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Macbeth
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WHEN Duncan the Meek reigned king
of Scotland, there lived a great thane, or lord, called Macbeth. This Macbeth
was a near kinsman to the king, and in great esteem at court for his valour
and conduct in the wars; an example of which he had lately given, in
defeating a rebel army assisted by the troops of Norway in terrible numbers.
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The
two Scottish generals, Macbeth and Banquo, returning victorious from this
great battle, their way lay over a blasted heath, where they were stopped by
the strange appearance of three figures like women, except that they had
beards, and their withered skins and wild attire made them look not like any
earthly creatures. Macbeth first addressed them, when they, seemingly
offended, laid each one her choppy finger upon her skinny lips, in token of
silence; and the first of them saluted Macbeth with the title of thane of
Glamis. The general was not a little startled to find himself known by such
creatures; but how much more, when the second of them followed up that salute
by giving him the title of thane of Cawdor, to which honour he had no
pretensions; and again the third bid him “All hail! king that shalt be
hereafter!” Such a prophetic greeting might well amaze him, who knew that
while the king’s sons lived he could not hope to succeed to the throne. Then
turning to Banquo, they pronounced him, in a sort of riddling terms, to
belesser than Macbeth and greater! not so happy, but much happier! and
prophesied that though he should never reign, yet his sons after him should
be kings in Scotland. They then turned into air, and vanished: by which the
generals knew them to be the weird sisters, or witches.
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While
they stood pondering on the strangeness of this adventure, there arrived
certain messengers from the king, who were empowered by him to confer upon
Macbeth the dignity of thane of Cawdor: an event so miraculously
corresponding with the prediction of the witches astonished Macbeth, and he
stood wrapped in amazement, unable to make reply to the messengers; and in
that point of time swelling hopes arose in his mind that the prediction of
the third witch might in like manner have its accomplishment, and that he
should one day reign king in Scotland.
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Turning
to Banquo, he said, “Do you not hope that your children shall be kings, when
what the witches promised to me has so wonderfully come to pass?”—“That
hope,” answered the general, “might enkindle you to aim at the throne; but
oftentimes these ministers of darkness tell us truths in little things, to
betray us into deeds of greatest consequence.”
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But
the wicked suggestions of the witches had sunk too deep into the mind of
Macbeth to allow him to attend to the warnings of the good Banquo. From that
time he bent all his thoughts how to compass the throne of Scotland.
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Macbeth
had a wife, to whom he communicated the strange prediction of the weird
sisters, and its partial accomplishment. She was a bad, ambitious woman, and
so as her husband and herself could arrive at greatness, she cared not much
by what means. She spurred on the reluctant purpose of Macbeth, who felt
compunction at the thoughts of blood, and did not cease to represent the
murder of the king as a step absolutely necessary to the fulfilment of the
flattering prophecy.
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It
happened at this time that the king, who out of his royal condescension would
oftentimes visit his principal nobility upon gracious terms, came to
Macbeth’s house, attended by his two sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, and a
numerous train of thanes and attendants, the more to honour Macbeth for the
triumphal success of his wars.
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The
castle of Macbeth was pleasantly situated, and the air about it was sweet and
wholesome, which appeared by the nests which the martlet, or swallow, had
built under all the jutting friezes and buttresses of the building, wherever
it found a place of advantage; for where those birds most breed and haunt,
the air is observed to be delicate. The king entered well-pleased with the
place, and not less so with the attentions and respect of his honoured
hostess, lady Macbeth, who had the art of covering treacherous purposes with
smiles; and could look like the innocent flower, while she was indeed the
serpent under it.
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The
king being tired with his journey, went early to bed, and in his state-room
two grooms of his chamber (as was the custom) slept beside him. He had been
unusually pleased with his reception, and had made presents before he retired
to his principal officers; and among the rest, had sent a rich diamond to
lady Macbeth, greeting her by the name of his most kind hostess.
