The Restoration comic style collapsed around the end of the 17th century, when the satiric vision gave place to a sentimental one. Jeremy Collier’s Short view of the Profaneness and Immorality of the English Stage, published in 1698, signaled the public opposition to the real or fancied improprieties of plays staged during the previous three decades. “The business of plays is to recommend Vertue, and discountenance Vice”: so runs the opening sentence of Collier’s attack. No Restoration comic dramatist ever conceived of his function in quite these terms. “It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of humankind,” Congreve had written a few years earlier (in the dedication to The Double-Dealer). Though Congreve may be assumed to imply—in accordance with the time-honoured theory concerning the didactic end of comedy—that the comic dramatist paints the vices and follies of humankind for the purpose of correcting them through ridicule, he is, nonetheless, silent on this point. Collier’s assumption that all plays must recommend virtue and discountenance vice has the effect of imposing on comedy the same sort of moral levy that critics such as Thomas Rymer were imposing on tragedy in their demand that it satisfy poetic justice.

At the beginning of the 18th century, there was a blending of the tragic and comic genres that, in one form or another, had been attempted throughout the preceding century. The vogue of tragicomedy may be said to have been launched in England with the publication of John Fletcher’s Faithfull Shepheardesse (c. 1608), an imitation of the Pastor fido, by the Italian poet Battista Guarini. In his Compendium of Tragicomic Poetry (1601), Guarini had argued the distinct nature of the genre, maintaining it to be a third poetic kind, different from either the comic or the tragic. Tragicomedy, he wrote, takes from tragedy its great persons but not its great action, its movement of the feelings but not its disturbance of them, its pleasure but not its sadness, its danger but not its death, and from comedy it takes laughter that is not excessive, modest amusement, feigned difficulty, and happy reversal. Fletcher adapted this statement in the address “To the Reader” that prefaces The Faithfull Shepheardesse.

The form quickly established itself on the English stage, and, through the force of such examples as Beaumont and Fletcher’s Phylaster (1610) and A King and No King (1611) and a long sequence of Fletcher’s unaided tragicomedies, it prevailed during the 20 years before the closing of the theatres in 1642. The taste for tragicomedy continued unabated at the Restoration, and its influence was so pervasive that during the closing decades of the century the form began to be seen in plays that were not, at least by authorial designation, tragicomedies. Its effect on tragedy can be seen not only in the tendency, always present on the English stage, to mix scenes of mirth with more solemn matters but also in the practice of providing tragedy with a double ending (a fortunate one for the virtuous, an unfortunate one for the vicious), as in Dryden’s Aureng-Zebe (1675) or Congreve’s Mourning Bride (1697). The general lines separating the tragic and comic genres began to break down, and that which is high, serious, and capable of arousing pathos could exist in the same play with what is low, ridiculous, and capable of arousing derision. The next step in the process came when Sir Richard Steele, bent on reforming comedy for didactic purposes, produced The Conscious Lovers (1722) and provided the English stage with an occasion when the audience at a comedy could derive its chief pleasure not from laughing but from weeping. It wept in the delight of seeing virtue rewarded and young love come to flower after parental opposition had been overcome. Comedy of the sort inaugurated by The Conscious Lovers continued to represent the affairs of private life, as comedy had always done, but with a seriousness hitherto unknown; and the traditionally low personages of comedy now had a capacity for feeling that bestowed on them a dignity previously reserved for the personages of tragedy.

This trend in comedy was part of a wave of egalitarianism that swept through 18th-century political and social thought. It was matched by a corresponding trend in tragedy, which increasingly selected its subjects from the affairs of private men and women in ordinary life, rather than from the doings of the great. The German dramatist Gotthold Lessing wrote that the misfortunes of those whose circumstances most resemble those of the audience must naturally penetrate most deeply into its heart, and his own Minna von Barnhelm (1767) is an example of the new serious comedy. The capacity to feel, to sympathize with, and to be affected by the plight of a fellow human being without regard for rank in the world’s esteem became the measure of one’s humanity. It was a bond that united the fraternity of humankind in an aesthetic revolution that preceded the political revolutions of the 18th century. In literature, this had the effect of hastening the movement toward a more realistic representation of reality, whereby the familiar events of common life are treated “seriously and problematically” (in the phrase of the critic Erich Auerbach, who traced the process in his book Mimesis [1946]). The results may be seen in novels such as Samuel Richardson’s Pamela (1740) and Clarissa (1747–48) and in middle-class tragedies such as George Lillo’s The London Merchant (1731) in England; in the comédie larmoyante (“tearful comedy”) in France; in Carlo Goldoni’s efforts to reform the commedia dell’arte and replace it with a more naturalistic comedy in the Italian theatre; and in the English sentimental comedy, exemplified in its full-blown state by plays such as Hugh Kelly’s False Delicacy (1768) and Richard Cumberland’s West Indian (1771). Concerning the sentimental comedy, it must be noted that it is only in the matter of appropriating for the bourgeoisie a seriousness of tone and a dignity of representational style previously considered the exclusive property of the nobility that the form can be said to stand in any significant relationship to the development of a more realistic mimetic mode than the traditional tragic and comic ones. The plots of sentimental comedy are as contrived as anything in Plautus and Terence (which with their fondness for foundling heroes who turn out to be long-lost sons of rich merchants, they often resemble); and with their delicate feelings and genteel moral atmosphere, comedies of this sort seem as affected in matters of sentiment as Restoration comedy seems in matters of wit.

