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 A great soul in conflict: 
 
 3 1924 013 f4o-524"' 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013140524 
 
A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 A CRITICAL STUDY OF 
 SHAKESPEARE'S MASTER-WORK 
 
 BY 
 
 SIMON A. BLACKMORB, S. J. 
 
 PKOFESSOK OF ENGLISH LITEEATUKE IN CAJIPION COLLEQB 
 
 "Men at some time are masters of their fates: 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. 
 But in ourselves." 
 
 SCOTT, FORBSMAN AND COMPANY 
 CHICAGO NEW YORK 
 
^^ 
 
 
 /^."SIa £ 8 ^^ 
 
 Copyright 1914 
 
 BY 
 
 SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 
 
PEEFACE 
 
 No treatise is required to show forth Shakespeare's 
 greatness; it was never questioned. The estimate of his 
 contemporaries is disclosed in the inscription on the mon- 
 ument which they erected in the church at Stratford-on- 
 Avon shortly after his death. In that epitaph he is hailed 
 as unsurpassed by the grand luminaries of antiquity; a 
 Nestor in wisdom, a Socrates in genius, and a Virgil in 
 literary art, he so excels all other contemporary writers that 
 they seem his pages or menials. 
 
 With the ascendency of Puritanism and its spirit of 
 hostility to the stage, his literary fame began to suffer an 
 eclipse, which continued to deepen down to the days of 
 Dryden, who, the first of modern critics to appreciate his 
 greatness, summarized it in the lofty eulogy: "Shakespeare 
 was the man who of all modern and ancient poets had the 
 largest and the most comprehensive soul." In the century 
 following, when reigned the influence of Pope and Johnson, 
 his excellence became gradually apparent to all English 
 critics, and with Garrick his Plays once more took the stage ; 
 but the century after brought the great revival, and when 
 Coleridge and Hazlitt appeared to expound him, then for 
 the first time the clouds were rifted, and he shone forth a 
 fixed star of the first magnitude with a splendor unequalled 
 in our literary heavens. 
 
 As a dramatist he is recognized without a peer, and as a 
 poet, but one or two have attained sufficient fame to reach with 
 him the same Parnassian heights. His knowledge of human 
 nature, depth of feeling, richness of fancy, abundance of 
 humor, strength and felicity of expression, and soundness of 
 judgment, are all elements in the greatness of his genius. 
 His masterpieces, the tragedies, remain the never ceasing 
 topic of inspiration; but commentaries, as experience shows, 
 
 3 
 
4 PREFACE 
 
 oftentimes offer difficulties to Catholic readers who cannot 
 fail to notice that they not infrequently misinterpret certain 
 points, pass over others that need elucidation, ignore in 
 common the Poet's Faith and its influence upon his works, 
 and scarcely consider the religion and moral aspect of his 
 dramas. Attracted by his fame, as by a magnet, even the 
 Agnostic, the Pantheist, the Positivist, and the Materialist, 
 have culled out a line here and there from his writings, and, 
 by giving them artful interpretations, have fondly claimed 
 him for their own. 
 
 Though it be mooted still whether Shakespeare adhered 
 to the Faith of his fathers, or abandoned it to embrace the 
 new State religion, there is no doubt of his Christian belief. 
 But a man's religious principles influence his life, and views, 
 and sentiments, and, therefore, they must surely be weighed, 
 when estimating his character and interpreting his works. 
 A man writes as he is, a Turk as a Turk, a Jew as a Jew, 
 and a Christian as a Christian. He writes, not as an 
 abstraction, but as a complex being of a living soul and 
 body, and all that this implies: a mind swayed by truth or 
 error, a will inclined to virtue or to vice, a heart pulsating 
 in a body alive with human emotions, energies, conflicting 
 passions, sympathies and antipathies, and subject to envi- 
 ronments and to the social, religious, and political conditions 
 of his times; and, therefore, though Shakespeare carefully 
 avoided the obtrusion of his own personality upon his 
 audience, he could not altogether frustrate the revelation of 
 his mind and heart in his dramatic creations. Effects may 
 be traced to their causes. As a statue is but the visible, 
 concrete form of the sculptor 's ideal creation, and reveals the 
 original image or exemplar as existing in the mind of the 
 artist with all its distinctive traits and qualities : so, in like 
 manner, Shakespeare 's characters, as they pass in view before 
 us, are but the objective embodiments of his own subjective, 
 or mental creations with all their distinctive hues and colors. 
 Hence, Brutus personifies patriotism; Coriolanus, pride; 
 lago, villany; Hamlet, honor; Queen Katharine, patience; 
 Cleopatra, sensuality; Edgar, justice; Henry V., true king- 
 
PREFACE 5 
 
 ship; Edmund, treachery; and Goneril, ingratitude. Every 
 character, either good or evil, discloses the Poet's own esti- 
 mate of vice and virtue. His caricatures of parsons show 
 his dislike of the new State religion, and his "reverent" 
 portraits of monks and nuns in those days of Elizabethan 
 persecution, reveal his deep-rooted love for the olden Faith. 
 Shakespeare's characters then, as the creatures of his mind, 
 must to a greater or less degree mirror the views and 
 sentiments of their creative artist, and, as a consequence, 
 be his own best interpreters. 
 
 The tragedy of Macbeth has ever been regarded with 
 distinctive preference. Beyond Shakespeare's other plays 
 it has won popular favor even among races other than the 
 Anglo-Saxon. This popularity may' be ascribed to its manifest 
 resemblance to classic tragedy, to its unity of design and 
 simplicity of development, to its pictorial charm, and to its 
 mysterious elements of the preternatural. Hamlet may 
 surpass other plays of Shakespeare in philosophic insight; 
 Othello in careful portrayal of characters; Lear in the power 
 of contending passions; and Cymbeline in the importance 
 of the moral principles involved; but in the transparency 
 of its plan, in the simple force of the harmonious, magnetic 
 current of its action, and in its nervous power, bold sweep, 
 and splendor of poetic diction, Macbeth, says Gervinus, 
 remains uniquely pre-eminent. Its elements are combined 
 with so little art, and yet to such a powerful effect as to give 
 us a drama unequalled in the poetry of any age.^ Some 
 readers may prefer Othello, others Lear; but the majority, 
 according to Hallam, agree that in Macbeth we possess a 
 great epic drama and, in fact, affirms Sir Francis Drake, the 
 grandest effort of Shakespeare's genius, the most sublime 
 and impressive tragedy that the world has ever seen. 
 
 In the following study of the tragedy the author has 
 devoted his attention mainly to aesthetic criticism, to the 
 analysis of dramatic motives, to the clear exposition of the 
 characters, and especially to the nature and action of the pre- 
 ternatural agents who in fiendish purpose have determined 
 
 1. Cf. Commentaries, p/ 583. 
 
6 PREFACE 
 
 upon the moral ruin of Macbeth. In the process it seemed 
 expedient to notice, not only the historic times in which the 
 drama is cast, but also the social and religious conditions of 
 the Poet's day, together with his views and sentiments, his 
 friendships and antipathies, with the hope of catching here 
 and there a glimpse of the great artist behind the mask of 
 his characters. How far the work may seem successful is 
 left to the judgment of the reader. 
 
 Though authorities, when quoted, are mentioned as far as 
 possible, the writer wishes to acknowledge obligations to 
 Shakespearean scholars who have brought together a fund of 
 information open to the world, and in particular to Dr. H. 
 Hudson, Mr. E. K. Chambers, Mr. R. G. Moulton, Mr. H. "W. 
 Mabie, and Dr. H. H. Purness. The text is based on that of 
 the Globe Edition, and The Variorum Shakespeare. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 INTEODUCTION 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Macbeth of History and of Legend — High Steward of Moray. 
 Pays homage to King Cnute. Ancestry. Alliance with Thorfinn. 
 Prosperous reign. Popular monarch. St. Berchan. Falls at 
 Lanfanan. The Macbeth of legend. Character and rapid 
 downfall fictitious. Rebellion of Dunwald and fate of Lady 
 Macbeth a myth. Banquo and Fleance unreal. Macbeth not 
 a historic play. Conflicting facts and fables ; 19 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Dramatic Structure — Laws of art. Romance and the drama. 
 Grecian drama. Triple unities. Influence of Renaissance. Sir 
 Philip Sydney. Schlegel. Unappreciated in France. Voltaire's 
 evil influence. Recognized in Germany. Heine's tribute. Most 
 popular in modern France; causes. Not blind to unities. His 
 idea of plot. The drama's surprising unity. Three parallelisms 22 
 
 CHAPTER III t''^ 
 
 The Preternatural Element — Essential to the tragedy. Influence 
 of the preternatural. Superstition an outward expression of re- 
 ligious truth. Origin and causes. Its persistent foe. New 
 life at invasion of barbarians and at the "Reformation." 
 Witchcraft in the reign of Elizabeth. James I and Demonology. 
 Epidemic spreads to America. When Necromancy flourishes. 
 Evil influence of materialism 27 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The Weird Sisters — Shakespeare's belief in witches. Reality of ^'^ 
 witchcraft questioned. Adopted popular belief. Weird Sisters 
 not the common witches of superstition. Visible forms of tempt- 
 
 7 
 
8 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ing demons. Differentiated from the common witch of supersti- 
 tion. Eea], and not creations of Macbeth 's over-heated mind. 
 Liturgy the visible expression of inward religious faith. Ke- 
 ligion essential to social life. Liturgy necessary to evil tempters. 
 Their diabolical ritual in harmony with their nature. Accom- 
 modated to senses and minds of men. Its employment with 
 Macbeth 31 
 
 CHAPTEE V 
 
 Eeal Nature of the Weikd Sisters — Caution. Credulity. Danger 
 of illusion. Frauds in every age. Church warns her ministers. 
 A contrary extreme. Error of Materialists. Their dogmatisms 
 refuted. Conclusions of Society of Psychical Eesearch. Divine 
 grace and Satanic temptation. Shakespeare scientifically correct. 
 Dr. Taust. ' ' Vestal Virgins of Hell. ' ' Accepts Christian teach- 
 ing regarding demons and diableries. Scriptural facts 35 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Prophecies of the Weird Sisters — Prediction accurately fulfilled. 
 Their intellectual powers compared with man's. Superior by 
 nature and means of knowledge. Limitations in regard to 
 prophecy. Future events knowable in themselves or in their 
 causes. Causes necessary, contingent, and free. Conjectures. 
 Long experience. Clear insight into workings of human mind 
 and heart. Perverse of nature. Prone to falsehood. Their 
 prophecies not real but apparent 43 
 
 CHAPTEE VII 
 
 Temptation op Man by Evil Spirits — The common lot of all. 
 Shakespeare's belief in good and bad angels. The latter 's 
 special function. God's trial of man differs from that of Satan. 
 Two extremes. Eejection of demoniacal temptation. Refuta- 
 tion. Scriptural teaching and examples. Early Fathers. Why 
 temptation is permitted. Interior and exterior temptation. 
 Modern Spiritism and Necromancy of pagan times. Its evils. 
 Experience of Dr. Potter, Lombroso, Prof. James of Harvard. 
 Another extreme imputes all sin to Satan and his legions. 
 Refutation 47 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Temptation op Macbeth — Qrigin of crim inal purpos e. Critical 
 error. Eef utation. Evil spirits labor to discover man 's interior 
 disposition. Ignatian principle. How they knew Macbeth 's 
 ruling passion. His secret sympathy with them. Another Igna- 
 tian principle. How to distinguish action of good and evil 
 spirits. Macbeth 's full knowledge. Deceived by apparent prophe- 
 cies. Horror at criminal suggestions. Progress of temptation. 
 Barters his eternal jewel. The moral history of every man. 
 Exemption from temptation. Influence of evil spirits measured 
 by man 's own character. Macbeth 's atfinity with evil. Man 
 the master of his fate 56 
 
 CHAPTEE IX 
 
 The CiBractek of Macbeth — Macbeth and Richard III. compared. 
 ' ' JBworthy gentleman. ' ' Inconsistencies of character. His 
 youth. A dreamer, yet a man of action. Qualities of mind, 
 imagination. Intense selfishness. Moral cowardice. Physical 
 courage chief characteristic. The will the basis of morality. 
 Weak in religious principles. Contrasted with Banquo. Neurotic 
 physiologists and Christian moralists. Moral insanity. Ele- 
 ments of a moral act. Responsibility of Macbeth. Not a 
 callous criminal. Latent sense of religion awakened by tor- 
 turing guilt. No real love of religion and virtue. The critical 
 test. Characterization on modern stage not sufficiently differ- 
 entiated from that of Richard III. Secret of sustained interest 62 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Character of Lady Macbeth — Admirable contrast. Appearance 
 described. A twofold interpretation. Etponents. Agreements 
 and exceptions. A new interpretation. The key-note of hei 
 character. Master-passion. Courage. Unconquerable will. 
 Discipline of mental faculties. Splendid imagination. Enthu- 
 siasm and blindness to consequences. The sin of the apostate 
 angel. Moral nature. Lady Martin in extenuation. Refuta- 
 tion. Barren of religion. Practical unbelief. Fatalism. 
 What religion would have done in the formation of her char- 
 acter. Crime awakens her moral nature. Crime and suscepti- 
 
10 CONTENTS 
 
 PAOK 
 
 bility to moral emotions. Contrast before and after the 
 crime. Remorse without repentance. A master-trait of the 
 Poet's skiU 74 
 
 OHAPTEK XI 
 
 Moral Significance of the Tragedy — ^Art and morality. The 
 drama teaches by illustration. Web of life a mingled yarn of 
 good and ill. Shakespeare upholds the laws of moral and 
 divine truths. Cardinal Newman. Moral obligation of taming 
 the passions. A modern error. Free from the folly of recent 
 dramatists. Believed in Aristotle's dictum. Effects of his 
 tragedies. Influence of Mystery Plays. Origin and purpose. 
 Their elements of power retained and perfected. His the . 
 Christian perception of man 's purpose in life. Trage ffy a con- 
 flict between man's individual will and the eternal law.TA|fhe 
 reaction. Macbeth one of the highest works of .art. SoKanu 
 truth impressed. St. Edward. Victory ever with the virtuous. 
 Striking parallels between Macbeth and a certain MystCTy 
 I — Play. In all his tr gp;orlifg g Tn^jfitor- pasainn t ^c nno pgnf-Ti'' f^^^^f 
 Transformation of Macbeth presents a psychological and dra- 
 matic interest. The ethical element of unequalled power. Uni- 
 versal application. Excellence as a moralist. Foreign com- 
 mentators 88 
 
 ACT FIKST 
 
 Scene First — The moral gloom of the drama foreboded. Nature 
 of the preternatural agents. In afiinity with tempestsr-* Eepul- 
 sive, unearthly. Diabolical hopes, delirious joy \ 98 
 
 Scene Second — Introduction to the king. Macdonwald's; treason. 
 New thane of Cawdor. The camp at Forres. News of battle. 
 The hero of a double victory. Duncan in contrast with Mac- 
 beth. A thought suggested 98 
 
 Scene Third — In ambush. The heath described. The Weird 
 Sisters of modern stage incongruous with the Poet's design. 
 Conflicting thoughts. A relationship with malignant spirits. The 
 form of the Weird Sisters. Prophecies. Oracles of old. 
 Their greater and less influence. Have discovered his secret 
 thoughts and passion. Ignatian principle. Their conjecture. 
 
