THE PURITAN.

No. 35.

It is also obvious, that, though the description of a passion or affection may give us pleasure, whether it be described by the agent or spectator, yet, to those who would apply the inventions of the poet to the uses of philosophic investigation, it is far from being of equal utility with the passion exactly imitated. The talent of imitation, is very different from description, and far superior.

Richardson on Shakspeare.

MORALITY OF MACBETH.

I AM one of those who have no faith in the morality of the theatre. It is long since I have entered those dissolute walls; and I know not that I ever carried from a dramatic performance a salutary impression. A sarcastic friend tells me the fault was my own; he assures me, I wanted the finer feelings which these oblique instructions were designed to reach; and that it is only on the chords of a nicer sensibility, that the tones of the drama will act. He informs me that I never had wit enough to guess the riddle; and that

it was in the latent meaning of the well-wrought scene, that the best instruction was found. It may be so; if there was any deep moral instruction in the theatre, it was always latent to me; and therefore I, have long since left the school from which no profit was derived. Yet I once listened to the public exhibition of the drama, with the deepest interest and delight. Though I never saw on our stage that perfection of art which we read of in Garrick; the art which is lost in nature, and leads the spectator to forget that it is acting which he sees; yet, I used to admire the fine tones of Cooper, the majesty of Fennel, and the simplicity of Mrs. Jones. Still I never saw a tragedy, (especially of Shakspeare's,) which I thought, on the whole, improved in the acting.*

*This very tragedy, (Macbeth,) is a striking example, of how completely the designs of the poet may fail in the public exhibition. There can be no doubt that the author meant that the appearance of the witches should be exceedingly solemn; he wished to thrill our blood, when these agents of the world of darkness meet their victim, and allure him to perdition, by their metaphysical aid. Yet I question, whether it is possible, to introduce three great strapping men on the stage, in the shape of women, with beards on their chins, and broomsticks in their hands, and not make the whole theatre laugh. The whole intended effect of such a scene, must be lost. Though it is many years since I have seen a play, yet I distinctly recollect that the cauldron-scene in the fourth act was, in its effect on the audience, a perfect farce. Not all the agonies which Cooper was accustomed to excite in himself, when the armed head arose, could make the audience sympathize with

Certain passages were, to be sure, elevated to a rant ; an unexpected emphasis was given to certain lines; but the general tenor of the play was enfeebled; and its pathos and its moral, (if it had a moral,) were less striking on the public scene, than in the closet.

With little faith, then, in the charms of the theatre, and still less in its utility as a school of morals, I cannot help seeing that the dramatic form is the most striking mode of exhibiting the human heart; and that such exhibitions may be moral, so long as example is a motive to action. I assent to the proposition of the critics, that a good drama, is the highest effort of human genius; and, perhaps, no man can give a faithful analysis of human nature, without exhibiting truths, from which a moral inference may be drawn. The great masters of human nature, however corrupt their own designs may be, must sometimes be teachers. Their keen discernment leads to truth; and virtue is built on truth. Rousseau himself, with all his ravings, is often moral; and moral without meaning to be so. new in the structure of the human mind, we see more

When we see something

him. We saw nothing but a company of ridiculous old women, talking mummery, while they were boiling a pot. When we read this play, we can imagine the existence of witchcraft, enough to feel its power; but when we see it acted, the dream is broken, and we cannot but laugh. Perhaps the effect becomes more ludicrous, from the sublimity of the design. We laugh at the farcical effect; and we laugh more at the contrast.

clearly the pivots on which the passions turn, and the foundations on which actions are built. We advance in self-knowledge. The corrupt writer, who explores the mind, is like the assassin, who rips open the body; in both cases, it was malice which urged the attempt; but the moralist may enlarge his knowledge from the one crime, and the anatomist from the other; and both may turn their discoveries to a good ac

count.

Of all the dramatic writers, it seems to me that Shakspeare is the most moral, though such a design, when he sat down to write, was the farthest from his thoughts. He is moral, because he gave himself up to a kind of instinctive perception of what is true in human nature; and thus made his character just what God has made man-a moral being. His pictures are so true, his course of events is often (not always) so natural, that we receive the same impression from his drama, as from the living world. Now no one can doubt that the course of events is moral. If the life of any man, the worst that ever breathed, were written faithfully by some recording angel, it would be a fine moral lesson. Thus Shakspeare is the most instructive of the dramatic writers, because he painted the human heart just as God made it.

I have remarked, that he wrote without any moral design; and as a proof of the truth of this remark, I would adduce one of his most moral plays. Mac

beth is one of the noblest productions of his genius. To say nothing of its fine language,—the charming antique of the expression,-the unity of the interest,-the change in the fortunes of the actors, and the solemn grandeur of the events; we see there an amiable man, beginning the career of prosperity; with many excellent qualities, but corrupted by ambition,-tempted to crime,-dallying with the temptation,-yielding,-and going from step to step, until he dies in a misery as deep as his guilt was great. Never were the balancings of the mind between duty and transgression, brought out more fully; and never were the agonies of remorse more strongly painted. Every scene seems to say,-Resist the beginnings of evil; and beware, beware of those peculiar tempta tions, which are most powerful, because they are most adapted to your character. Yet we have reason to think that this fine play was written without any moral purpose. Shakspeare went through it with as much non-chalance as he wrote the filthy scenes in Love's Labor Lost. There is a passage in Burnet's History, which, I apprehend, explains the object of this play. The king (James I.) was once hunting at Theobalds in a very careless and unguarded manner. Sir Dudley Carlton told him, that "Queen Elizabeth was a woman of form, and was so well attended, that all the plots of the Jesuits to assassinate her, failed ; but a prince, who was always in woods and forests, would be easily overtaken. The king sent for him