They have got
out of Christendom into the land--what shall I call it?-of
cuckoldry--the Utopia of gallantry, where pleasure is duty, and the
manners perfect freedom. It is altogether a speculative scene of things,
which has no reference whatever to the world that is. No good person
can be justly offended as a spectator, because no good person suffers
on the stage. Judged morally, every character in these plays--the few
exceptions only are mistakes--is alike essentially vain and worthless.
The great art of Congreve is specially shown in this, that he has
entirely excluded from his scenes--some little generosities in the
part of Angelica [Footnote: In _Love for Love_] perhaps excepted--not
only anything like a faultless character, but any pretensions to
goodness or good feelings whatsoever. Whether he did this designedly,
or instinctively, the effect is as happy as the design (if design) was
bold. I used to wonder at the strange power which his _Way of the
World_ in particular possesses of interesting you all along in the
pursuits of characters, for whom you absolutely care nothing--for you
neither hate nor love his personages--and I think it is owing to this
very indifference for any, that you endure the whole.
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