CONTENTS 11 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Incredulity and scepticism. The royal commission. "Can the 
 devil speak true?" The two seeming prophecies. Macbeth 
 deceived. His good angel. Cause of Banquo 's incredulity. A 
 Ignatian principles. Lost in reverie. Horrid suggestions. 
 Ross and Angus. Banquo 's deceitful words.) His secrecy 
 according to an Ignatian principle. The lie of ambition 99 
 
 Scene Fourth — Duncan in more favorable light. Contrast with 
 Macbeth. Parallel between thane of Cawdor and Earl of Essex. 
 A popular idol and friend of Shakespeare. Tragic irony. 
 Duncan's sense of gratitude and his host's hypocrisy. A new 
 creation. Extravagant expectations. Sense of wrong. Oppor- 
 tune moment for renewed temptation. Crossing the Eubieon. 
 A contrast. A parallel 110 
 
 Scene Fifth — A new ally of evil spirits. The subject of conjugal 
 discussion. Union of purpose. Lady Macbeth 's resolve. Mis- 
 takes her husband's character. An unexpected opportunity. A 
 bird of evil omen. An erroneous notion refuted. The con- 
 sequence of her affinity with evil spirits. Cause of her triple 
 cry to demons. Prayer answered. Transformation. Demoniac 
 frenzy. "The dunnest smoke of hell." Her welcome to 
 Macbeth. An error exposed. Exultation. Loves not less the 
 man, but his glory more. A type. Enthusiasm not shared by 
 Macbeth. Encouragement and caution. Inspired by diabolical 
 courage. An example 115 
 
 Scene Sixth^ — The king before Macbeth 's castle. Peaceful scene. 
 Poetic discourse. An apology. Royal courtesies. Strained 
 and simulated welcome. A promise. Macbeth 's absence. Play- 
 ful mood. Entering the murderous den. Instinctive feelings of 
 chagrin. Banquo 's indifference. Reasons for suspicions 122 
 
 Scene Seventh — ^Absence from banquet. Wrestles with fell pur- 
 pose. Selfish fears. No quahn of conscience. Fatal issues. 
 Keynote to soliloquy. Practical man. Reasons against murder. 
 Vacillation. The tempters summon his evil genius. Attacked 
 in weakest part. A last stand. Change in plans. His oath. 
 Lady Macbeth 's a priori argument. Frenzied and obsessed. 
 An error exposed. A common sophistry. His defense beaten 
 down. Grasps the scheme. Fears removed. Tempters nearing 
 their triumph ^^^ 
 
12 CONTENTS 
 
 ACT SECOND 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Scene Fikst — Banquet-Hall deserted. The court-yard. Troubled 
 dreams. Prayer against temptation. A contrast in relation to 
 evil spirits. Meeting in the court-yard. Surprise. Sounding 
 each other. The tenor of Banquo's dreams.\ Nature of the 
 temptation. His silence furthers the thane 's ambition*; Igna- 
 tian principle. A diabolical spectacle. Its purpose. Follows 
 its guidance. The dagger real or imaginary? Materialistic 
 influence on modern stage. The practice in the Poet's day. 
 Dilation of spirits. Poetic imagery. Time opportune for spirits 
 of evil. Hecate. The clock-tower. Back to the world of action 132 
 
 Scene Second — Hopes and fears. Lady Macbeth 's stimulated 
 courage. Her womanly nature. Excited whisperings. An 
 artistic touch. Macbeth rushes in a changed man. His run- 
 away intellect and riotous imagination. Fear and horror. No 
 true remorse. Spellbound by menacing voices. Vivid word- 
 painting. Lady Macbeth bewildered at tempest of his mind. 
 A fatal error. Her contempt and anger. Plot saved from 
 failure. Echoes of his voice of conscience. Courage lost. 
 Frenzied horror. Taunts of cowardice. Continued knockings. 
 Hurried away in shuddering fear. His conscience before and 
 after the murder. In the power of evil spirits. Terrifying 
 images. An agonizing wish 139 
 
 Scene Third — An episode. Interpolation admitted. Middleton. 
 Catering to intolerant spirit of the times. Equivocation favorite 
 theme of preachers. Dissimulation of Catholics under Eliza- 
 bethan persecution. Dr. Lingard; Father Parsons. War- 
 burton's hatred of Church, of Jesuits; causes. His calumny 
 refuted. Mental reservation; two kinds. Exposition. Malone's 
 error concerning Father Garnet; refutation. His connection 
 with the Gunpowder Plot; trial and defence of sacramental 
 secrets. The real equivocator. Episode full of irony. Macbeth 
 a type. His castle a moral hell with a devU-porter at its gate. 
 The great discovery. Confusion of metaphors; error not 
 Shakespeare's. Lady Macbeth 's exclusion on modem stage. 
 Mars tragic effect. Eeasons for presence. Macbeth 's con- 
 summate art. Mental crisis. Suspicions roused. Fainting real? 
 Cause. A suggestion. A menace to Macbeth. A fortunate 
 incident I45 
 
CONTENTS 13 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Scene Fourth — Its nature. Threefold purpose. Strange circum- 
 stances. Different types of noblemen. Ironical conversation. 
 Audience learns of events in outer world. The city Scone. 
 The coronation stone. A contrast in characters. Duncan at 
 Cohnekill. lona of the Western Isles. Its fame. St. Columba. 
 Its monasteries destroyed by Eeformers. Three rovs of 
 tombs. Macbeth hastens to Scone 164 
 
 ACT THIED 
 
 Scene First — Banquo in soliloquy.. Secret thoughts and expecta- 
 tions. His moral change. A royal reception. Casts his lot 
 with the usurper's. His hopes. Loyalty suspected. Court 
 dismissed. Macbeth in soliloquy. Mental torment. Over- 
 awed, rebuked. Genius: subjective and objective sense. Bor- 
 rowed from Scripture. Torture of jealousy. Rebels against 
 Fate. The folly of Aman. Conference with the murderers. 
 A cunning play. The plot. Allusion to Banquo 's honesty . ^ . . 168 
 
 Scene Second — Lady Macbeth 's settled melancholy. Changed posi- 
 tion. Amid gayety immersed in misery. Eemorse. Conceals 
 sufferings. Severance of their lives. A new trait of character. 
 EalUes her husband. Fatalistic ' tendency. Mistakes the nature 
 of his sufferings. His egotism. Envies Duncan. Materialists. 
 Conceals murderous plot. Queen's hollow cheerfulness. Words 
 often misunderstood. His boast. Rises in exaltation on the 
 wings of poesy 175 
 
 Scene Third — Its purpose. Identity of third murderer. The f all V 
 of Banquo. Strong in moral character. Slowly weakens; A 
 victim to the wiles of evil spirits. Linked his fate with the 
 usurper's. Faith in the oracles and hopes. Silence and inac- 
 tivity. Implicitly enjoined by Weird Sisters. Their common 
 method; Ignatian principle. Failure in the crisis. Exposition. 
 Connivance. Recognizes the de facto king. The indissoluble 
 tie. Hopes to profit by the crime. Slowly enmeshed in the 
 snare. A victim to the wiles of evil spirits and hypocrisy of 
 the tyrant 180 
 
 Scene Fourth — The banquet. Mysterious visitor. Joyous tidings 
 blighted. Banquo 's ghost. Real, not imaginary. Sense of the 
 preternatural in the Poet's day. Materialism in 18th century. 
 
14 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Ambitious tragedians. No rational motives for innovation. 
 Dramatic need of the ghost. Shakespeare's own direction. 
 First sight of bloody spectre; horror, terror. Assembly in 
 disorder. Efforts of wife ineffectual. Changed tactics. Incrim- 
 inations. Awakened to danger, allays suspicions. Mock mirth. 
 Hypocritical wish. Ghost reappears. A theory rejected. Mac- 
 beth quails. Fear and horror. Wife's anxiety. Kenewed 
 efforts. Strange infirmity. Frenzied challenge. Courtiers 
 deem it Duncan's ghost. Suspicions. Puzzled and amazed. 
 Addresses guests. Horrid sights. Panic-stricken, she hurries 
 the guests away. Alone, a pathetic pair. The wife dispirited; 
 he roused to resolute action. One solace. Main purpose of 
 his tempters. New dangers and difficulties. Accepts sugges- 
 tion of evil spirits. Psychological moralists. Method of tempt- 
 ing sinners. A remarkable example. Exposition 184 
 
 Scene Fifth — An interpolation. An inferior artist. The melo- 
 dramatic taste of his times. Keasons against genuineness. 
 Criticism of Hecate's fault-finding unfounded. In accord with 
 the Weird Sisters. Opening of scene. Objection to trading 
 with Macbeth. Eefutation. A widely-known example. Belief 
 of Shakespeare's audience in temptation by evil spirits. Scrip- 
 tural example. Three common temptations. Their trade and 
 traffic with Macbeth. How they knew of his intended visit 
 to the Pit of Acheron. Action opposed to that of good angels; 
 Ignatian principle. Fears and purpose. Prophecies. Boast- 
 ful reliance 198 
 
 Scene Sixth — Usually omitted on modern stage. Important pur- 
 pose. The Greek Chorus. Needed information. Dialogue of 
 Koss and Angus. Macduff at the English Court. Macbeth 
 prepares for war. The Poet's frequent mention of prayer. 
 St. Edward. The help of angels and of God ; 203 
 
 ACT FOURTH 
 
 Scene First — ^Witches of this scene not identical with Weird Sisters. 
 Sorcerers of popular belief suffice for action of drama. Their 
 difference in nature, form, and characteristics. Exposition. 
 Witches of present scene in perfect contrast. Exposition. Why 
 a further portrayal of diableries was a compliment to King 
 James. Pictures magic rites common to sorcerers in league with 
 
CONTENTS 15 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Satan. The' touch of a master-artist, ramiliars of witches. 
 Dr. Johnson on their fiendish incantations. The supreme crisis. 
 Trusted guides. By sorcery communicates with spirits that 
 ' ' know all mortal consequences. ' ' Course parallel with King 
 Saul's. Piarpose of his evil tempters. The spectre of the armed 
 head. Apparition of the bloody child. The promise. Third 
 apparition. The demon's oracular prediction. Tearless courage. 
 Demoniacal methods of temptation. Sacred Scripture. Ignatius 
 Loyola in Cavern of Manresa exhibits contrasts and resem- 
 blances to Macbeth in cave of Acheron. High ambition. Expo- 
 sition. Penned rules to distinguish good from bad spirits. Two 
 pertinent to present scene. Two wiles commonly exemplified in 
 Spiritism. Society of Psychical Research in confirmation of 
 Ignatian principles. Macbeth obsessed like Saul. Jealousy 
 concerning "Banquo's issue. 'J Eight spectral kings; their 
 meaning. Compliment to King James. Effect of diabolical 
 show upon Macbeth. Remorse and anguish. Mockery of the 
 witches. Anger and imprecations. Macduff's flight. A bloody 
 resolution 206 
 
 Scene Second — Usually omitted. Doubtful propriety. In part, 
 a pleasing episode. Domestic life. Opposing forces. Lady 
 Macduff's irritation. Ross' attempt to allay her fears and 
 anxieties. Leighton's animadversions. Refutation. The Poet 
 guards Macduff against aspersion. Dialogue of mother and 
 witty child. Stage children of Shakespeare. Not incongruous 
 to his audience. Choir-boys in competition with adult actors. 
 The child's knowledge of Scripture. Messenger's warning. 
 His identity. Reasons for flight questioned. The murderers. 
 Valor of child. Dying words. Lady Macduff overtaken in 
 flight 
 
 Scene Third — Fugitives at English court. Strong dramatic effect. 
 Vivid picture of rightful heir. Macduff's patriotism. Loyalty 
 suspected. Ruse to test the thane. The seven capital sins. 
 The twelve king-becoming virtues. The Prince's Christian 
 parents. Deviation from Holinshed. A parallelism. Despairs 
 of Scotland. Subterfuge exposed. A virtuous king compared 
 with the usurper. Man's little kingdom. The great royal 
 wheel. A zealous tory. The first among English kings. A 
 delicate compliment. Versed in Catholic teaching. King 
 James' miraculous power? Discredited. "A British Solomon." 
 
 225 
 
16 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The angel coin. Dr. Johnson's experience. Another fugitive. 
 Delaying sad tidings. Frequent reference to St. Edward. 
 High praise of Siward. The Poet's idea of Christendom. De 
 civitate Dei. Christian cosmopolitanism. An international 
 court. St. Bernard. King John. Philip of France and divorce. 
 A parallel suggested. An unwarranted assumption. Love for 
 his parents' religion. Revelled in the glories of Catholic 
 England. A stroke at Elizabeth 's ministers. Breaking the sad 
 news. ' ' He has no children. ' ' Eef utation. The thane 's 
 afSietion. Christian sentiments. Frequent use of term Heaven. 
 The army ready. Invocation of Divine Providence 231 
 
 ACT FIFTH 
 
 Scene First — Artistic purpose of scene. Unsurpassed in emotional 
 portrayals. Cause of Lady Macbeth 's sufferings. Physician 
 skeptical. Questionings. "Lo, here she comes." Appearance 
 described. Somnambulistic walking. Three series of phantasms. 
 Damned spot. Hell is murky. Eternal separation from God. 
 Last days of Elizabeth recalled. Supreme remorse. Compunc- 
 tion only natural. King Antiochus. Elements of supernatural 
 sorrow. Strange, her remorse exhibits no true repentance. Ex- 
 position. Under the influence of evil spirits. Their changed 
 tactics. An Ignatian principle. A glimpse of the walking 
 spectre. Physician's conclusions. A physician with divine 
 legatine powers. Shakespeare's belief. Kind-hearted physi- 
 cian. An insinuation. Bewildered. Judgment suspended. . . . 260 
 
 Scene Second — Attempt to stay the hand of fate. A conference of 
 nobles. Arrival of English forces. Personal wrongs. Justice 
 of their cause. Familiarity with Sacred Scripture. Secret 
 information. List of English gentry. Distemper of Macbeth. 
 March to Birnam . . . 271 
 
 Scene Third — Mad excesses. Confidence alternates with fear. Ani- 
 mates his followers' flagging spirits. Contempt of English 
 forces. Confidence in evil tempters grows with dangers. The 
 sinner's folly when ensnared by wiles of Satan. Exposition. 
 Subjective confidence shaken by objective realities. Fury. 
 External violence a reflex of internal disorder. Complaints 
 strangely piteous. Blindness. Remorse not chief afSictiqg. 
 
