than his own ferocious and sanguinary disposition. He is disturbed by no compunctions of conscience

and when he has attained the object of his ambition, crime, which was at first only the stepping stone to his power, becomes his amusement. Macbeth is naturally virtuous; every wicked action costs him severe stings of remorse; but he is urged on from crime to crime, by the instigation of his wife, and by a sort of mysterious fatality. The predictions of the witches act upon him like a charm. His courage, which was at first so noble, becomes merely the blind energy of a disordered mind. Lady Macbeth, on the contrary, by her obstinate ambition and masculine perseverance, exercises over her husband all the ascendancy of a great mind. Her criminal thirst for power assumes an air of heroism. Yet she is not without some touches of feminine tenderness, and she excites a certain degree of interest through her attachment to her husband, and the feeling of filial affection which is awakened in her bosom by the resemblance of the venerable countenance of Duncan to that of her father.

Mrs. West, who is as beautiful as one of Guido's Magdalens, is, unfortunately, too much of the woman for the correct personification of Lady Macbeth. She appears particularly tame and feeble to those who recollect Mrs. Siddons. Of this celebrated woman Hazlitt observes, that it is impossible to conceive anything superior to her performance of Lady Macbeth. The dignity of her deportment, her expressive countenance, and the

exquisite tones of her voice, all combined to render her a perfect representative of the tragic muse. The performance of Mrs. Siddons was powerfully impressive in that appalling scene in which Lady Macbeth walks in her sleep. Her eyes were open, but "their sense was shut;" she seemed to have lost all consciousness of existence; her lips moved as it were involuntarily; all her gestures were mechanical; and she glided on and off the stage like a ghost.

Kean, in spite of all his genius, is not in himself sufficient to give full effect to the representation of this tragedy. The vigour and truth of his performance would be shewn off to infinitely greater advantage with an actress equal to himself in the character of Lady Macbeth, Kean's Macbeth is, upon the whole, a less perfect performance than his Richard III.; but he surpasses even himself in the scene in which he rushes from Duncan's chamber, after the perpetration of the murder. Shakspeare has not made Macbeth launch into one of those declamations of remorse which are, perhaps, of too frequent occurrence in tragedy. Macbeth enters, after the commission of the murder, overwhelmed by the weight of his crime; his knees tremble, and almost refuse to support him; his lips are agitated by a convulsive movement, and only half articulate the stifled accents of his voice. Lady Macbeth takes the bloody daggers from him and carries them to Duncan's chamber, where she lays them beside his sleeping attendants, to make it appear they are the mur

derers. A knocking is heard at the gate of the castle. Macbeth trembles, and gazes with terror on his blood-stained hands. He has not power to fly, and Lady Macbeth drags him to his chamber. From that moment Macbeth seems to be absorbed in a continual dream. Amidst the splendour of his usurped greatness, his diseased imagination feeds itself on superstition, and the Weird Sisters, by their artful prophecies, excite his impatience and urge him to his destruction.

I was fearful that Kean would descend to some of those trivialities, which, though perfectly natural in Richard, would have compromised the dignity which a less bold usurper, such as Macbeth, must feel the necessity of maintaining. Familiarity would be utterly inconsistent with the situation of a king de facto, who, being conscious of his own weakness, and feeling his throne totter beneath him, naturally clings to any support, whether real or imaginary. Kean has evidently studied Shakspeare profoundly. He has philosophically analysed all those characters, with which, on the stage, he seems to identify himself by inspiration.

On the evening on which I saw Kean in Macbeth, Cooper sustained the part of Macduff. He performed this character very much in the style in which he played Richmond, and his fencing was admirable. He was very effective in the scene where Rosse informs him that his wife, children, and servants have been slaughtered by the tyrant, and where, on his friends wishing to console him

by the hope of vengeance on Macbeth, he exclaims-" He has no children!"

I will not attempt to analyse the piece which concluded the evening's entertainments. Monsieur Tonson is one of those insipid productions founded on absurd blunders, the author of which exposes himself to ridicule in attempting to entertain the galleries by a supposed caricature of the French. M. Tonson is an emigrant, who turns perruquier, apparently with no other object than to confirm John Bull in the belief that Providence has assigned to the English the honour of supplying Europe with clever heads, and to France the task of providing those heads with wigs. A coxcomb diverts himself by tormenting the old man, by exciting his fear and impatience; and poor M. Tonson becomes rather an object of pity than ridicule. I could not bring myself to laugh at the stupid blunders which were uttered by Gattie, his grotesque faces, or the accommodating easiness with which he suffered himself to be mystified. The performers of Drury Lane theatre seem to possess more talent for broad farce than for genuine comedy.

LETTER XXXII.

TO M. DESFONTAINES.

I HAVE seen Kean in Othello; but I shall not give you any account of his performance until I see the same play represented at Covent Garden. I subjoin for your amusement a few particulars, which I have collected respecting the Roscius of Drury Lane.

Edmund Kean was born on the 4th of November, 1787. His father was a tailor, and resided in London, and his grand-father, Moses Kean, enjoyed some reputation as a mimic and ventriloquist. Kean's parents, who were too poor to maintain him, procured for him, as soon as he could walk, an engagement at Drury Lane theatre, where he used to perform in pantomime. He was placed under the tuition of a celebrated posture master, who subjected his limbs to so many contortions, that they acquired wonderful flexibility. The English would, in all probability, have had a rival to our Mazurier, had not the child's health suffered by this system of training. His joints became distorted and deformed. By the advice of the faculty, all the remedies of orthopedia were employed, and his limbs were put into irons. Young Kean had before personated Cupid, in Garrick's afterpiece of Cymon; but the manager now gave him the part of a goblin, for