E-text prepared by Steven desJardins
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Transcriber's note:
Typographical errors from the original 1806 editionhave been preserved.

There seems to be required by a number of well meaning persons of thepresent day a degree of moral perfection in a play, which few literaryworks attain; and in which sermons, and other holy productions, are attimes deficient, though written with the purest intention.
To criticise any book, besides the present drama, was certainly not apremeditated design in writing this little essay; but in support of theposition—that every literary work, however guided by truth, mayoccasionally swerve into error, it may here be stated that the meekspirit of christianity can seldom be traced in any of those piouswritings where our ancient religion, the church of Rome, and its clergy,are the subjects: and that political writers, in the time of war,laudably impelled, will slander public enemies into brutes, that thenation may hate them without offence to brotherly love.
Articles of sacred faith are often so piously, yet so ignorantlyexpounded in what are termed systems of education and instruction—that[Pg 4]doubts are created, where all was before secure, and infidelity sown,where it was meant to be extirpated.
In this general failure of human perfection, the German author of thisplay has compassionated—and with a high, a sublime, example beforehim—an adultress. But Kotzebue's pity, vitiated by his imperfectnature, has, it is said, deviated into vice; by restoring this woman toher former rank in life, under the roof of her injured husband.
To reconcile to the virtuous spectator this indecorum, most calamitouswoes are first depicted as the consequence of illicit love. The desertedhusband and the guilty wife are both presented to the audience asvoluntary exiles from society: the one through poignant sense of sorrowfor the connubial happiness he has lost—the other, from deep contritionfor the guilt she has incurred.
The language, as well as the plot and incidents, of this play, describe,with effect, those multiplied miseries which the dishonour of a wifespreads around; but draws more especially upon herself, her husband, andher children.
Kemble's emaciated frame, sunken eye, drooping head, and death-likepaleness; his heart-piercing lamentation, that—"he trusted a friend whorepaid his hospitality, by alluring from him all that his soul helddear,"—