CONTENTS 17 
 
 PAGE 
 
 WeariBess of life. A probable reference to Elizabeth. Sleep- 
 less nigtts. Anger at physician. Fluctuates between fear 
 and valiant fury. Scene closes with boastful words of credulity 281 
 
 Scene Fotirth — Theatres of London in Shakespeare's day. Testi- 
 mony of a literary contemporary. Absence of visible scenery 
 resulted in most exquisite poetry. Representation of war on 
 the stage. Malcolm's command. The moving forest. Legendary. 
 Mythical basis a German custom. King Grunewald. Scottish 
 legend. A council of war 289 
 
 Scene Fifth — The camp at Dunsinane. Call to arms. Address. 
 Reflections in soliloquy. Lady Macbeth 's demise; cause. Im- 
 pressive lesson. One of Dramatist's finest thoughts. Affection 
 for wife. Contrary opinion. Refutation. Procrastination of 
 mortal fools. Dusty death. Subjective feelings. Walking 
 shadows. Alarming news. Loss of self-control. Birnam Wood 
 moving forward. Suspects equivocating fiends. Deception his 
 own folly. How evil spirits verified their own predictions. 
 "Pulls in resolution." Distemper of mind. Bewildered and 
 enraged. Defiance of Fate 292 
 
 Scene Sixth — ^Macbeth 's castle. Scotch forces. Their numbers 
 revealed. Strategem from military point of view. Leaders 
 of Malcolm 's forces. Holinshed 300 
 
 Scene Seventh — Field of battle. Skirmishes and conflicts. Mac- 
 beth in soliloquy. Ensnared. Reflections. Strangeness of 
 continued confidence in evil spirits. An oversight of the Poet? 
 Refutation. Soliloquy interrupted. Young Siward's ambition. 
 The combat. "Thou wast born of woman." Macduff's eager 
 search. Reflections. Malcolm and old Siward. Successes in 
 battle 301 
 
 Scene Eighth — Mournful picture of forlorn hope. Description. 
 The dilemma. An evil suggestion. Suicide as viewed by pagans. 
 The Christian view. Grows with the de-Christianization of a 
 country. Its causes. The Poet's view of self-murder. English 
 law. Shakespeare's philosopher. Christian Faith sole barrier. 
 An illustration of Roman fools. Philosophy futile in crisis 
 of life. Macbeth 's motives against suicide. Clash of swords. 
 Dissuades from unequal combat. The hellish charm broken. 
 Wondrous effect. Inconsistencies. Refusal to combat further; 
 
18 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 reasons. Macduff's disdain and threats. Scorns proffered terms 
 of surrender. In frenzied rage resorts to sword. The combat 
 and fall. A common practice. Garrick's addition. Question- 
 able improvement. Malcolm and forces enter in triumph. Old 
 Siward disregards condolence. A delicate hint. The soldiers 
 of God and the Saintly Edward. Prayer of the Christian war- 
 rior. Macduff and the tyrant's head. Hail, King of Scotland. 
 Senseless omission of the Prince's closing speech. A last com- 
 pliment to the new sovereign. His aversion for Elizabeth. 
 Shared by Puritans and Catholics. Causes. Hopes of Cath- 
 olics. A parallelism. Malcolm's promises. Christian character. 
 Coronation 304 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 A universal type of temptation. Its moral purpose. Comprehended 
 by the master-artist. Its burden the conflict of human passions. 
 Cause of the conflict. The dominant passion. Illustrations. A 
 domestic enemy. The key to a man's character. Shakespeare's 
 tragedies perfect biographies. Spiritual significance. The story 
 of the nations. The great truth emphasized in' the tragedy of 
 Macbeth .S20 
 
 Appendix — Text of the Tragedy f 326 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE MACBETH OF HISTORY AND OF LEGEND 
 
 The Macbeth of history differs greatly from the warrior 
 of fable and of legend. He first appears in trustworthy annals 
 as the chieftain and hereditary high steward of Moray, who 
 accompanied Malcolm II. on a journey to England to pay 
 homage to King Cnut. His mother was Doada, daughter of 
 the King ; his father was not Sinel, the thane of Glamis, but 
 Finley, the thane of Ross, who was killed about the year 1020 
 in an encounter with Malcolm II., the great grandfather of 
 Duncan. Macbeth married the Princess Gruoch, the daughter 
 of Boete. The latter had a joint claim to the throne; but 
 Malcolm himself having no male issue, murdered him in 
 1032. Macbeth and Gruoch, therefore, had no good will 
 toward the reigning branch of the family, for each had a 
 father's murder to be avenged on the person of Duncan. 
 When Malcolm died in 1034, his grandson, Duncan, the 
 cousin of Macbeth, succeeded him, and at once named his 
 eldest son, prince of Cumberland and heir to the throne. 
 
 Duncan, however, was not possessed of martial abilities, 
 and his rule in those stormy times proved very ineffectual. 
 After an unsuccessful invasion of England, he was obliged 
 to enter upon a repressive war against Thorfinn, the Nor- 
 wegian Jarl of Norway. But Macbeth, the commander of 
 the Scottish forces, made common cause with Thorfinn, and 
 his emissaries having murdered Duncan, he of his own right 
 and of his wife's, assumed the crown. The one point upon 
 which historians agree is that Macbeth 's reign of seventeen 
 years (1040-1057) was rematkable for unprecedented order 
 and prosperity. Maintaining a vigorous government, he 
 enforced the good and useful laws which he made, a thing 
 wholly neglected by former kings. Hence, for his times, he 
 
 19 
 
20 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 was a popular monarch, worthy and beneficent, whose bounty 
 to the Church becoming known in Scotland and beyond her 
 borders, won for him great renown. The title of "liberal 
 king ' ' was given him by St. Berchan. For these reasons and, 
 moreover, because he neither renewed nor acknowledged the 
 fealty which Malcolm had paid to England, the Scotch, who 
 had long felt indignation at foreign mercenaries interfering 
 in their domestic affairs, held him in high esteem, and men 
 of great consequence considered it an honor to bear his 
 name.^ 
 
 Macbeth 's most formidable enemy was his southern 
 neighbor, the Earl of Northumberland. With the consent of 
 Edward the Confessor, Siward invaded Scotland by land and 
 sea, and in a great battle defeated Macbeth. Malcolm was 
 at once proclaimed king, but the uncrowned monarch, 
 retreating to the North, continued the war for four years 
 until he fell at Lanfanan in Aberdeenshire. This Scottish 
 king of the eleventh century, renowned for beneficence and 
 patriotism, has, under the influence of medieval story-telling 
 and willful falsification of historic facts for political purposes, 
 been transformed into another Macbeth of myth and legend. 
 With Scottish historians who followed the war of independ- 
 ence, says Hume Brown : "It was a prime concern to produce 
 an unbroken line of Scottish kings stretching to the fathers 
 of the human race. As an interloper of this series, they make 
 Macbeth a monster whose origin and actions must alike have 
 been contrary to nature."^ 
 
 For the material of his tragedy, Shakespeare turns to his 
 favorite book. The Chronicles of England and ScoUgndr-hy 
 Raphael HolinshedTTna trom a mettley of fable andTtradition, 
 which is called The_Mistory of_Macbeth, he drew various 
 elements and freely combined them without regard to historic 
 facts. 
 
 Holinshed's authority is Hector Boyee of King's Col- 
 lege, Aberdeen, and that of Boyce is John Fordun, a chantry 
 priest of the same city. Fordun, of the fourteenth century, 
 
 'i 
 
 1. Cf. The New-Hudson, Introduction. ,, ,. 
 
 2. History of Scotland, Cambridge Series. 
 
MACBETH OF HISTORY AND LEGfBND 21 
 
 was the first "to gather floating legends, stories, facts, and 
 fables concerning Scotland, and compact them into some- 
 thing like a chronological system," in a work known as 
 Chronica Gentis Scotorum. Though Boyce follows Fordun, 
 he freely adds new epic and dramatic elements, which clothe 
 the legendary Macbeth with the more familiar form recog- 
 nized in Holinshed and Shakespeare. In obtaining material 
 for his plot, the Poet does not confine himself to the History 
 of Macbeth, but freely borrows incidents from other parts of 
 the Chronicles. Thus around the murder of Duncan he 
 weaves certain facts which are historically connected with 
 the murder of King Duffe, the great grandfather of Lady 
 Macbeth, such as the portents, the tempest, and the drugging 
 of the grooms. Duffe was murdered by Dunwald, the 
 governor of the castle, and his wife. The drama, moreover, 
 widely diverges from the historic Macbeth, not only in the 
 portrayal of his character, but also in the rapidity of his 
 downfall, and in his true connection with the Norwegians, 
 who did not invade Scotland during Duncan's reign. Again, 
 the rebellion of Dunwald is mere fiction, and concerning the 
 fate of Lady Macbeth, fable, tradition, and history are all 
 silent. Banquo and Fleance, whose names are not even 
 Gaelic,, seem fictitious characters. Though they were not 
 the ancestors of the House of Stewart, and were unknown 
 to early authorities, yet modern Peerages and Genealogical 
 Charts still retain their names in the pedigree of the Royal 
 Houses of England and Scotland. 
 
 As Shakespeare, however, designed Macbeth to be a 
 tragedy an3~iKyt-air-histwitr play," it-mattered little whether 
 his materials ""were based on~lact or fiction. Hence, freely 
 blending together conflicting facts and fables, he has fash- 
 ioned a drama which may rank as his greatest work. As a 
 psychological study of the effects of evil upon human life, 
 it is pitched in the highest tragic key. "Its thoughts, kindled 
 into speech and its purpose into action, crowd and jostle each 
 other in such rapid succession that it has been deservedly 
 described as a tempest set to music."' 
 
 1. Furness, Variorum Shakespeare. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 DRAMATIC STRUCTURE 
 
 All art under whatever form is governed by fixed and 
 universally recognized laws. The greater their observance, 
 the greater the perfection of the work. These laws are more 
 imperative in_ the drama than in story or romance. A novel 
 is written for leisurely pei'usal, and whether it be simply a 
 heaping together of many but heterogeneous parts, or contain 
 a well laid plot, the reader may pause at will or even turn 
 back to study its plan. But the drama labors under different 
 conditions. Intended for uninterrupted action, it hurries 
 the spectator from scene to scene, leaving him little time to 
 dwell in imagination upon rapidly succeeding events. In 
 consequence, the plot of the drama must be more transparent, 
 and its links of unity more obvious. In ancient Greece, the 
 cradle land of dramatic literature and art, the laws of the. 
 drama were inexorably observed. Her great masters never 
 deviated from the triple unity of action, time, and place. 
 According to the law of unity of action, they rigorously 
 excluded every extraneous element, and, in developing a 
 single action, clustered around it all the incidents, so as 
 naturally to form one whole. Less essential were the other 
 unities of time and place. They sprang from the conditions 
 of the Grecian stage, which was never deserted during the 
 whole play. 
 
 The law of unity of time ordained that the action be 
 continuous, and embrace no event which could not be repre- 
 sented in a period of time equivalent to a single day. Unity 
 of place required that the scene be laid in the same place, 
 and continue unchanged throughout the play. Moreover,, 
 the master dramatists of Greece confined their tragedies to 
 the grave, terrible, and pathetic, and excluded all that was 
 
 22 
 
-DRAMATIC STRUCTURE 23 
 
 comic and too familiar. These characteristics distinguish the 
 classic from the romantic tragedy, which, though they differ 
 much, nevertheless agree in one important point: both are 
 the realm of powerful passions which tend to purify hy means 
 of pity and of terror. 
 
 Under the influence of the Renaissance, the French 
 dramatists became enamored of classic literature, and in their 
 natural love for regularity, adopted and introduced into 
 modern Europe the triple unity of Greek tragedy. In 
 England, however, where the Renaissance was less influential, 
 the romantic drama grew rapidly in popular favor. Though 
 there were not wanting scholars like Sir Philip Sydney, who 
 in an Apology for Poetry (1583) vigorously defended the 
 classic against the new romantic school, against them was the 
 rising genius of Shakespeare. Independently of Grecian 
 models, of which perhaps he knew little, he was the greatest 
 factor in the creation of the romantic tragedy, which differs 
 from the classic as a wild and magnificent landscape from 
 a beautiful and regularly plotted garden. "The ancient art 
 of dramatic poetry rigorously separates things which are 
 dissimilar. The romantic delights in indissoluble mixtures 
 and contrarieties ; nature and art, poetry and prose, serious- 
 ness and mirth, spirituality and sensuality, terrestrial and 
 celestial, life and death, are by it blended together in the 
 most intimate combination. " ^ 
 
 If the Shakespearean drama found little favor in France, 
 it was because . her own great dramatists had formed the 
 popular taste for classic tragedy. Hence, Voltaire, whose 
 spirit too long dominated French criticism, failed to appre- 
 ciate Shakespeare's plays. To him, they were wild and 
 incoherent, and the violations of the classic unities made the 
 Poet a barbarian in his eyes. Different was the verdict of the 
 race across the Rhine. Their own great masters, lovers of 
 the romantic drama, recognized the genius of Shakespeare; 
 in fact, as they claim, rediscovered him, brought him forth 
 from the obscurity which began with the Puritan eclipse, and 
 made his plays popular among other nations. Where Voltaire 
 
 1. Schlegel, Dramatic Literature, p. 342» 
 
24 A GKEAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 saw nothing but wildness and ineoherency, Heine saw the 
 sublimest unity. "The world," he says, "forms the stage 
 of Shakespeare's plays, and that is his unity of place ; eternity 
 is the period in which his plays come to pass, and that is his 
 unity of time ; and the hero of his plays, the bright essential 
 figure, representing the unity of action and comformable to 
 the other two is — Mankind, a hero who is always dying and 
 always rising again, always loving, yet in whom love is 
 stronger than hate. ' ' 
 
 With the passing of Vo ltaire 's influence came an awak - 
 ening of the Jrj;&nchltQ,tbe_genius of Shakespeare. Of all his 
 plays, Macbeth has won the greatest popularity in France. 
 "No other," affirms Darmesteter, "has supplied our everyday 
 literature with more lifelike characters or more hackneyed 
 _phrases. 
 
