don't be melancholic, don't despair.-But never think that I'll grant you anything; O Lord, no.-But be sure you lay aside all thoughts of the marriage: for though I know you don't love Cynthia, only as a blind to your passion for me, yet it will make me jealous.-O Lord, what did I say? jealous! no, no; I can't be jealous, for I must not love you-therefore don't hope, but don't despair neither.-O, they're coming! I must fly."1

She escapes and we will not follow her.

This giddiness, this volubility, this pretty corruption, these reckless and affected airs, are collected in the most brilliant, the most worldly portrait of the stage we are discussing, that of Mrs. Millamant, "a fine lady," as the Dramatis Personæ say. She enters, "with her fan spread and her streamers out," dragging a train of furbelows and ribbons, passing through a crowd of laced and bedizened fops, in splendid perukes, who flutter about her path, haughty and wanton, witty and scornful, toying with gallantries, petulant, with a horror of every grave word and all nobility of action, falling in only with change and pleasure. She laughs at the sermons of Mirabell, her suitor: "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. . . . . . Ha ha ha!-pardon me, dear creature, though I grant you 'tis a little barbarous, ha! ha! ha!"4

3

She breaks out into laughter, then gets into a rage, then banters, then sings, then makes faces, and changes at every motion while we look at her. It is a regular whirlpool; all turns round in her brain as

.

1 Congreve, The Double-dealer, ii. 5. Congreve, The Way of the World. 3 Ibid. ii. 6.

Ibid. iii. 11.

Nothing

in a clock when the mainspring is broken. can be prettier than her fashion of entering on matrimony:

“Millamant. Ah! I'll never marry unless I am first made sure of my will and pleasure!... My dear liberty, shall I leave thee? my faithful solitude, my darling contemplation, must I bid you then adieu Ay-h-adieu-my morning thoughts, agreeable wakings, indolent slumbers, all ye douceurs ye sommeils du matin adieu-I can't do it; 'tis more than impossible-positively, Mirabell, I'll lie a-bed in a morning as long as I please.

Mirabell. Then I'll get up in a morning as early as I please.

Mill. Ah! idle creature, get up when you will—and d'ye hear, I won't be called names after I'm married; positively I won't be called names.

Mir. Names !

Mill. Ay, as wife, spouse, my dear, joy, jewel, love, sweet heart, and the rest of that nauseous cant, in which men and their wives are so fulsomely familiar-I shall never bear that— good Mirabell, don't let us be familiar or fond, nor kiss before folks, like my Lady Fadler, and Sir Francis. . . . Let us never visit together, nor go to a play together; but let us be very strange and well-bred let us be as strange as if we had been married a great while; and as well bred as if we were not married at all.

...

Mir. Shall I kiss your hand upon the contract?1

Mill. Fainall, what shall I do? shall I have him? I think I must have him.

Fainall. Ay, ay, take him. What should you do?

Mill. Well then-I'll take my death I'm in a horrid fright— Fainall, I shall never say it-well-I think—I'll endure you. Fain. Fy! fy! have him, have him, and tell him so in plain terms: for I am sure you have a mind to him.

1 Congreve, The Way of the World, iv. 5.

Mill. Are you? I think I have and the horrid man looks as if he thought so too-well, you ridiculous thing you, I'll have you—I won't be kissed, nor I won't be thanked—here kiss my hand though.-So, hold your tongue now, don't say a word." "1

The agreement is complete. I should like to see one more article to it—a divorce "a menså et thoro:" this would be the genuine marriage of the worldlings, that is a decent divorce. And I am sure that in two years Mirabell and Millamant will come to this. Hither tends the whole of this theatre; for, with regard to the women, but particularly with regard to the married women, I have only presented their most amiable aspects. Deeper down it is all gloomy, bitter, above all, pernicious. It represents a household as a prison, marriage as a warfare, woman as a rebel, adultery as the result looked for, irregularity as a right, extravagance as pleasure. A woman of fashion goes to bed in the

1 Congreve, The Way of the World, iv. 6.

2 "Amanda. How did you live together? Berinthia. Like man and wife, asunder.-He loved the country, I the town. He hawks and hounds, I coaches and equipage. He eating and drinking, I carding and playing. He the sound of a horn, I the squeak of a fiddle. We were dull company at table, worse a-bed. Whenever we met, we gave one another the spleen; and never agreed but once, which was about lying alone.”--Vanbrugh, Relapse, Act ii. ad fin.