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Now
was the middle of night, when over half the world nature seems dead, and
wicked dreams abuse men’s minds asleep, and none but the wolf and the
murderer is abroad. This was the time when lady Macbeth waked to plot the
murder of the king. She would not have undertaken a deed so abhorrent to her
sex, but that she feared her husband’s nature, that it was too full of the
milk of human kindness, to do a contrived murder. She knew him to be
ambitious, but withal to be scrupulous, and not yet prepared for that height
of crime which commonly in the end accompanies inordinate ambition. She had
won him to consent to the murder, but she doubted his resolution; and she
feared that the natural tenderness of his disposition (more humane than her
own) would come between, and defeat the purpose.
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So
with her own hands armed with a dagger, she approached the king’s bed; having
taken care to ply the grooms of his chamber so with wine, that they slept
intoxicated, and careless of their charge. There lay Duncan in a sound sleep
after the fatigues of his journey, and as she viewed him earnestly, there was
something in his face, as he slept, which resembled her own father; and she
had not the courage to proceed.
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She
returned to confer with her husband. His resolution had begun to stagger. He
considered that there were strong reasons against the deed. In the first
place, he was not only a subject, but a near kinsman to the king; and he had
been his host and entertainer that day, whose duty, by the laws of
hospitality, it was to shut the door against his murderers, not bear the
knife himself. Then he considered how just and merciful a king this Duncan
had been, how clear of offence to his subjects, how loving to his nobility,
and in particular to him; that such kings are the peculiar care of Heaven,
and their subjects doubly bound to revenge their deaths. Besides, by the
favours of the king, Macbeth stood high in the opinion of all sorts of men,
and how would those honours be stained by the reputation of so foul a murder!
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In
these conflicts of the mind lady Macbeth found her husband inclining to the
better part, and resolving to proceed no further. But she being a woman not
easily shaken from her evil purpose, began to pour in at his ears words which
infused a portion of her own spirit into his mind, assigning reason upon
reason why he should not shrink from what he had undertaken, how easy the
deed was; how soon it would be over; and how the action of one short night
would give to all their nights and days to come sovereign sway and royalty!
Then she threw contempt on his change of purpose, and accused him of
fickleness and cowardice; and declared that she had given suck, and knew how
tender it was to love the babe “:hat milked her; but she would, while it was
smiling in her face, have plucked it from her breast, and dashed its brains
out, if she had so sworn to do it, as he had sworn to perform that murder.
Then she added, how practicable it was to lay the guilt of the deed upon the
drunken sleepy grooms. And with the valour of her tongue she so chastised his
sluggish resolutions, that he once more summoned up courage to the bloody
business.
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So,
taking the dagger in his hand, he softly stole in the dark to the room where
Duncan lay; and as he went, he thought he saw another dagger in the air, with
the handle towards him, and on the blade and at the point of it drops of
blood; but when he tried to grasp at it, it was nothing but air, a mere
phantasm proceeding from his own hot and oppressed brain and the business he
had in hand.
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Getting
rid of this fear, he entered the king’s room, whom he despatched with one
stroke of his dagger. Just as he had done the murder, one of the grooms, who
slept in the chamber, laughed in his sleep, and the other cried, “Murder,”
which woke them both, but they said a short prayer; one of them said, “God
bless us!” and the other answered “Amen;” and addressed themselves to sleep
again. Macbeth, who stood listening to them, tried to say “Amen,” when the
fellow said “God bless us!” but, though he had most need of a blessing, the
word stuck in his throat, and he could not pronounce it.
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Again
he thought he heard a voice which cried, “Sleep no more: Macbeth cloth murder
sleep, the innocent sleep, that nourishes life.” Still it cried, “Sleep no
more,” to all the house. “Glamis hath murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor
shall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more.”
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With
such horrible imaginations Macbeth returned to his listening wife, who began
to think he had failed of his purpose, and that the deed was somehow
frustrated. He came in so distracted a state, that she reproached him with
his want of firmness, and sent him to wash his hands of the blood which
stained them, while she took his dagger, with purpose to stain the cheeks of
the grooms with blood, to make it seem their guilt.