 "Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Banquo, are for us in France 
 quite as real as any characters of our own national theater; 
 their meaning is as clear and striking, and the banquet of 
 Macbeth, the ghost of Banquo, the 'damned spot' of Lady 
 Macbeth, are become familiar in everyday speech. This 
 especial popularity of Macbeth is due to its rigorous unity, 
 startling clearness, and to its enthralling logic; in this last 
 respect it is the most purely classic of Shakespeare's 
 plays." 
 
 Though ,deviating.-from- the laws that restricted ancient 
 tragfidy^it must be noted that Shakespeare was far fromblind 
 to the problems of^the classic unities. Neither the difficulties 
 which tbey involve nof'a desire to be unhampered by them 
 induced him to prefer the romantic drama. The unities 
 offered him no difficulties, as he proves in two successive 
 dramas, The Winter's Tale and The Tempest. In the former, 
 he deliberately and wildly violates all the unities, while in 
 the latter, he most scrupulously adheres to them, a fact which 
 discloses his ability, as well as his deliberate choice to accept 
 or to reject at will the formalities of classicism. As a 
 consequence, while his g rasp of bnTnan Tiai^irgja jTrvj^rergally 
 admitted, he is often . charged with being irregulai:^4fr^5is 
 A^t^H--^ wholei ani in particulai^of being careless in the 
 
DRAMATIC STRUCTURE 25 
 
 construction of his plots. To some this opinion seems super- 
 ficial. 
 
 Par from being a despiser of law, he has elevated the^ 
 whole conception of plot from that of mere unity of action, 
 obtained by the reduction of the amount of matter presented, 
 to that of a harmony of design, binding together concurrent/ 
 actions from which no degree of complexity was excluded.^ 
 In ancient tragedy, it is true, single action constituted th€ 
 whole idea of plot, but in Shakespeare the dramatic action 
 is of a much more elaborate order, and commonly consists of 
 complex elements, reduced to an agreeable unity. The ancient 
 differs from the modern tragedy as melody from symphony. 
 If simplicity of plot made ancient tragedy a solemn melody, 
 complexity of plot makes Shakespeare's a grand symphony, 
 in which the main action is the master melody with which 
 other inferior yet distinct actions blend in perfect harmony. 
 "Happenings within the space of seventeen years are com-^ 
 pressed into the narrow limits of the drama, in which are 
 represented three successive stages in the life of Macbeth — 
 his crime, his prosperity, and his punishment. What the 
 Greek masters would have developed in a trilogy, as in 
 Orestes, for example, to which Macieth has been more thai/ 
 once compared, is here confined to a single drama. ' ' ^ 
 
 ' Though complex in character, Macbeth has, neverthe- 
 less, peculiar unity of. structure, its absolute regularity of 
 movement, its counter-balanced parts, and freedom from 
 complicating underplots, indicate that the Poet has by 
 sympathy of genius approached therein, more than in any 
 other of his dramas, to the simplicity and bold sweep of the 
 ancient classics. Clearly the motive of the tragedy was too 
 serious to allow of trifling or delay by digressions or counter- 
 plots, and hence every episode, however slight, even though 
 introduced for the purpose of relief or of contrast, bears a 
 real relation to the prime character. The whole action of the 
 drama, concentrated in the rise and fall of the protagonist, 
 sweeps along with amazing rapidity. His fortunes, flowing 
 
 1. Cf. Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, R. G. Moulton, C. XX. 
 
 2. A. Mezieres, apud Furness. 
 
26 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 on unimpeded, reach the summit of success at the middle 
 of the play, and thence as quickly ebb downward to the close 
 or catastrophe. Its s urprising unity res ults from the devel- 
 opment of j^ jingle c harac ter. Macbeth fills the play; for, 
 present "or 'absent, he never ceases to occupy our attention, 
 Nothing happens that does not bear upon his destiny; when 
 the Scotch nobles discuss the unfortunate condition of their 
 country, Macbeth is the subject of their discourse. When 
 the assassins present themselves at the castle of Macduff, it 
 is Macbeth who has sent them. "When the witches assemble 
 on the heath, it is for the ruin of Macbeth. When Hecate 
 appears among them to hasten their work of crime, it is to 
 lure Macbeth to destruction. He binds in on e all por tions 
 o£_.the drama; for every circumstance contributes toward the 
 denouement, and we can not fail to admire the powerful art 
 with which Shakespeare has maintained unity amid the 
 numberless catastrophes of the play.^ 
 
 Remarkable, moreover, are thej)arallelisms found in three 
 incidents that lead tohis-triumph, and in the three that drive 
 him on to ruin. Each Act again has a specific purpose; the 
 First, the temptation; the Second, the murder of Duncan; 
 the Third, the murder of Banquo; the Fourth, of Macduff's 
 famijy; and llTe~FlHB7T& catastro;^j£.in which each crime 
 meets a merited reti^ibution. There is, furthermore, a unity 
 of thought that doniinates the whole .drama, a central ideav 
 which, embodied outwardly in the workings of an unholy 
 ambition and in its fatal consequences, is illustrated in the 
 rise and fall of Lord and Lady Macbeth. In them is exposed 
 the all important trutli that ever y mortal is subject to temp- 
 tation, and must carve out his own destiny for good or for 
 evil, according as he dominates or is dominated by his ruling 
 passion. A theme so universal in its application is indeed 
 worthy of Shakespeare's grandest tragedy. 
 
 1. Ibidem. 
 
CHAPTBE III 
 
 THE PRETERNATURAL ELEMENT 
 
 Preternatural agencies are an essential element of the' 
 t rageSy" oi^ Macheth. Visibly embodied in the W eir.fl Sisters, 
 the ^control the traged y from first to last. If the preter- 
 uatural has always exercised a peculiar power over the h uman 
 mind Mt is because, ma n 's nalural^dfisiiB, .taJ£nflwJ±La_£uture 
 prompts him to attempts in every ag e to lif t the veil of 
 futurity. Owing to this impulse, often heightened by a desire 
 of personal gain or advantage, superstitious practices, even 
 though inhibited by divine command, have been widely dif- 
 fused among all peoples, and have persisted through all times. 
 Superstition, like idolatry itself, is but the outward expression 
 of some religious truth, which, inherent in our nature, is coex- 
 tensive with human kind. Wandering away from the cradle 
 lands of the human race, tribe after tribe lost in time the 
 knowledge of the true God and His worship, and fashioned 
 new but idolatrous religions in which Satan, substituting 
 himself for the Creator, received, under varied forms of idols 
 and oracles and superstitious practices, the supreme homage 
 due alone to Almighty God. This fact Milton commemorates 
 in verse : 
 
 "By falsities and lies the greater part 
 Of mankind they corrupted to forsake 
 God their Creator . . . 
 And devils to adore for deities. 
 Then were they known to men by various names, 
 And various idols through the heathen world. 
 The chief were those who from the pit of Hell 
 Roaming to seek their prey on Earth, durst fix 
 Their seats long after, next the seat of God, 
 Their altars by His altars, gods adored 
 Among the nations round. ' ' (Par. Lost. Bk. 1.) 
 
 27 
 
28 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 The worship of false gods was nothing more than the 
 service of the devils. Satan and his fallen angels were the 
 animating spirit of idolatrous religions, and dwelt in their 
 idols, and oftentimes spoke through them. Hence the royal 
 Psalmist affirms, "The gods of the gentiles are devils";* 
 and again, St. Paul, "The things which the heathen sacri- 
 fice, they sacrifice to devils and not to God."^ Idolatry 
 begot superstitious practices, which grew with its growth, 
 and fiourishing through the heathen world, attained most 
 multiplied forms when ancient Greece and Rome had reached 
 the summit of their culture. Divination, sorcery, magic, 
 necromancy, and witchcraft, were all ready instruments by 
 which evil spirits intruded themselves into the affairs of 
 human life. 
 
 But superstiti on found in_ Christiani ty-an-im^placable foe. 
 With the expansion of the Church all forms of diableries were 
 b aJiished from the light of day , aild no lonaer couM~thfiv ply 
 their noxious trade, save in secret hiding places. Superstition 
 was awakened to new life during the Midd le AgespwhSirthe 
 wild hordes of the JNorth m repeated incursions poured down 
 upon Europe, bringing with them their tribal gods and their 
 sorceries; and again when, centuries later, the spirit of the 
 Renaissancp. PTigen rlprprl by mparig of pa^garTlrCeraturFaHS^rt 
 a widespread_recrudescence of ^pernicious practices. These 
 were much resorted to in Germany and in England in the 
 days of Shakespeare. Belief in evi l spirits and in the power 
 of witchesto_do_ harm b y. ..tli eir aid,_aKas-~jCommon to the 
 sSteentirand~ seventeenth cent ]iries.---JKitcLerA£tJb.ad become 
 so prevalent m Engla nd durin g the reign of Elizabeth that in 
 i562'~a statute was enacted which made it a crime of the 
 .greatest magnitud e." Jame s I., himself a firm believer in the 
 black art, issued in 1599 his famous work "on" Demonology, 
 as a counterblast to the skeptical book of Reginald Scott; and, 
 on ascending the English throne, enacted a penal law which 
 minutely defined the practice of witchcraft: "Any one that 
 shall use, practice or exercise any invocation of any evil or 
 
 1. Ps. 95 :5. 
 
 2. 1 Cor. 10, 20. 
 
THE PEETERNATURAL ELEMENT 29 
 
 wicked spirit, or consult or covenant with, entertain or employ 
 any evil or wicked spirit to or for any purpose, or take up 
 any dead man, etc. — such offender duly and lawfully 
 convicted shall suifer death. "^ After this enactment, the 
 witch mania became epidemic in every part of England, and 
 crossing the sea caused great disturbance, notably in Boston 
 and Salem, Massachusetts, where twenty persons were exe- 
 cuted for the supposed crime of witchcraft.^ 
 
 A most powerful agent in the reaction against the mania 
 was the Jesuit, Frederick Von Spec, a professor at the 
 University of Paderborn. His work, Cautio Criminalis, 
 printed in 1631, won for him a worldwide reputation. It is 
 an arraignment of trial for witchcraft, based on his own 
 experience, and describes in thrilling language and with 
 cutting sarcasm the. horrible abuses of judicial proceedings, 
 and particularly the inhuman use of the rack.^ 
 
 The later part of the nineteenth century witnessed, 
 especially in England and America, a strange revival of 
 necromancy or spiritism, which claims today far more 
 adherents than is commonly supposed. As, on the testimony 
 of Josephus, sorcery flourished most in Israel during periods 
 of religious decay, so in modern times, it appears that Satan, 
 whose activity was curbed by the light and influence of the 
 gospel of Christ, is reasserting his power and regaining his 
 ascendency in proportion as men, abandoning the one and 
 supernatural religion, practically revert to irreligion, to 
 heathenism, and infidelity. Hence, in co mmunities where the 
 Christian reveal ed religion is weakest, there superstition is 
 often found to thrive the most. The spirir"5f~tlTettgionras 
 
 1. King James prided himself upon liis knowledge of demonology. "He 
 demonstrated," says Liugard (Vol. VII, p. 281), "the existence of witches 
 and the mischiefs of witchcraft against the objections of Scott and Wierus ; 
 he even discovered a satisfactory solution for that obscure but interesting 
 question, 'Why the devil did work more with ancient woman than others.' 
 Witchcraft at his solicitation was made a capital offense and from the com- 
 mencement of his reign there scarcely passed a year in which some aged 
 female or other was not condemned to expiate on the gallows her supposed 
 communication with the evil spirit." 
 
 2. The era of the Long Parliament was that, perhaps, which numbered 
 the most executions. Three thousand persons are said to have perished dur- 
 ing the continuance of the sittings of that body, by legal executions inde- 
 pendently of summary deaths at the hands of the mob. The last execution 
 for supposed witchcraft occurred as late as 1716. Cf. International Cyclo- 
 pedia, Vol. 15. 
 
 .3. Cath. Cyclopedia, Vol. XV. 
 
30 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 dominated by Materialism, has exercised an evil influence 
 upon the modern stage, as is seen in the travestied present- 
 ment of the Weird Sisters. They have now become nothing 
 more than common witches who are altogether different from 
 their preternatural reality in Shakespeare 's day. Hence, says 
 Hazlitt :^ "We can conceive a common actor to play Richard 
 III. tolerably well. We can conceive no one to play Macbeth 
 properly, or to look like a man who has encountered the 
 Weird Sisters. All the actors that we have ever seen appear 
 as if they had encountered them on the boards of Drury Lane 
 or Covent Garden, but not on the heath of Forres, and as 
 if they did not believe what they had seen. The Weird 
 Sisters are ridiculous on the modern stage and we doubt if 
 the Furies of Aeschylus would be more respected." 
 