Oliver Goldsmith, in his “A Comparison Between Laughing and Sentimental Comedy” (1773), noted the extent to which the comedy in the England of his day had departed from its traditional purpose, the excitation of laughter by exhibiting the follies of the lower part of humankind. He questioned whether an exhibition of its follies would not be preferable to a detail of its calamities. In sentimental comedy, Goldsmith continued, the virtues of private life were exhibited, rather than the vices exposed; and the distresses rather than the faults of humankind generated interest in the piece. Characters in these plays were almost always good; if they had faults, the spectator was expected not only to pardon but to applaud them, in consideration of the goodness of their hearts. Thus, according to Goldsmith, folly was commended instead of being ridiculed. Goldsmith concluded by labeling sentimental comedy a “species of bastard tragedy,” “a kind of mulish production,” a designation that ironically brings to mind Guarini’s comparison of tragicomedy in its uniqueness (a product of comedy and tragedy but different from either) to the mule (the offspring of the horse and the ass but itself neither one nor the other). The production of Goldsmith’s She Stoops to Conquer (1773) and of Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s Rivals (1775) and The School for Scandal (1777) briefly reintroduced comic gaiety to the English stage; by the end of the decade, Sheridan’s dramatic burlesque, The Critic (first performed 1779), had appeared, with its parody of contemporary dramatic fashions, the sentimental included. But this virtually concluded Sheridan’s career as a dramatist. Goldsmith had died in 1774, and the sentimental play was to continue to govern the English comic stage for over a century to come.

The comic outside the theatre

The great comic voices of the 18th century in England were not those in the theatre. No dramatic satire of the period can exhibit anything comparable to the furious ridicule of human triviality and viciousness that Jonathan Swift provided in Gulliver’s Travels (1726). His Modest Proposal (1729) is a masterpiece of comic incongruity, with its suave blend of rational deliberation and savage conclusion. The comic artistry of Alexander Pope is equally impressive. Pope expressed his genius in the invective of his satiric portraits and in the range of moral and imaginative vision that was capable, at one end of his poetic scale, of conducting that most elegant of drawing-room epics, The Rape of the Lock (1712–14), to its sublimely inane conclusion and, at the other, of invoking from the scene that closes The Dunciad (1728), an apocalyptic judgment telling what will happen when the vulgarizers of the word have carried the day.

When the voice of comedy did sound on the 18th-century English stage with anything approaching its full critical and satiric resonance, the officials soon silenced it. John Gay’s Beggar’s Opera (1728) combined hilarity with a satiric fierceness worthy of Swift (who may have suggested the original idea for it). The officials tolerated its spectacularly successful run, but no license from the lord chamberlain could be secured for Gay’s sequel, Polly, which was not staged until 1777. The Licensing Act of 1737 ended the theatrical career of Henry Fielding, whose comedies had come under constant fire from the authorities for their satire on the government. Fielding’s comic talents were perforce directed to the novel, the form in which he parodied the sentiment and the morality of Richardson’s Pamela—in his Shamela and Joseph Andrews (1742)—as brilliantly as he had earlier burlesqued the rant of heroic tragedy in Tom Thumb (1730).

Comedy of the sort that ridicules the follies and vices of society to the end of laughing them out of countenance entered the English novel with Fielding. His statement in Joseph Andrews concerning the function of satire is squarely in the Neoclassic tradition of comedy as a corrective of manners and mores: the satirist holds

the glass to thousands in their closets, that they may contemplate their deformity, and endeavour to reduce it, and thus by suffering private mortification may avoid public shame.

Fielding’s scenes of contemporary life display the same power of social criticism as that which distinguishes the engravings of his great fellow artist William Hogarth, whose Marriage à la Mode (1745) depicts the vacuity and the casual wantonness of the fashionable world that Fielding treats of in the final books of Tom Jones. Hogarth’s other series, such as A Rake’s Progress (1735) and A Harlot’s Progress (1732), also make a didactic point about the wages of sin, using realistic details heightened with grotesquerie to expose human frailty and its sinister consequences. The grotesque is a recurrent feature of the satiric tradition in England, where comedy serves social criticism. Artists such as Hogarth and Thomas Rowlandson worked in the tradition of Jonson and the Restoration dramatists in the preceding century.

The novel, with its larger scope for varied characters, scenes, and incidents, rather than the drama, afforded the 19th-century artist in comedy a literary form adequate to his role as social critic. The spectacle of human society is regularly presented by the 19th-century novelist in comedic terms, as in Vanity Fair (1848), by William Makepeace Thackeray and the Comédie humaine (1842–55) of Honoré de Balzac, and with the novels of Jane Austen, Anthony Trollope, Charles Dickens, and George Meredith.