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Morning
came, and with it the discovery of the murder, which could not be concealed;
and though Macbeth and his lady made great show of grief, and the proofs
against the grooms (the dagger being produced against them and their faces
smeared with blood) were sufficiently strong, yet the entire suspicion fell
upon Macbeth, whose inducements to such a deed were so much more forcible than
such poor silly grooms could be supposed to have; and Duncan’s two sons fled.
Malcolm, the eldest, sought for refuge in the English court; and the
youngest, Donalbain, made his escape to Ireland.
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The
king’s sons, who should have succeeded him, having thus vacated the throne,
Macbeth as next heir was crowned king, and thus the prediction of the weird
sisters was literally accomplished.
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Though
placed so high, Macbeth and his queen could not forget the prophecy of the
weird sisters, that, though Macbeth should be king, yet not his children, but
the children of Banquo, should be kings after him. The thought of this, and
that they had defiled their hands with blood, and done so great crimes, only
to place the posterity of Banquo upon the throne, so rankled within them,
that they determined to put to death both Banquo and his son, to make void
the predictions of the weird sisters, which in their own case had been so
remarkably brought to pass.
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For
this purpose they made a great supper, to which they invited all the chief
thanes; and, among the rest, with marks of particular respect, Banquo and his
son Fleance were invited. The way by which Banquo was to pass to the palace
at night was beset by murderers appointed by Macbeth, who stabbed Banquo; but
in the scuffle Fleance escaped. From that Fleance descended a race of
monarchs who afterwards filled the Scottish throne, ending with James the
Sixth of Scotland and the First of England, under whom the two crowns of
England and Scotland were united.
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At
supper, the queen, whose manners were in the highest degree affable and
royal, played the hostess with a gracefulness and attention which conciliated
every one present, and Macbeth discoursed freely with his thanes and nobles,
saying, that all that was honourable in the country was under his roof, if he
had but his good friend Banquo present, whom yet he hoped he should rather
have to chide for neglect, than to lament for any mischance. Just at these
words the ghost of Banquo, whom he had caused to be murdered, entered the
room and placed himself on the chair which Macbeth was about to occupy.
Though Macbeth was a bold man, and one that could have faced the devil
without trembling, at this horrible sight his cheeks turned white with fear,
and he stood quite unmanned with his eyes fixed upon the ghost. His queen and
all the nobles, who saw nothing, but perceived him gazing (as they thought)
upon an empty chair, took it for a fit of distraction; and she reproached
him, whispering that it was but the same fancy which made him see the dagger
in the air, when he was about to kill Duncan. But Macbeth continued to see
the ghost, and gave no heed to all they could say, while he addressed it with
distracted words, yet so significant, that his queen, fearing the dreadful
secret would be disclosed, in great haste dismissed the guests, excusing the
infirmity of Macbeth as a disorder he was often troubled with.
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To
such dreadful fancies Macbeth was subject. His queen and he had their sleeps
afflicted with terrible dreams, and the blood of Banquo troubled them not
more than the escape of Fleance, whom now they looked upon as father to a
line of kings who should keep their posterity out of the throne. With these
miserable thoughts they found no peace, and Macbeth determined once more to
seek out the weird sisters, and know from them the worst.
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He
sought them in a cave upon the heath, where they, who knew by foresight of
his coming, were engaged in preparing their dreadful charms, by which they
conjured up infernal spirits to reveal to them futurity. Their horrid
ingredients were toads, bats, and serpents, the eye of a newt, and the tongue
of a dog, the leg of a lizard, and the wing of the night-owl, the scale of a
dragon, the tooth of a wolf, the maw of the ravenous salt-sea shark, the
mummy of a witch, the root of the poisonous hemlock (this to have effect must
be digged in the dark), the gall of a goat, and the liver of a Jew, with
slips of the yew tree that roots itself in graves, and the finger of a dead
child: all these were set on to boil in a great kettle, or cauldron, which,
as fast as it grew too hot, was cooled with a baboon’s blood: to these they
poured in the blood of a sow that had eaten her young, and they threw into
the flame the grease that had sweaten from a murderer’s gibbet. By these charms
they bound the infernal spirits to answer their questions.