 I 
 
 1. Characters of Shakespeare, p. 23. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE WEIRD SISTERS 
 
 Shakespear e 's belief in witches was that common to his 
 t imes . T o tSie popular mmd/wn. chaal^w.e.reij^^ 
 and willing instrume nts of evil spirits that sought to infl ict 
 injury on m ankind. ^ Jjy tradition they were unch ristian old 
 hags, whose" ugliness no less-than their malevolence inspire d. 
 disgusL mthfir thaj i awe and texror . If they inflicted temporalj 
 injury on the victims of their envy and hate, they were 
 powerless to lead them involuntarily to spiritual ruin. 
 A ccording to popular belief. the ; v entered into a compact 
 wilh ISatan, who appearing in soiiiev^E[e'^Dr^'''|^ormsed the 
 witch what she most desired on the cnuHition that she ab;iure 
 ^Chris tianity and swear fealty to himself. The powers of 
 w itches as well as their rites and incantations were substan- 
 tially the same in Christian as in^agan times. ~~ 
 
 The reality of witchcraft is a question on which it is not 
 easy to pronounce a confldent judgment. In the face of Holy 
 Scripture and the teaching of the Fathers and theologians 
 the abstract possibility of a pact with the Devil and of a 
 diabolical interference in human affairs can hardly be denied ; 
 but no one can read the literature of the subject without 
 being convinced that in ninety-nine cases out of one hundred 
 the allegations rest upon nothing better than pure delusion. 
 The most bewildering circumstance is the fact that in a large 
 number of witch prosecutions the confessions of the victims, 
 often involving all kinds of Satanistic horrors, have been made 
 spontaneously and apparently without threat or fear of 
 torture. Also the full admission of guilt seems constantly to 
 have been confirmed on the scaffold when the poor sufferer 
 had nothing to gain or lose by the confession. One can only 
 record the fact as a psychological problem, and point out that 
 
 31 
 
32 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 the same tendency seems to manifest itself ia other similar. 
 cases.^ 
 
 Aware of the popular belief in witchcraft, tha. Poet 
 deemeci ""it unnecessary ' to " elaborate^ Macbeth 's relation to 
 Satan, or to picture an open compact betweenhim and the 
 powers of evil; all thiswas clear to the minds of his audience. 
 
 "b uilding upon this p"pi?1ar bp1ief-_.ihe.^£Qfit gives us . in. the 
 "Weird Sisters, not the wi tches of .c ommop sjjifierstitiojL, but a 
 new c reation u nique and altogether Ji&. own. "Tiiet_are," 
 says jCJoleriHie^ '-'as true a creation of Shakespeare as his 
 
 ^Ariel and Caliban, and wMre^wEoliy~aiffefmg from witches 
 of other writers, yet present a sufficient external resemblance 
 to the creatures of vulgar superstition to act immediately 
 on the audience." The Greek Hecate and her sister witches 
 of Middleton, as well as of other contemporary dramatists, 
 are, says Charles Lamb, "The plain traditional old women 
 witches of our ancestors — poor, deformed, and ignorant, the 
 terror of villages— themselves amenable to a justice; but he 
 indeed should be a hardy sheriff who with all the power of 
 the county at his back should attempt to lay hands on the 
 "Weird Sisters : They are beyond human jurisdiction. " If in 
 them the Poet designed to give a visible expression to a moral 
 significance in the workings of human guilt, which, beginning 
 with the fall in Eden, has continued under varied modes 
 through all the ages, he was obliged to clothe these tempting 
 evil spirits in some visible form like the "Weird Sisters, who, 
 bearing some resemblance to the traditional witch, would 
 merit credibility and rouse the attention of his audience. 
 Hence, w hile assigning them t he feminine garb of the eomriion 
 witch, he yet differentiates their nature by .maJiing them 
 heavily bearded women, by giving them- the new and distinc- 
 tive name of ""Weird Sisters," and by endowing them in 
 P^-SOii; like the Norse Norns, with unusual preternatural pow- 
 e]a.^jl(LsaperlujmaJiJHa«wded,g£._^^ theirjruthful 
 
 reality, he scrupulously insists on picturing them in disguise 
 a s^TTStti ve, obj ective exiftencesT'TEis" was the more "necessary , 
 since, dominating the whole action of the drama, they lead 
 
 1. Cf. Herlicit Thurston, S. .T., apud The Catholic Cyclopedia. 
 
THE WEIRD SISTERS 33 
 
 Macbeth on through doubts and conflicts to his final ruin; 
 and, as a consequence, to appreciate the tragedy, the reader 
 must consider them as beings, as real as Macbeth and 
 Banquo. By gliding forth amid lightning flashes like ghosts 
 from a thunder cloud, the "Weird Sisters indicate, at their 
 very first appearance, their diabolical nature and kinship to 
 the dark and tempestuous elements of nature. Two persons 
 behold them at the same time ; both address them, and are in 
 turn addressed by them in prophetic terms. If in our Mate- 
 rialistic age a few critics affect to view them as mere fantastic 
 creations of Macbeth 's overheated mind, and without any 
 objective reality, such a notion is amply refuted by the drama 
 itself, as well as by the historic fact that, on Shakespeare's 
 own stage, the "Weird Sisters appeared and visibly enacted 
 their role with no less objective reality than did the other 
 characters of the play. 
 
 As real witchcraft is the work of Satan, so are its religion 
 and its liturgy. "We cannot quite dispense in this life," 
 says Professor Dowden, "with ritualism, and the ritualism 
 of evil is foul and ugly." A liturgy is nothing more than 
 an outward and visible expression of inward religious faith 
 and worship, and religion of some kind is shown by the 
 experience of ages to be essential to social life, and if essen- 
 tial to social life on Earth, it is no less so to the society of 
 Hell. Lucifer, who would not serve in Heaven, rules in Hell 
 as Satan or adversary of God, where he receives the gruesome 
 homage of ruined legions. In dealing with his willing tools 
 on Earth, he must perforce adopt means in harmony with 
 his mysterious and preternatural character, and employ, 
 moreover, a ritual, a liturgy by which he may give human 
 expression to his diabolical religion, and such expression must 
 be especially accommodated to the senses and minds of men. 
 Hence, when dealing with Macbeth, evil spirits in the form 
 of the weird use the language and ritual of witchcraft as 
 best suited to their purpose and best understood by hjnu 
 Making a brew of infernal charms, they reveal their ecstasy | 
 over intended crimes, sing in hellish glee, and to mystic 
 rhythms dance around their fiendish chaldron, disclosing in. 
 
 \( 
 
34 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 their abhorrent rites the passionless malignity of their 
 diabolical natures. Darkness is their light, storms their sun- 
 shine; tumults, terrors, murders, insanity, suicides, and 
 Satanic liturgies their sole religion. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 THE REAL NATURE OP THE WEIRD SISTERS 
 
 Accounts of preternatural occurrences, it is evident, must 
 be received vs^ith caution. Aristotle's dictum, virtue is the 
 golden mean, is serviceable in guarding against credulity as 
 well as incredulity. Both, equally odious, are blemishes of 
 the human mind. Truth is attainable only by avoiding the 
 one and the other. There is always danger of illusion, since 
 the populace whose credulity is proverbial, is naturally 
 inclined to attribute to occult or preternatural forces any 
 wondrous effect the cause of which is non-apparent. No less 
 common is the danger of deceit ; though charlatans have been 
 repeatedly exposed, they continue to ply their trade with 
 astonishing success; though fraudulent spiritists and their 
 sham seances have been unmasked time and again, they still 
 attract the many who are overmastered by the desire to 
 meddle with the preternatural. The frauds prevalent in every 
 age have induced the Church wisely to caution her ministers 
 against deceptions. In her ritual of exorcism, she teaches 
 that extraordinary effects, which are commonly ascribed to 
 the preternatural, are not readily to be admitted ; that there 
 is always danger lest the superstition of the masses and their 
 credulity may enable impostors to parade in the garb of 
 truth; that natural distempers, certain kinds of madness, 
 uncommon palsies, and epilepsies, are not to be construed as 
 effects of enchantments or possessions, nor to be attributed 
 to causes beyond the natural upon vulgar prejudices and 
 notions of the manner in which such things are done. She 
 insists that her ministers meet every apparently preternatural 
 effect with a critical mind, that they judiciously examine into 
 them, and suspend judgment, save in the presence of the most 
 convincing evidence. 
 
 35 
 
36 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 In the quest of truth concerning the preternatural, incred- 
 ulity is no less an impediment than its opposite extrenie. A 
 counterfeit is a convincing proof of the worth of the original, 
 and to deny the latter in order to guard against its imitation, 
 is an act of folly proper to the skeptic. In our modern 
 irreligious world it has become the fashion to view the pre- 
 ternatural no less than the supernatural with hostile gaze 
 and to ridicule it as a chimera. Materialists of every .hue, 
 and their name is legion, dogmatize against all that is above 
 the natural, and in this they are consistent with their prin- 
 ciples. Denying a priori the reality of everything that is 
 beyond our sense perceptions, they are perforce obliged to 
 deny the existence of all incorporeal beings, such as God, 
 the immateriality of the human soul, and angels good and 
 bad of the spirit world. The illogical position of the Mate- 
 rialistic school is well exposed by an English scientist who 
 says: "No one has seen the ether of space. It does not 
 appeal to sense, and we know of no way of getting hold of it. 
 Further, it is a thing of incredibly opposed characteristics, 
 an anomaly hardly to be understood, and with some difficulty 
 to be even credited with existence. Yet concerning this 
 material ether, which no one can see or understand, Material- 
 ists make an absolute Act of Faith"; while the truth of 
 God's existence, the evidence for which is much stronger 
 than for that of ether, they flatly deny.^ That their a' priori 
 dogmatism is based on nothing more than mere assumptions 
 is clear to every man who perceives himself to be endowed, 
 not only with sense perception, but also with a rational soul, 
 which enables him to rise by his intellectual faculty above 
 corporeal things of sense, and, unfettered by time and space, 
 to revel in the contemplation of sublime and spiritual truths, 
 which are wholly beyond sense perception. Moreover, to deny 
 all accounts of the preternatural, the Materialist must close 
 his eyes to well authenticated facts of the ancient and modern 
 world. 
 
 In our own times exists a Society for Psychical Re- 
 
 1. Cf. The Scientific Outloolt by Sir Oliver Lodgp in the 'TathoHc 
 Mind," Dec. 22, 1913. ■ atnoiic 
 
REAL NATURE OF THE WEIRD SISTERS 37 
 
 search,^ whose object is the scientific investigation of all 
 those psychical manifestations which have either been ignored 
 or doubted by natural science and by experimental psychol- 
 ogy. Its members, men of science and of all religious shades 
 of belief, both Christian and non-Christian, are well known to 
 the learned world of England and America. Confining their 
 researches solely to remarkable authentic cases, they employed 
 the most modern scientific and psychological methods of 
 investigation, with the result that many of the phenomena 
 proved to be truly preternatural,^ and that the claims of 
 some spiritists were so undoubtedly approved that many 
 researchers, hithei"to skeptical, were led to profess a belief in 
 spiritism. The effects produced could not be explained on 
 purely natural grounds ; they were disproportioned or foreign 
 to the means employed, and necessarily required the action of 
 some intellectual though invisible agent. Such deeds, how- 
 ever, as every Christian knows, cannot be regarded as the work 
 of God or His angels; and, therefore, must be ascribed to 
 evil spirits, who are ever anxious to meddle in human affairs, 
 in order to deceive and seduce man from God.^ This invisible 
 presence of evil agents in our moral world is admitted by 
 many non-Catholic Shakespearean critics. In reference to 
 the nature of the "Weird Sisters, Professor Dowden says that 
 the history of the race and the social medium in which we 
 live and breathe have created forces of good and evil, which 
 are independent of the will of each individual man and 
 woman. No great realist in art has hesitated to admit the 
 existence of a dual force which is known to theologians as 
 
 1 In 1898, the membership of the English Society under Sir William 
 Croolces numbered 900, and its American branch. 4S0. 
 
 2 "Researches in the Phenomena of Spiritism," by Sir William Crookes. 
 .s' The l-ocietp for Psychical Research has scientifically verified eleven 
 
 phvsical phenomena of Spiritism. That of Phantom Forms and Faces is very 
 pertinent. Sir William Crookes and his associates witnessed the materializa- 
 tion of hum.in forms and faces which appeared in such a manner as to 
 become objectively and simultaneously visible to all persons assisting at the 
 experiment. Human forms became visible and gradually developed in solidity 
 and clearness. Sometimes the entire form, enveloped in what seemed a kind 
 of light drapery, moved about the room, spolce in audible whispers, and after 
 a time melted away again before their eyes. When the conditions were 
 favorable they sometimes have all the characteristics of real human beings 
 with all the functions of a human body in full working order. (Phenomena 
 of flpiriiism, by Sir William Crookes ; also Modern Spiritism, by J. G. 
 Raupert, c. II.) 
 
38 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 divine grace and Satanic temptation. The idealist may dream 
 of divorcing himself from the large impersonal life of the 
 world, and of erecting himself into an independent will, but 
 in reality there is no such thing as "naked manhood." 
 Between the evil within and the evil without, subsist a terrible 
 sympathy and reciprocity; and the constitution which is 
 morally enfeebled supplies appropriate nutriment for the 
 germs of disease. It is enough to know that such powers, 
 auxiliary to vice, do exist outside ourselves, and that Shakes- 
 peare was scientifically correct in his statement of the fact.^ 
 "The undeniable though dark and mysterious connection 
 between this life and the next," says Professor Ulrici, 
 "constrains us to ascribe to the spiritual world a certain 
 influence on the spirits yet embodied on this earth. In this 
 truth lies the profound meaning of the Christian doctrine of 
 devils and evil spirits," who, all intent on man's moral ruin, 
 boast with the arch-fiend: 
 
 "To do aught good, never will be our task. 
 But ever to do ill, our sole delight. 
 As being the contrary to His high will 
 Whom we resist." {Farad. Lost, Bk. 1.) 
 
 To ignore this truth is to miss the ke y to the tragedy of 
 
 ~~ Macbeth. _The_idea .oLa^apiritual realuLOi. demons who, fuU 
 
 \ of, malignity, exercise their dark secret powers to gain human 
 
 \ souls to the cause of evil, and do gain them, except so far as 
 
 \ they are opposed, has/been a definite conception, recognized 
 
 Ithrovigh^jll^ times, and. in.. alL- stages of ^vilization. As a 
 
 IdeBnite conception, it is found embodied in a Dr. Faust in 
 
 the legendary lore of every race. Shak^jgeare^himself^ was 
 
 penetrated with the idea. For its truth he saw many proofs 
 
 iETSacf id' Scripture. Uencej recognizing the existence of evil 
 
 s pirits that_with_«Saianie— oucning- lie -in- wait for human 
 
 souls^hisjClmstian mind -clothed them with visible forms in 
 
 the new creation of the .Weird Sisters. As he makes evil- 
 
 spirits prime agents in the drama, it was expedient to reveal 
 
 their iiivisible presence and secret action to his audience by 
 
 1, Shakespeare, His Mind and Art, p. 220. 
 
