage of 18th century. In one way Congreve’s The Way of the World is the last (and best) of its type, and in another way, it is the forerunner of a style that is echoed even now.
The play centers on the love affair of Mirabell and Millamant who are prevented from marrying by a number of obstacles, not the least of which is Mirabell’s past dalliance with Millamant’s aunt’s affections. Intricate, witty, and amusing, the comedy nevertheless concludes with no clear heroes or heroines—one of the things that makes it such an incisive portrait of human experience and an enduring example of its type.
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you as a mortification: for, sure, to please a fool is some degree of folly.
Mrs. Millamant
I please myself: besides, sometimes to converse with fools is for my health.
Mirabell
Your health! Is there a worse disease than the conversation of fools?
Mrs. Millamant
Yes, the vapours; fools are physic for it, next to asafoetida.
Mirabell
You are not in a course of fools?30
Mrs. Millamant
Mirabell, if you persist in this offensive freedom you’ll displease me. I think I must resolve after all not to have you; we shan’t agree.
Mirabell
Not in our physic, it may be.
Mrs. Millamant
And yet our distemper in all likelihood will be the same; for we shall be sick of one another. I shan’t endure to be reprimanded nor instructed; ’tis so dull to act always by advice, and so tedious to be told of one’s faults—I can’t bear it. Well, I won’t have you, Mirabell—I’m resolved—I think—you may go—ha, ha, ha! What would you give that you could help loving me?
Mirabell
I would give something that you did not know I could not help it.
Mrs. Millamant
Come, don’t look grave then. Well, what do you say to me?
Mirabell
I say that a man may as soon make a friend by his wit, or a fortune by his honesty, as win a woman with plain-dealing and sincerity.
Mrs. Millamant
Sententious Mirabell!—Prithee don’t look with that violent and inflexible wise face, like Solomon at the dividing of the child in an old tapestry hanging!31
Mirabell
You are merry, madam, but I would persuade you for a moment to be serious.
Mrs. Millamant
What, with that face? No, if you keep your countenance, ’tis impossible I should hold mine. Well, after all, there is something very moving in a lovesick face. Ha, ha, ha! Well I won’t laugh; don’t be peevish. Heigho! Now I’ll be melancholy, as melancholy as a watch-light. Well, Mirabell, if ever you will win me, woo me now.—Nay, if you are so tedious, fare you well—I see they are walking away.
Mirabell
Can you not find in the variety of your disposition one moment—
Mrs. Millamant
To hear you tell me Foible’s married, and your plot like to speed—no.
Mirabell
But how you came to know it?
Mrs. Millamant
Without the help of the devil, you can’t imagine; unless she should tell me herself. Which of the two it may have been, I will leave you to consider; and when you have done thinking of that, think of me.
Exit.
Mirabell
I have something more.—Gone!—Think of you? To think of a whirlwind, though ’twere in a whirlwind, were a case of more steady contemplation, a very tranquillity of mind and mansion. A fellow that lives in a windmill has not a more whimsical dwelling than the heart of a man that is lodged in a woman. There is no point of the compass to which they cannot turn, and by which they are not turned, and by one as well as another; for motion, not method, is their occupation. To know this, and yet continue to be in love, is to be made wise from the dictates of reason, and yet persevere to play the fool by the force of instinct.—Oh, here come my pair of turtles. What, billing so sweetly? Is not Valentine’s day over with you yet?
To him Waitwell and Foible.
Mirabell
Sirrah, Waitwell, why, sure, you think you were married for your own recreation and not for my conveniency.
Waitwell
Your pardon, sir. With submission, we have indeed been solacing in lawful delights; but still with an eye to business, sir. I have instructed her as well as I could. If she can take your directions as readily as my instructions, sir, your affairs are in a prosperous way.
Mirabell
Give you joy, Mrs. Foible.
Foible
Oh ’las, sir, I’m so ashamed.—I’m afraid my lady has been in a thousand inquietudes for me. But I protest, sir, I made as much haste as I could.
Waitwell
That she did indeed, sir. It was my fault that she did not make more.
Mirabell
That I believe.
Foible
But I told my lady as you instructed me, sir, that I had a prospect of seeing Sir Rowland, your uncle, and that I would put her ladyship’s picture in my pocket to show him, which I’ll be sure to say has made him so enamoured of her beauty, that he burns with impatience to lie at her ladyship’s feet and worship the original.
Mirabell
Excellent Foible! Matrimony has made you eloquent in love.
Waitwell
I think she has profited, sir. I think so.
Foible
You have seen Madam Millamant, sir?
Mirabell
Yes.
Foible
I told her, sir, because I did not know that you might find an opportunity; she had so much company last night.
Mirabell
Your diligence will merit more. In the meantime—Gives money.
Foible
O dear sir, your humble servant!
Waitwell
Spouse—
Mirabell
Stand off, sir, not a penny. Go on and prosper, Foible. The lease shall be made good and the farm stocked, if we succeed.
Foible
I don’t question your generosity, sir, and you need not doubt of success. If you have no more commands, sir, I’ll be gone; I’m sure my lady is at her toilet, and can’t dress till I come. Oh dear, I’m sure that Looking out. was Mrs. Marwood that went by in a mask; if she has seen me with you I’m sure she’ll tell my lady. I’ll make haste home and prevent her. Your servant, Sir.—B’w’y,32 Waitwell.
Exit.
Waitwell
Sir Rowland, if you please. The jade’s so pert upon her preferment she forgets herself.
Mirabell
Come, sir, will you endeavour to forget yourself—and transform into Sir Rowland?
Waitwell
Why, sir, it will be impossible I should remember myself. Married, knighted, and attended all in one day! ’Tis enough to make any man forget himself. The difficulty will be how to recover my acquaintance and familiarity with my former self, and fall from my transformation to a reformation into Waitwell. Nay, I shan’t be quite the same Waitwell neither—for now I remember me, I’m married, and can’t be my own
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