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It
was demanded of Macbeth, whether he would have his doubts resolved by them,
or by their masters, the spirits. He, nothing daunted by the dreadful
ceremonies which he saw, boldly answered, “Where are they? let me see them.”
And they called the spirits, which were three. And the first arose in the
likeness of an armed head, and he called Macbeth by name, and bid him beware
of the thane of Fife; for which caution Macbeth thanked him; for Macbeth had
entertained a jealousy of Macduff, the thane of Fife.
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And
the second spirit arose in the likeness of a bloody child, and he called
Macbeth by name, and bid him have no fear, but laugh to scorn the power of
man, for none of woman born should have power to hurt him; and he advised him
to be bloody, bold, and resolute. “Then live, Macduff! cried the king; “what
need I fear of thee? but yet I will make assurance doubly sure. Thou shalt
not live; that I may tell pale-hearted Fear it lies, and sleep in spite of
thunder.”
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That
spirit being dismissed, a third arose in the form of a child crowned, with a
tree in his hand. He called Macbeth by name, and comforted him against
conspiracies, saying, that he should never be vanquished, until the wood of
Birnam to Dunsinane Hill should come against him. “Sweet bodements! good!”
cried Macbeth, “who can unfix the forest, and move it from its earth-bound
roots? I see I shall live the usual period of man’s life, and not be cut off
by a violent death. But my heart throbs to know one thing. Tell me, if your
art can tell so much, if Banquo’s issue shall ever reign in this kingdom?”
Here the cauldron sank into the ground, and a noise of music was heard, and
eight shadows, like kings, passed by Macbeth, and Banquo last, who bore a glass
which showed the figures of many more, and Banquo all bloody smiled upon
Macbeth, and pointed to them; by which Macbeth knew that these were the
posterity of Banquo, who should reign after him in Scotland; and the witches,
with a sound of soft music, and with dancing, making a show of duty and
welcome to Macbeth, vanished. And from this time the thoughts of Macbeth were
all bloody and dreadful.
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The
first thing he heard when he got out of the witches’ cave, was that Macduff,
thane of Fife, had fled to England, to join the army which was forming
against him under Malcolm, the eldest son of the late king, with intent to
displace Macbeth, and set Malcolm, the right heir, upon the throne. Macbeth,
stung with rage, set upon the castle of Macduff, and put his wife and
children, whom the thane had left behind, to the sword, and extended the
slaughter to all who claimed the least relationship to Macduff.
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These
and such-like deeds alienated the minds of all his chief nobility from him.
Such as could, fled to join with Malcolm and Macduff, who were now
approaching with a powerful army, which they had raised in England; and the
rest secretly wished success to their arms, though for fear of Macbeth they
could take no active part. His recruits went on slowly. Everybody hated the
tyrant; nobody loved or honoured him; but all suspected him, and he began to envy
the condition of Duncan, whom he had murdered, who slept soundly in his
grave, against whom treason had done its worst: steel nor poison, domestic
malice nor foreign levies, could hurt him any longer.
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While
these things were acting, the queen, who had been the sole partner in his
wickedness, in whose bosom he could sometimes seek a momentary repose from
those terrible dreams which afflicted them both nightly, died, it is supposed,
by her own hands, unable to bear the remorse of guilt, and public hate; by
which event he was left alone, without a soul to love or care for him, or a
friend to whom he could confide his wicked purposes.