Compare Vanbrugh, A Journey to London. Rarely has the repulsiveness and corruption of the brutish or worldly nature been more vividly displayed. Little Betty and her brother, Squire Humphry, deserve hanging.

Again. "Mrs. Foresight. Do you think any woman honest? Scandal. Yes, several very honest; they'll cheat a little at cards, sometimes; but that's nothing. Mrs. F. Pshaw! but virtuous, I mean. S. Yes, faith; I believe some women are virtuous too; but 'tis as I believe some men are valiant, through fear. For why should a man court danger or a woman shun pleasure?"-Congreve, Love for Love, iii. 14.

morning, rises at mid day, curses her husband, listens to obscenities, frequents balls, haunts the plays, ruins reputations, turns her home into a gambling-house, borrows money, allures men, associates her honour and fortune with debts and assignations. "We are as wicked (as men)," says Lady Brute, "but our vices lie another way. Men have more courage than we, so they commit more bold impudent sins. They quarrel, fight, swear, drink, blaspheme, and the like; whereas we being cowards, only backbite, tell lies, cheat at cards, and so forth." An admirable resumé, in which the gentlemen are included and the ladies too! The world has done nothing but provide them with correct phrases and elegant dresses. In Congreve especially they talk in the best style; above all they know how to hand ladies about and entertain them with news; they are expert in the fence of retorts and replies; they are never out of countenance, find means to make the most ticklish notions understood; they discuss very well, speak excellently, make their bow still better; but to sum up, they are blackguards, systematical epicureans, professed seduThey set forth immorality in maxims, and reason out their vice. "Give me," says one, a man that keeps his five senses keen and bright as his sword, that has 'em always drawn out in their just order and strength, with his reason, as commander at the head of 'em, that detaches 'em by turns upon whatever party of pleasure agreeably offers, and commands 'em to retreat upon the least appearance of disadvantage or danger. I love a fine house, but let another keep it; and just so I

cers.

1 Vanbrugh, Provoked Wife, v. 2. Compare also in this piece the character of Mademoiselle, the French chambermaid. They represent French vice as even more shameless than English vice.

" 1

love a fine woman.' One deliberately seduces his friend's wife; another under a false name gets possession of his brother's intended. A third hires false witnesses to secure a dowry. I must ask the reader to consult for himself the fine stratagems of Worthy, Mirabell, and others. They are coldblooded rascals who forge, commit adultery, swindle, as if they had done nothing else all their lives. They are represented here as men of fashion; they are theatrical lovers, heroes, and as such they manage to get hold of an heiress. We must go to Mirabell for an example of this medley of corruption and elegance. Mrs. Fainall, his former mistress, married by him to a common friend, a miserable wretch, complains to him of this hateful marriage. He appeases her, gives her advice, shows her the precise mode, the true expedient for setting things on a comfortable footing. "You should have just so much disgust for your husband, as may be sufficient to make you relish your lover." She cries in despair, "Why did you make me marry this man?" He smiles calmly, "Why do we daily commit disagreeable and dangerous actions? to save that idol, reputation." How tender is this argument! How can a man better console a woman whom he has plunged into bitter unhappiness! What a touching logic in the insinuation which follows: "If the familiarities of our loves had produced that consequence of which you were apprehensive, where could you have fixed a father's name with credit, but on a

1 Farquhar's The Beaux Stratagem, i. 1; and in the same piece here is the catechism of love: "What are the objects of that passion? -youth, beauty, and clean linen." And from the Mock Astrologer of Dryden: "As I am a gentleman, a man about town, one that wears good cloths, eats, drinks, and wenches sufficiently."