REAL NATURE OF THE WEIRD SISTERS 39 
 
 .portraying them under some corporeal and visible __form. 
 He vras'lamiliar-witfar ^ense rtslEaem^^gitee which speaks 
 of the three fatal sisters who dwell in the deep abyss. They 
 were goddesses of the infernal regions, and in the pagan 
 notion of human destiny led doomed men into the way of 
 calamity. Shakespeare, however, preferred to picture the 
 tempters of Macbeth in some visible guise which would be 
 more intelligible to his audience. Hence, the evil spirits that 
 cross the chieftain's path on the blasted heath at Forres, he 
 clothes with objective forms as witnessed in the Weird Sisters. 
 They must, therefore, be clearly distinguished from the 
 traditional witches of the play, which Middleton later intro- 
 duced for spectacular effect. For such witches Macbeth has 
 but contemptuous words, "You black and midnight hags!" 
 But the "three fatal sisters," the "Vestal Virgins of hell," 
 are horrid anomalies that surprise and mystify himself and 
 Banquo. 
 
 Shakespeare 's belief in demons and diableries was common 
 to Protestants as well as to Catholics of his day. It was in 
 conformity with the doctrine taught in Apostolic times, and 
 was retairied by the various Christian sects of the Reforma- 
 tion, even after they had been severed from the Catholic 
 Church. But being still in the formative period, their new 
 basic principle of religion was not yet developed to its logical 
 conclusion, as it is today, when many reject the mystery of 
 the incarnation, the divine inspiration of Sacred Scripture, 
 eternal punishment, and the existence of a personal devil. 
 Such negations would indeed have seemed blasphemous to 
 Elizabethan ears, and in those less tolerant times would have 
 merited for their advocates death at the stake. In 
 Shakespeare's day, however, the new State religion^ adhered 
 to the Catholic doctrine common to Christendom, that Satan 
 and his fallen legions were very real, both in existence and in 
 malicious activity against man and God. 
 
 At the birth of Christianity, witchcraft and kindred 
 diableries took on a new and distinct meaning, which was 
 
 1. Its proper or legal title is, "The Protestant Episcopal Church as 
 Established by Law of Parliament." 
 
40 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 unacceptable and often unintelligible to peoples who, amid 
 the darkness of paganism, had for ages looked upon the state 
 and their religion of idolatry and sorceries as one and insep- 
 arable. In its very origin, Christianity was in its life and 
 doctrines hostile to the principles of evil which dominated 
 the heathen world; its mission was to enlighten men's minds 
 by divine truths, and to redeem them from the slavery in 
 which Satan had so long held them captive. By Apostolic 
 as well as by Scriptural teaching, Satan is a wicked spirit of 
 great intelligence and power, who, impotent in hatred and 
 rage against the Almighty, turns his efforts in malice and in 
 envy against man, the image of God, and by drawing him to 
 perdition seeks to lessen the extrinsic glory of the Creator. 
 Hence, in prosecution of their purpose the arch-fiend and his 
 subordinate demons, strive to set up a dominion in rivalry 
 with that of the Almighty. In consequence, they battle under 
 varied forms against the kingdom of God on Earth, that 
 spiritual organization known as the Catholic Church, and 
 their malevolent power, heightened through human agencies, 
 too often finds expression in persecutions that are waged by 
 their blind dupes, whom they inspire with a hatred as irra- 
 tional as their own is diabolical against the Church. 
 
 That their existence is a revealed truth was accepted by 
 Shakespeare as it is by every Christian mind. To doubt it, 
 is to question the fundamental truth of Christianity, that the 
 Son of God became incarnate to redeem a fallen race from 
 sin and to destroy Satan's evil works. Apart from the con- 
 stant and universal belief in evil spirits, their .existence is 
 most frequently and emphatically inculcated in Holy Writ. 
 God did not spare the ajagels that sinned.^ The devils also 
 believe and tremble.^ By envy of the devil, death came into 
 the world.^ He that committeth sin is of the devil, for the 
 devil sinneth from the beginning.* After withdrawing man 
 from allegiance to the Creator,^ the arch-fiend made himself 
 the prince of this world," and with his associate demons was 
 
 1. 2 Pet. 11 -A. 4. John, 1 Epis. 3 :8. 
 
 2. Jas. 11 :19. 5. Gen. 3. 
 
 3. Wisdom, 2, 24. 6. John 12:31. 
 
REAL NATURE OF THE WEIRD SISTERS 41 
 
 worshipped as gods among the gentile nations.^ To the early 
 Christian converts the Apostle writes: "Put you on the 
 armor of God that you may be able to stand against the 
 deceits of the devil ; for our wrestling is not against flesh and 
 blood, but against Principalities and Powers, against the 
 rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of 
 wickedness in the high places.^ To the Corinthians he writes : 
 "I fear lest as the serpent seduced Eve by his subtlety, so 
 your minds should be corrupted and fall from the simplicity 
 that is in Christ. For such false prophets are deceitful 
 workmen, transforming themselves into the Apostles of Christ, 
 and no wonder : for Satan himself transformeth himself into 
 an angel of light. " ^ To the same purpose are Shakespeare 's 
 lines : 
 
 . . "the devil hath power . 
 To assume a pleasing shape. ' ' * 
 ' ' The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose ! " 5 
 "When devils will their blackest sins put on, 
 They do suggest at first with heavenly shows. ' ' '■ 
 
 Sacred Scripture is, moreover, replete with Satan's activi- 
 ties among men. An evil spirit said : "I will go forth and 
 be a lying spirit in the mouth of all the prophets of Achab. ' ' ' 
 A demon strangled the successive husbands of Sara.^ Elias 
 by command of God pronounced the sentence of death upon 
 King Ochozias, because having fallen sick he sent messengers 
 to consult Beelzebub, the god of Acheron." After the spirit 
 of the Lord had departed from Saul, he was vexed by an evil 
 spirit, and his last act was like the first, but more significant. 
 He began by consulting Samuel as a diviner, and he ends 
 by consulting a professed sorceress. By the magic rites of the 
 Witch of Endor he hoped to foresee the issue of the approach- 
 ing battle. God meets him even in the cave of Satanic 
 delusions, but as an antagonist. The reprobate king receives 
 
 1 Ps Q5 -5 6- 0th., I, lil. 
 
 2. Ephes.-6 :11, 11'. T. 3 Kings 22 :22, 
 
 3. 2 Cor. 11:3, 13, 14. 8. Tob, 8:3 
 
 4. Hamlet, II. ii. 9- * Kings, 16. 
 
 5. Merch. of Ven., I, iii. 
 
42 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 by the mouth of the dead Samuel the news that on the 
 morrow he and his sons shall be slain by the Philistines.^ 
 
 It is, moreover, an undeniable fact that in heathendom 
 many wonders were worked by means of the black art. As 
 the magicians of Pharaoh were enabled by evil spirits to 
 counterfeit some of the miracles of Moses,^ so in the early days 
 of the Church, Satan, by the wonders and illusions of Simon 
 the Magician, attempted to frustrate the force of the true 
 miracles of the Apostles.^ Though sorcery and other forms 
 of diableries flourished among idolatrous peoples, they found 
 no foothold in Israel, where by divine command they were 
 proscribed under the sanction of the direst penalties. 
 "Beware lest thou have a mind to imitate the abominations 
 of those nations; neither let there be found among you any 
 who consulteth soothsayers, or observeth dreams and omens, 
 neither let there be aiiy wizard, nor charmer, nor any that 
 consulteth pythonic spirits, or fortune-tellers, or that seeketh 
 the truth from the dead, for the Lord abhorreth all these 
 abominations. ' ' * This divine law was recognized and enforced 
 from the beginning by the Church of Christendom, and her 
 Scriptural doctrines concerning evil spirits and their wicked 
 designs upon mankind, were accepted by Shakespeare as well 
 as by the populace of England in his day. Hence, his audi- 
 ence readily comprehended the true nature of the Weird 
 Sisters and their diabolical purpose to lure Macbeth to his 
 temporal and eternal ruin. 
 
 1. 1 Samuel 28 :19 ; and Cardinal Newman, Character Sketches — Saul. 
 
 2. Exod. 7 :11. 
 
 3. Acts 8 ;10. 
 i. Deut. 18 :9. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 THE PROPHECIES OF THE WEIRD SISTERS 
 
 The Poet portrays thej^^ld^^jsterj^as real_^ 
 creaturei7~prescient of the future. Their predictions are 
 accurately fuffillM" eveii TffTKe" siiiallest^^garticulai:. There 
 is, however, naught ^ufp]Fiiing~mTETs7 for transcending mor- 
 tals in perfection of nature and of intellect, they can perceive 
 many things that are obscure or unknown to us. Their greater 
 intelligence is due to the greater excellence of their spiritual 
 nature, and this excellence is proportioned to their nearer 
 approach to the Deity. 
 
 The more, says the Angelic Doctor, one approaches to 
 the Creator, the more he partakes of the divine perfections; 
 hence, because man as a rational creature is the lowest in 
 the scale of intellectual creation, he reflects in his human soul 
 but obscurely the image of His Maker, while the angelic 
 nature, being immaterial and purely spiritual both in nature 
 and activities, presents a more luminous and perfect image 
 of the Creator. If man is by nature a rational animal, spirits 
 are by nature immaterial and pure intelligences, who, in 
 the pursuit of knowledge, are unhampered by limitations 
 of sense and of gross material elements. If man acquires 
 truth by ratiocination, spirits attain it by intuitive vision. 
 If a man's inferior intellect can reach perfection in the 
 knowledge of truth only by discursive mental operations, 
 only by reasoning from one known truth to another, 
 spirits by their superior intellectual powers can at once be- 
 hold in every truth presented to their gaze all that is con- 
 tained therein, as effects in their causes and causes in their 
 effects ; and, in consequence, they are called pure intelligences, 
 
 43 
 
44 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 while man by reason of his discursive method is called 
 rational.^ 
 
 This intellectual perfection is essential to the nature of 
 every purely spiritual being, whether angelic or demoniacal, 
 and, therefore, even after sin, remains as long as that spiritual 
 nature continues to exist. When in punishment for their 
 rebellion against the Creator, the fallen angels were cast out 
 of heaven, and stripped of those supernatural endowments 
 that were in no manner proper to their nature, "they retained 
 all that was natural or essential to their spiritual existence 
 and activity. In consequence, those evil spirits still possess 
 unimpaired their natural powers of intellect, and, in extent 
 of range and in depth of penetration, excel mortal man more 
 than the wisest philosopher does the untutored savage. 
 
 Though these fallen spirits can perceive many things which 
 are beyond the scope of our limited mental vision, neverthe- 
 less, they have, like man, their limitations in regard to 
 prophecy. All future events may be known either in them- 
 selves or in their causes.^ One class of causes always and 
 necessarily produce their effects, and these, therefore, may be 
 foretold with certainty, as an astronomer foretells an eclipse. 
 There is, however, another class of causes which, while gen- 
 erally bringing forth their effects, yet do not always and 
 necessarily do so, and in consequence, their action can be 
 predicted not, indeed, with certainty, but only with reason- 
 able conjecture, as when a weather observer foretells a local 
 rain as probable. As evil spirits have, however, a deeper and 
 more universal knowledge than man, and are, moreover, 
 acquainted with hidden powers of nature, they can perceive 
 better the relation between the first and second class of causes 
 and their effects, and consequently can conjecture future 
 events more frequently and with greater preciseness, just as 
 a physician who has a clearer knowledge, not only of the 
 nature and cause of his patient's malady, but also of its 
 efficient remedy, can better prognosticate his restoration to 
 health. There are, however, other causes whose effects depend 
 
 1. S. Tliomas, Summa TUeol. 1 Pars. Qu. 5S 
 L'. Ibidem, IIo^ Ilae. Qu. 45. 
 
PROPHECIES OP THE WEIRD SISTERS 45 
 
 upon what is erroneously called chance, or upon man's free 
 will ; and because such effects are not immutably determined 
 in their causes, we can see them only in themselves, when they 
 are actually present to our eyes. To foretell them with cer- 
 tainty is in the power of God alone; for only before His 
 eternal and infinite mind, all future things are as present. 
 "Show the things that are to come hereafter, and we shall 
 know that ye are gods. " ^ If evil spirits, therefore, cannot 
 foresee with certainty future contingent effects of this third 
 class of causes, they can, nevertheless, wisely conjecture 
 about them, especially since, besides possessing superhuma!!^ 
 acumen, they are also rich in the long experience of thousands 
 of years, during which they have in the temptation of man- 
 kind thoroughly learned the ways of men, and acquired a 
 wide and deep knowledge of human nature, and above all 
 a clear insight into the workings of the human mind and 
 heart. 
 
 Evil spirit s, moreover, whose perverse nature is confirmed 
 in evil and in" falsehood, a re never prone to tell truths, save 
 a s a means to their ulterior P.urpose oj; feagi^L^iZIaway 
 f r.Qm virtue and from God. ^ThisJ^s jwell_.^Smplified-in,_the, 
 deali ngrof the "WeircTS isters with Macbeth. Having won his 
 confidence by the ruse oI~aleeinmg prophecy, ' which was in 
 truth but a post-f actum declaration, they proceed by decep- 
 tive enigmas to lead him blindly on to ruin. Their ^hird 
 _predictiaa: 
 
 " All hail Macbeth, that shalt be a. kiny hereafter." 
 
 ig hasp,q npnn ^ ypll fonndpd coniecturfi that the-^^jhaU be able / 
 ■with the aid of his ruling passion of ambition, tomSiTcrEm . 
 lo seize the crown by bloody usurpation^ the throne once 
 attaihed, they purpose to lead him on to further crime by 
 lying riddles of assured safety. These Macbeth interprets, 
 as they conjectured, to his own advantage; but when in 
 surprise he discovers their fiendish frauds, he exclaims in 
 vexation of soul : 
 
 1. Isal. 41:23. 
 
46 
 
 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 I pull in resolution, and begin 
 
 To doubt the equivocation of the fiend 
 
 That lies like truth. 
 
