nd unmerciful folios now
consigned to utter oblivion, were in that reign not only universally
read and admired, but supposed to furnish the most perfect models of
gallantry and heroism; although, in the words of an elegant female
author, these celebrated writings are justly described as containing
only "unnatural representations of the passions, false sentiments, false
precepts, false wit, false honour, and false modesty, with a strange
heap of improbable, unnatural incidents, mixed up with true history, and
fastened upon some of the great names of antiquity."[3] Yet upon the
model of such works were framed the court manners of the reign of Louis,
and, in imitation of them, the French tragedy, in which every king was
by prescriptive right a hero, every female a goddess, every tyrant a
fire-breathing chimera, and every soldier an irresistible Amadis; in
which, when perfected, we find lofty sentiments, splendid imagery,
eloquent expression, sound morality, everything but the language of
human passion and human character. In the hands of Corneille, and still
more in those of Racine, much of the absurdity of the original model was
cleared away, and much that was valuable substituted in its stead; but
the plan being fundamentally wrong, the high talents of these authors
unfortunately only tended to reconcile their countrymen to a style of
writing which must otherwise have fallen into contempt. Such as it was,
it rose into high favour at the court of Louis XIV., and was by Charles
introduced upon the English stage. "The favour which heroic plays have
lately found upon our theatres," says our author himself, "have been
wholly derived to them from the countenance and approbation they have
received at court."[4]

The French comedy, although Moliere was in the zenith of his reputation,
appears not to have possessed equal charms for the English monarch. The
same restraint of decorum, which prevented the expression of natural
passion in tragedy, prohibited all indelicate licence in comedy.
Charles, probably, was secretly pleased with a system, which cramped the
effusions of the tragic muse, and forbade, as indecorous, those bursts
of rapturous enthusiasm, which might sometimes contain matter unpleasing
to a royal ear.[5] But the merry monarch saw no good reason why the muse
of comedy should be compelled to "dwell in decencies for ever," and did
not feel at all degraded when enjoying a gross pleasantry, or profane
witticism, in comp