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He
grew careless of life, and wished for death, but the near approach of
Malcolm’s army roused in him what remained of his ancient courage, and he
determined to die (as he expressed it) “with armour on his back.” Besides
this, the hollow promises of the witches had filled him with a false
confidence, and he remembered the sayings of the spirits, that none of woman
born was to hurt him, and that he was never to be vanquished till Birnam wood
should come to Dunsinane, which he thought could never be. So he shut himself
up in his castle, whose impregnable strength was such as defied a siege: here
he sullenly waited the approach of Malcolm. When, upon a day, there came a
messenger to him, pale and shaking with fear, almost unable to report that
which he had seen; for he averred, that as he stood upon his watch on the
hill, he looked towards Birnam, and to his thinking the wood began to move!
“Liar and slave!” cried Macbeth, “if thou speakest false, thou shalt hang
alive upon the next tree, till famine end thee. If thy tale be true, I care
not if thou cost as much by me;” for Macbeth now began to faint in
resolution, and to doubt the equivocal speeches of the spirits. He was not to
fear till Birnam wood should come to Dunsinane; and now a wood did move!
“However,” said he, “if this which he avouches be true, let us arm and out.
There is no flying hence, nor staying here. I begin to be weary of the sun,
and wish my life at an end.” With these desperate speeches he sallied forth
upon the besiegers, who had now come up to the castle.
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The
strange appearance which had given the messenger an idea of a wood moving is
easily solved. When the besieging army marched through the wood of Birnam,
Malcolm, like a skilful general, instructed his soldiers to hew down every
one a bough and bear it before him, by way of concealing the true numbers of
his host. This marching of the soldiers with boughs had at a distance the
appearance which had frightened the messenger. Thus were the words of the
spirit brought to pass, in a sense different from that in which Macbeth had
understood them, and one great hold of his confidence was gone.
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And
now a severe skirmishing took place, in which Macbeth, though feebly
supported by those who called themselves his friends, but in reality hated
the tyrant and inclined to the party of Malcolm and Macduff, yet fought with
the extreme of rage and valour, cutting to pieces all who were opposed to
him, till he came to where Macduff was fighting. Seeing Macduff, and
remembering the caution of the spirit who had counselled him to avoid
Macduff, above all men, he would have turned, but Macduff, who had been
seeking him through the whole fight, opposed his turning, and a fierce
contest ensued; Macduff giving him many foul reproaches for the murder of his
wife and children. Macbeth, whose soul was charged enough with blood of that
family already, would still have declined the combat: but Macduff still urged
him to it, calling him tyrant, murderer, hell-hound, and villain.
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Then
Macbeth remembered the words of the spirit, how none of woman born should
hurt him; and smiling confidently he said to Macduff, “Thou losest thy
labour, Macduff. As easily thou mayest impress the air with thy sword, as
make me vulnerable. I bear a charmed life, which must not yield to one of
woman born.”
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“Despair
thy charm,” said Macduff, “and let that lying spirit whom thou hast served,
tell thee, that Macduff was never born of woman, never as the ordinary manner
of men is to be born, but was untimely taken from his mother.”
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“Accursed
be the tongue which tells me so,” said the trembling Macbeth, who felt his
last hold of confidence give way; “and let never man in future believe the
lying equivocations of witches and juggling spirits, who deceive us in words
which have double senses, and while they keep their promise literally,
disappoint our hopes with a different meaning. I will not fight with thee.”
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“Then
live!” said the scornful Macduff; “we will have a show of thee, as men show
monsters, and a painted board, on which shall be written, ‘Here men may see
the tyrant!’
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“Never,”
said Macbeth, whose courage returned with despair; “I will not live to kiss
the ground before young Malcolm’s feet, and to be baited with the curses of
the rabble. Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, and thou opposed to me,
who west never born of woman, yet will I try the last.” With these frantic
words he threw himself upon Macduff, who, after a severe struggle, in the end
overcame him, and cutting off his head, made a present of it to the young and
lawful king, Malcolm, who took upon him the government which, by the
machinations of the usurper, he had so long been deprived of, and ascended
the throne of Duncan the Meek, amid the acclamations of the nobles and the
people.
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