play, has to be dehumanised. To me--as I penetrate the Fourth Act--the
whole business becomes ludicrous: not sanely comic, or even quite sanely
absurd: but bizarre, and ridiculously bizarre at that. It has no "idea"
at all, no relation to the Universal in the shape of any moral order,
"law," fate, doom, destiny. It is just a box of tricks, of raw heads and
bloody bones, left with the lid open. That is false "idealising";
Webster choosing his effect and "improving" it for all he was
worth--which (let it be added) was a great deal.

* * * * *

Turn from _The Duchess of Malfy_ to _Macbeth_, and you find an English
poet as sensitive of fate, doom, destiny, "law," the moral order, as
ever was Aeschylus; nay, interpreting it perhaps more effectively than
ever did Aeschylus. In the First Act we see it suggested to Macbeth by
witchcraft (which is the personified foe of moral order) that he can
achieve an ambition by an unlawful path, the ambition itself being
suggested along with the way to it and growing as the way opens. We see
them both communicated to a feminine mind, narrower, more intent and
practical; because narrower, because more intent and practical, for the
moment more courageous. (It was Eve that the Serpent, wily enough,
selected to tempt.) Both Macbeth and his lady move to the deed under a
law which--for a while--has usurped the true moral order and reversed
it, he not without misgivings: the spectators all the while knowing the
true order, yet held silent, watching the event. Outside the castle an
owl hoots as Duncan is slain. The guilty man and woman creep back,
whispering; and thereupon--what happens? A knocking on the door--a
knocking followed by the growls of a drowsy if not drunken porter:
"Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should
have old turning the key. (Knocking again.) Knock, knock, knock! Who's