 And be these juggling fiends no more believed, 
 That palter with us in a double sense, 
 That keep the word of promise to our ear, 
 And break it to our hope." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE TEMPTATION OP MAN BY EVIL SPIRITS 
 
 To Jth£. Christian, mind the tragedy of Macbeth gives 
 sensible expression to the secret efforts_^ofJhe_£fia:££&_Qf-.e.Yil 
 w hose purpo se is to ruin man by"means of his ruling passio n. 
 That all who wiu live goaiy lives must prepare their souls 
 for trials and persecutions, is a divine axiom/ ,-l£ai£tation 
 is the common lot of all ; because man's present existence is 
 by divine ordination but a short passing life of probation, in 
 which he must align himself with one or the other of the two 
 antagonistic spiritual forces, which have made earth their 
 battle-ground of good against evil: i n brief, m an -must in the 
 present life^ choose t o serve Satan as a slave or God as a free- 
 manj__TJieseJxaths J6SEre~as~ &'stlpjanciples_t6 jieoples of the 
 Elizabethan age, and Sha^sgeare^was^^in^ harmony with the 
 thought "^""I Tis da y. Then, Christians of every type" still 
 accepted Sacred Scripture as the divinely revealed word of 
 God. Its pages are full of the intermeddling of fallen angels 
 with the affairs of men. It teaches that our wrestling is not 
 against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers 
 and spirits of wickedness.^ Furthermore, it counsels us not 
 to believe every spirit, but to try them, to see if they be of 
 God.^ The neglect of this counsel has, no doubt, caused many 
 to be deceived by demons who appear as angels of light. If, 
 on the authority of the Sacred Book, Shakespeare believed 
 in the existence of good spirits who are God's "ministers of 
 grace ' ' and ' ' guardians of men, " he no less firmly believed in 
 fallen angels, those counter spirits of evil that from envy and 
 hatred tempt men to moral ruin. They try and experiment 
 
 1. Eccl. 2 :1 : 2 Tim. 3 :12. 
 
 2. Ephes. 6:12. 
 
 3. 1 John 4. 
 
 47 
 
48 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 with humankind in order to discover each one's natural dispo- 
 sition to virtue or to vice, with the sole purpose of injuring him 
 by seducing him to sin.^ Such is the special function of Satan 
 and his legions, though too often wicked men wittingly or un- 
 wittingly share in his work. If Sacred Scripture sometimes 
 ascribes temptations to God, it is in a wholly different sense. 
 His trial of man is not to lead him to evil, but to disclose to 
 others his good or evil character. "For the Lord your God 
 trieth you that it may appear whether you love Him with all 
 your heart, and with all your soul or no."^ "Blessed is the 
 man that endureth temptation, for when he hath been proved 
 he shall receive the crown of life which God hath promised 
 to them that love Him. ' ' ^ 
 
 There are, however, two extremes to be avoided concern- 
 ing man's temptation. The one extreme is the position of 
 those who expressly reject all demonaical temptation ; because 
 it is, as they say, repugnant to the divine attributes of God, 
 and because the demon's action upon the human soul is 
 beyond our comprehension. Such a position is indeed natural 
 to all who, unlike Shakespeare and his contemporaries, no 
 longer hold Sacred Scripture to be the revealed word of God ; 
 but true Christians find in the Holy Book many examples of 
 temptations by evil spirits. It was Satan who deceived man 
 in Eden and attempted the same with Christ, the "Second 
 Adam. " * He corrupted Judas and inspired him to treason,^ 
 and led astray Ananias and Sapphira.^ Our Savior affirms 
 that the sower of cockle is the devil who snatches the word 
 of life from the hearts of men.' "We are exhorted to be 
 vigilant against the demon, to resist him in faith, and to put 
 on the armor of God that we may stand against his wiles. 
 
 This doctrine, so emphatically inculcated in Sacred Scrip- 
 ture, has, moreover, been defended and expounded by the 
 early Fathers of the Greek and Latin Church.^ None of them 
 
 1. St. Thorn., 1 p. Q. 114. A. 2. 
 
 2. Deut. 13 :3. 
 
 3. James 1 :12. 
 
 4. Gen. 3; Apoc. 12; Matth. 4; Mark 1; Luke 4. 
 
 5. .Tohn 13 :2, 27. 
 
 6. Acts 5:3. 
 
 7. Matth. 13 :39 ; Luke 8 :12. 
 
 8. Cf. Card. Mazzella, De Deo Creante, p. 304. 
 
MAN'S TEMPTATION BY EVIL SPIRITS 49 
 
 perceived in man's ttmptation anything repugnant to the 
 attributes of God; for Satan's activity is limited by the 
 ordination of Divine Providence, and, whatever his power, 
 he is unable to force the human will. Hence, how forceful 
 soever be temptation, it is never beyond man's power of 
 resistance, when strengthened by the grace of God. St. Paul 
 affirms: "-God is faithful who will not suffer you to be 
 tempted above that which you are able, but will make also 
 with temptation issue that you may be able to bear it. " ' St. 
 Jerome (A. D. 345) in treating of the Savior's temptation in 
 the desert, writes: "Cast thyself down; that is the voice of 
 the devil who always seeks to hurl men down to ruin ; he can 
 persuade, but he cannot drag down."^ St. Chrysostom 
 (A. D. 347), speaking of those who frequent the theaters 
 rather than the Church, says: "Who has separated them 
 from the sacred sheep fold? You all have the same human 
 nature, but not the same will; hence he has deceived them, 
 but not you."^ St. Augustine (A. D. 354) writes: "Christ 
 came and bound the devil. But if he is bound, why does he 
 still prevail so much? It is true he dominates the tepid, the 
 negligent, and those devoid of a true fear of God. Bound like 
 a chained dog, he can bite only those that in deadly security 
 approach him. He can harm none save the willing; for he 
 injures not by force, but by persuasion; he seeks, but he 
 cannot extort our consent."* St. Chrysostom affirms that 
 God permits temptation for the punishment of sin, for the 
 correction of the sinner, as well as for the manifestation of 
 his own glory ; for by temptation the name of Christ is glori- 
 fied, since by His power the Christian conquers the demon.^ 
 This doctrine of the early Fathers is not only in conformity 
 with the teaching of Holy Writ, but is also illustrated by 
 innumerable examples, of which the most striking is perhaps 
 that chronicled in the poetical book of Job. "As a work of 
 genius and of art it occupies well-nigh the first rank in 
 
 1. 1 Cor. 10:13. 
 
 2. In Cap. IV. Matth. 
 
 3. Horn. 3 de Daemon. 
 
 4. Serm. .S7 Inter Opera S. Aug. 
 
 5. Horn. 1 de Daemon N. 6. 
 
50 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Hebrew literature, and is unsurpassed in sublimity of imag- . 
 inative thought by any poem of antiquity."' The hero is 
 an inhabitant of the land of Hus, a man who is "upright and 
 just, fearing the Lord and avoiding evil." In the poem, God 
 is pictured, on the one hand, as delighting in the virtue of 
 his servant, and Satan, on the other, as boasting in confi- 
 dence of his power to seduce him. This confidence springs 
 from his belief that Job's piety is prompted by worldly 
 motives. By God's permission, the demon, with the one 
 exception that he spare Job 's life, is allowed to test his fidelity 
 by the most severe sufferings. Having stricken him in suc- 
 cession with six great afflictions, Satan discovers that instead 
 of shaking his loyalty to God, he but causes his heroic virtue 
 to shine the more brilliantly. In his last attempt, the demon 
 finds auxiliaries in Eliphaz, Baldad, and Sophar, friends of 
 the afflicted man. As friends, they come to condole with him ; 
 but in the erroneous view that suffering is always the result 
 of evil doing, they sit with him in his terrible affliction of 
 mind and body, and day after day, drone into his ears their 
 conviction that he is a great sinner, and that he should repent 
 and confess his transgressions, and perhaps the Lord will 
 forgive him. Job's insistence upon his innocence, they blame, 
 resent, and stigmatize as rank hypocrisy. Their rash judg- 
 ments, are, however, rebuked by the Lord, who, coming in the 
 whirlwind, defends his servant 's innocence, puts an end to his 
 long sufferings, glorifies his well-tried fidelity, and crowns his 
 victory over men and the demon with wondrous munificence. 
 Job 's trial by the demon, like that of Macbeth 's, is an external 
 manifestation of secret temptations that are experienced by 
 many a Christian. Man alone with his natural forces can 
 effect little against the greater and preternatural powers of 
 tempting demons; but, like Job, the Christian is, under trial, 
 fortified secretly by supernatural aid, or grace, all unseen by 
 the tempter, and, in consequence, is enabled to conquer the 
 
 1. "Tbe poetry of the book of Job is not only equal to that of any other 
 of the sacred writings, but Is superior to them all, except those of Isaiah alone. 
 "As Isaiah is the most sublime, David the most pleasing and tender, so Job 
 is the most descriptive of all the inspired prophets." — The Poetry of the 
 Hebrews, Blair. 
 
MAN'S TEMPTATION BY EVIL SPIRITS 51 
 
 arch-enemy of God and man; and from his victory results a 
 manifold good : the Christian is roused to vigilance, perceives- 
 his own vreakness, turns to God in deepened faith and humil- 
 ity, strengthens his virtue, merits for himself, gives glory to 
 his heavenly Father, and by defeating the malicious efforts 
 of a superior being, humbles the gigantic pride of Satan, and 
 overwhelms him with confusion. 
 
 Since, therefore, man's temptation is not in conflict with 
 the attributes of God, we pass to the other assertion, that 
 temptation by Satan is inadmissible, because we do not under- 
 stand his action upon the human soul. Such an assertion 
 seems inane and forceless ; for no difficulty however great can 
 nullify a truth, since it arises not from the truth itself, but 
 from the limitations of our mind; and especially is this the 
 case with the truths of the unseen and preternatural order. 
 Even within our own visible and tangible creation are there 
 not many facts of whose existence we cannot doubt, though 
 we do not know how they happen ? In like manner, the Poet, 
 like all Christians, accepts the fact of diabolical temptation 
 on the authority of divine revelation, since, he is convinced 
 that such temptation is neither absurd in itself nor repugnant 
 to reason. If man's spiritual soul and its activities offer 
 many difficulties to psychologists, it is but natural that, in 
 view of our material bounds and imperfect mode of sense per- 
 ception, even greater difficulties should exist concerning the 
 invisible action of immaterial spirits upon other spiritual exist- 
 ences like the human soul. 
 
 To meet these difficulties, the Angelic Doctor offers in his 
 exhaustive treatise of the Summa ^ certain lucid principles in 
 explanation of Satan's mode of tempting man. To tempt is 
 the same as to move the will in some manner to evil, and 
 man's will may be moved interiorly by acting upon it and 
 directly inclining it against moral rectitude. Such interior 
 action on the will is possible to the Creator alone ; for as He 
 is the efficient cause of our intellectual nature and its free 
 wiU, so He alone, as its cause, can move it interiorly. Satan 
 can move the will exteriorly, either by proposing some object 
 
 1. 1 pars., Q. 3 et Q. 114. 
 
52 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 soliciting it to evil, or by exciting the passions or sensitive 
 appetites; for it is manifest that in proportion as a man's 
 passions are aroused, his will grows weaker and leaves him 
 more prone to consent; hence, by moving man's bodily spirits 
 and humors Satan can make him more disposed to sin, as for 
 instance, to anger or concupiscence. Evil spirits, further- 
 more, can tempt man by visibly proposing an object which 
 allures him to sin;^ for appearing in some visible form, they 
 can sensibly speak and persuade to evil : thus Satan tempted 
 our protoparent in Eden and our Savior in the desert. An 
 adept from long experience in the use of snares and strata- 
 gems, the "old serpent" is wont to assume various disguises, 
 sometimes, as an angel of light, tempting man to simulated 
 good, and again by assault and violence. It was thus that, 
 according to well authenticated facts, he tempted many of 
 the saints, and in recent times the Venerable Cure d'Ars. It 
 was thus that in the visible form of the Weird Sisters, evil 
 spirits accosted Macbeth, and entangled him in their snares. 
 His curiosity, fanned by an evil passion, made him an easy 
 victim. Satan, says St. Augustine, wishes to excite among 
 men a greater curiosity concerning occult matters, so that, 
 being implicated in their observance, they may become more 
 curious and get themselves more entangled in the manifold 
 snares of pernicious error.^ He is wont gradually to insinuate 
 himself, as in the case of the Weird Sisters, until he has his 
 victim within his power, and then he works on him his evil 
 will. This is well exemplified in the votaries of Spiritism. 
 This ism is not a new discovery of science, as some pretend, 
 or some new light come into the world, but simply the 
 recrudescence of the practice of necromancy with which non- 
 Christian nations are only too familiar, and which the Church 
 has in every age most emphatically condemned. Spiritists, in 
 consequence of their disregard of the divine command, which 
 forbids all superstitious practices and dealings with evil 
 spirits, are deprived of God's grace against the tempter, and, 
 abandoned to their folly, become the blind dupes of lying 
 
 1. St. Thorn, de Malo, C. 3 A. 4. 
 
 2. Apud Summa Theol. IIo-, Iloe. Qu. 96, A. 3, ad 2. 
 
MAN'S TEMPTATION BY EVIL SPIRITS 53 
 
 spirits, who lead them to deny the truth of the incarnation 
 of the Son of God, of His supernatural religion, of sin and its 
 future punishment, and of the essential distinction between 
 vice and virtue, until, in fine, they lose all notion of morality, 
 and in many eases their end is insanity or suicide. From his 
 own experience, says Dr. W. Potter, who was formerly a 
 spiritist : ' ' They teach that there is no high, no low, no good, 
 no bad. That murder is right, adultery is right, lying is 
 right, slavery is right. That nothing we can know can injure 
 the soul or retard its progress. That it is wrong to blame 
 any; that none should be punished; that man is a machine 
 and not to blame for his conduct. ' ' ^ The late Professor Lom- 
 broso, after long experimenting with spiritism, manifested 
 much anxiety from fear of losing his mind ; and the late Pro- 
 fessor James of Harvard University, an eminent psychical 
 investigator of the preternatural, displayed a very distinct 
 leaning to the Catholic view of the proscribed cult.^ The 
 words of St. John, which were called forth by the supersti- 
 tions of a pagan world, are clearly applicable to our Material- 
 istic age: "Every spirit that dissolveth Jesus is not of God; 
 and this is Antichrist of whom you have heard that he cometh, 
 and he is now already in the world. ' ' ^ 
 
 Satan employs another method of temptation,^ that of 
 invilTHtypTDp'o'sing an object alliciting To sin ; and this he 
 can effect by his preternatural power of moving and disturb- 
 ing man's imagination; for it is manifest that imaginary 
 apparitions are sometimes caused in man from local mutations 
 of his bodily spirits and humors. The demon can again 
 invisibly propose an object by inward and preternatural / 
 action upon the senses by means of the humors of the body,/ 
 in consequence of which the senses will be diversely affected.y 
 Hence, though evil spir its ha,ve iio_power to act o n man 's w ill 
 i nteriorly, they can, nev erth eless" by presenting ob.iects to 
 th e senses, by rousing the i magination, by stimulating the pas- 
 
 1. Of. Modern Spiritism, J. Godfrey Raupert, 2 Edition, p, 201. 
 
 2. Spiritualistic Phenomena and Their Interpretation, by J. Godfrey 
 Baupert. 
 
 3. 1 John 4 :3. 
 
 4. St. Thomas, Summa Theol. 1 pars., Q. Ill, A. 4. 
 
54 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 sions, a nd by external suggestion . ftxtftrioHv incite the _will 
 tj[]eyjL_jbifiisans-nin''.e ia-^Iiaui-fiLflwer, ..t.hp.y, p.nrifi,i:jTi^in,. sinlijl 
 habits by inspi ring thein with a false.fe eling of sficuritv. If 
 gTi(rh-Der sgffs""gesire to turnironi evil, t he y distur b them with 
 f^ars, harass them with imaginary obstacles, perplex them 
 with sophistical reasonings, and entangle them more and more 
 I in their snares, until, sunk in the quagmire of despair, they 
 resign themselves to their fate as did Macbeth in the words: 
 
 . . . ' ' I am ia blood 
 Stepp 'd in so far that, should I wade no more, 
 Eeturning were as tedious as go o'er." 
 
 Opposed to the one extreme that denies man's temptation 
 by Satan, is the other no less odious, which affirms that all sin 
 is instigated by the devil ? Though Satan be the indirect and 
 remote cause of all sin,^ because he seduced our protoparent, 
 from whom all receive their fallen human nature with its 
 proneness to evil, he is not, however, in any manner the direct 
 cause of every sin. Sacred Scripture clearly teaches that not 
 all sins are committed at the instigation of Satan. "The 
 imagination and thought of man's heart are prone to evil 
 from his youth;" ^ "Every man is tempted by his own con- 
 cupiscence, being drawn away and allured;"^ "whence are 
 wars and contentions among you? are they not from your 
 concupiscences which war in your members?"* Our Savior 
 teaches : ' ' From the heart come forth evil thoughts, murders, 
 adulteries, fornications, thefts, false testimonies, and blasphe- 
 mies." ° Man's freedom in his sinful nature affords an all- 
 sufficient cause for sin; for it is indeed nothing strange that 
 man, who always bears within his fallen nature a domestic 
 enemy in his conflicting passions, should often sin without the 
 instigation of Satan. Hence St. Chrysostom (A. D. 347) says, 
 that man 's sins arise from human depravity, and St. Gregory 
 (A. D. 326) expands the same truth in the following lines: 
 
 1. St. Thomas, Summa Theol. 1 p., Q, 114, A. 3. 
 
 2. Gen. 8:21. 
 
 a. St. Jam. 1:14. 
 
 4. St. Jam. 4:1. 
 
 5. St. Matth. 15:19. 
 
MAN'S TEMPTATION BY EVIL SPIEITS 55 
 
 "Quid culpam in hostem semper ipsi vertimus 
 Cmn nostra praestent robur ipsi criminal 
 Te criminare prorsus, aut certe magis, 
 Ignis tuus nam est: flamma vere daemonis.i 
 
 Since, then, man's passions kindle the fires of sin and Satan 
 but fans their flame, his power is proportioned to the moral 
 disposition of the person tempted, and is, therefore, greater 
 or less in accordance as a man cultivates or flouts the moral 
 virtues, and restrains or indulges his passions. Passions, when 
 indulged in their tendency to evil, necessarily create in man 
 an affinity with fallen spirits or demons, and, in consequence, 
 there arises between them an harmonious relation, an affinity, 
 one for the other, and man's soul, by reason of this secret 
 affinity, not only attracts evil spirits, but even welcomes their 
 visits. Thus Macbeth, when bent on crime, gladly welcomed 
 the Weird Sisters in their first visit, and afterwards eagerly 
 sought their presence ; and Lady Macbeth, intent on murder, 
 invoked them as "the spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, 
 murderous ministers that wait on nature's mischief." Their 
 power is, therefore, always relative, because it depends on the 
 affinitive tendencies of mans passions to evil, and in propor- 
 tion as those tendencies are stronger or weaker, they give these 
 demons a greater or less power in leading him to moral ruin. 
 
 1. Why always impute our sins to Satan, when our passions give him 
 power to tempt us? Let us blame ourselves at least in the main; for we 
 kjndle the fire, and be but fans the flames. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 THE TEMPTATION OF MACBETH 
 
 To judge aright of Shakespeare's metaphysical,, moral 
 and religious meaning of the drama, it is necessary to guard 
 against the ordinary critical error concerning the origin of 
 Macbeth 's criminal purpose. To suppose that the Poet repre- 
 sents the spirits of darkness as absolutely and gratuitously 
 seducing Macbeth, manifestly vitiates and debases the moral 
 to be drawn from the tragedy. Hence, the need of solving 
 the question, whether Macbeth projected the murder of Dun- 
 can, because of his encounter with the Weird . Sisters, or 
 whether they accosted him after the projection of murder, 
 because, says Mr. Fletcher, "They are privileged to see the 
 mind's construction, where human eye cannot penetrate — 
 in the mind itself."^ But can evil spirits penetrate the 
 human mind and read therein its secret, hidden thoughts?^ 
 Sacred Scripture aifirms the contrary by attributing such 
 power to God alone: "Hear thou from Heaven, from thy 
 high dwelling place : for thou only knowest the hearts of the 
 children of men ; " * " The heart is perverse and unsearchable, 
 who can know it? I am the Lord that search the heart and 
 prove the reins;* "Searching into the divisions of the soul, 
 and the spirit, He is a discerner of the thoughts and the in- 
 tents of the heart." ' Moreover, the fact of the Saviour's read- 
 ing the secret thoughts of men, is adduced by the Evangelists 
 as one of the proofs of His divinity .° Upon this point St. 
 Jerome argues: "Jesus saw their secret thoughts, and no one 
 
 1. Witches Pharmaropeia, p. 142. Apud Fnrness. 
 
 2. Card. Mazzella De Objecto Cognltionls Angellcae, De Deo Creante, p. 
 
 ' 3. 11 Paralip 6 :S0. 
 
 4. .lerem. 17 :9-10. 
 
 5. Heb. 4 :12. 
 
 6. Math. 9 :4; 12 :25 
 
 56 
 
THE TEMPTATION OF MACBETH 57 
 
 can read our secret thoughts save God alone ; therefore Christ 
 is God." St. Ambrose says: "The Lord wishing to save 
 sinners, proved His divinity by His knowledge of their secret 
 thoughts."^ St. Augustine says of the saintly Job: "He 
 worshipped God, gave alms, and what he did in his heart no 
 one knew, not even Satan, but God knew."^ Such secret 
 thoughts are, however, understood to comprehend only 
 interior acts of the intellect and will, which are in no manner 
 manifested exteriorly either by word or sign, or by move- 
 ment of any sense or passion. "Satan can know," affirms 
 St. Jerome, "the interior acts of man's intellectual soul only 
 by exterior movements. ' ' ^ And says St. Augustine : ' ' Spirits 
 know, not only the dispositions of men when manifested by 
 words, but also their intellectual thoughts when expressed by 
 certain sensible signs."* 
 
 Evil spirits, therefore, cannot know man's secret thoughts" 
 and purposes with certainty. If they can, at times, by reason 
 of their greater intellectual acumen and experience, con- 
 jecture them more or less correctly, nevertheless, they labor 
 by various wiles to discover man's interior disposition with 
 the view of tempting him to that vice to which he is most^ 
 prone. St. Ignatius Loyola, in a treatise on discernment of 
 spirits, lays down the following rule: "As an able general 
 who wishes to capture a citadel first takes a careful survey to 
 find where it is weakest, and most open to attack, and then 
 begins the assault, so the arch-enemy of our human nature 
 carefully examines our state and our position in regard to 
 the theological, cardinal, and moral virtues, and then exerts 
 all his power against us at that particular part where we are 
 weakest. We should, therefore, be beforehand with him, and 
 examine in what we are most deficient, or into what fault we 
 most frequently fall. ' ' ' But the weakest part of man 's nature 
 and the most open to attack is his ruling, or predominant pas- 
 sion. If once mastered, it becomes the most powerful engine 
 
 1. In Luc. L. 5, n. 12. 
 
 2. Serm. 91, de Script. 
 
 3. In Ps. 16. 
 
 4. De Divinat, c. 5. 
 
 5. Spiritual Exercises, Discernment of Spirits, 1st Treatise, Rule 14, 
 
58 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 for good; but if uncontrolled, it enslaves man and inevitably 
 leads liim to the lowest depths of degradation. ^Macbeth 's 
 ruling passion, which he n urtured se^r etly^as jin jesjl .ambi- 
 tj on"for''flie' 6fmTi';'V:MrWrau^^ eMmmi:h:¥--^^^' ml.has 
 for evil, it attracted the'attention of malevolent spiri±s,_whose 
 purpose wastoauic ken the wicked design already ger mmat- 
 ingin his mirLdj~and to foment the mischief already brewin g 
 injusjieart. Tliey knew better than his royal master, "who 
 tells us, '^ffiere is no art to find the mind's construction in 
 the face." They visit him, because he invites them, because 
 in secret sympathy with them he willfully opens wide the 
 portals of his inner world which they enter, and breathing 
 into his soul the contagion of hell they quicken its germs of 
 evil into vitality and action. 
 
 Another Ignatian principle is that "evil spirits, speaking 
 only to the imagination and the senses, act upon the human 
 soul according to the attitude it assumes toward them. If a 
 man" be friendly, they flatter him; if hostile they trouble him. ' ' 
 This principle is exemplified in the action of the Weird Sis- 
 ters upon Macbeth. At their salutation : 
 
 "Ail hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter," 
 
 he is not only visibly surprised at their knowledge of his 
 secret thoughts and aspirations, but also pleased with their 
 flattering words, which he accepts as true prophecy. He is, 
 moreover, sorely disappointed when, deaf to his eager com- 
 mand to tell him more, they vanish into airy nothing before 
 his very eyes. They must wait for the poisoned leaven to 
 ferment and work havoc in* his soul : 
 
 Macbeth. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more : 
 . . . Say from whence 
 You owe this strange intelligence? or why 
 TJpon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greetings? Speak I charge you. 
 (Witches vanish.) 
 Would they had stayed!" 
 
THE TEMPTATION OF MACBETH 59 
 
 His subsequent action, when doubting whether the "super- 
 natural soliciting" was good o^ evil, recalls another Ignatian 
 principle, which teaches how/to distinguish good from evil 
 spirits by their mode of action and the end they seek. "As 
 the good angel's object is the welfare of the soul and the bad 
 angel's its unhappiness, it |ollows that if, in the progress of 
 our thoughts, all is well and tends to good, there is no occasion 
 for uneasiness ; but if, on the contrary, we perceive any devia- 
 tion whatsoever toward evil or even a slight unpleasant agita- 
 tion, there is reason to fear that the action is that of the evil 
 spirit. ' ' Macbet h,. fla-..a^ hristian ;.--3iias.>-no-^les&^AMMxe^than 
 B anquo that the "Weird S isters wera., pxet.fti:na.tura,LlUnstru- 
 ments of darkness" - — agents of the "Father of Lies,"„^^d 
 that any communication with them was not only dangerous 
 but lUicitrrBut t heir flattering promise of royalty was unction 
 to his ambitious s ouT, and prompted jan ardent desire^ tlfaf* it 
 prove true. Banauo perc^ijces^Jiis. ■mfim.t.a.l,ag,itati<Mi,-,andlon 
 hearing his ardently e xpressed hope of ^j cjfQwn, cautions 
 Jlim^ according to the Ignatian principle, to bewarg^^^the 
 i nstruments of da rkness," who often tempt man by telling 
 truths with the interiFof winning his confidence so as the more 
 surely to lead him on to evil: 
 
 Banquo. . . . But it is strange; 
 
 And oftentimes to win us to our harm. 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths. 
 Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's 
 In deepest consequence." 
 
 Heedless of Banquo 's warning, Macbeth in self -musing ques- 
 tions why he should not accept as true the prophetic promise 
 of the crown. Had not the Weird Sisters prefaced it with 
 two other truths ? Herein, however, lay precisely the snare of 
 the tempters. The two truths — that he should be thane of 
 Glamis and of Cawdor — were post-f actum declarations which, 
 because unknown to Macbeth when announced by the "Weird 
 Sisters, he considered real prophecies. On the other hand, 
 he suspects that "the supernatural soliciting" cannot be good : 
 since it suggests horrible images of treason and murder, and. 
 
60 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 though these are yet tut fantastical, they fill him with fear 
 and abhorrence : 
 
 ' ' (Aside) Two truths are told, 
 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 
 Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen. — 
 
 (Aside) This supernatural soliciting 
 
 Cannot be ill; cannot be good: if ill. 
 
 Why hath it given me earnest of success. 
 
 Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor; 
 
 If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
 
 Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair 
 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, 
 
 Against the use of nature? Present fears 
 
 Are less than horrible imaginings. 
 
 My thought, whose murder is yet but fantastical. 
 
 Shakes so my single state of man that function 
 
 Is smothered in surmise, and nothing is 
 
 But what is not." 
 
 Happy, had been Macbeth had he been true to his better self ; 
 happy, had he followed the light of reason, which exposed 
 the wickedness of "the supernatural soliciting," that 
 prompted criminal suggestions. But, with will dominated by 
 his master passion, his nobler self was deaf to the voice of 
 conscience. Hence, neither rejecting the temptation nor 
 repressing his ambition, he continues to love and foster it, 
 until in giant strength it crushes all opposition, impels him 
 deliberately "to jump the life to come," and in barter for 
 the crown to "give his eternal jewel to the common enemy of 
 man." In Macbeth is pictured the moral history of every 
 man. In bodying forth the evil within the heart, temptation 
 makes each one conscious of his true character. Tried by 
 temptation, like gold in the fire, man learns whether his 
 inclination is to virtue or to vice. If some fall in the combat, 
 others are victorious; and others again remain uncontami- 
 nated, because exempt from temptation. Exemption is indeed 
 a great grace, for which the Lord commands us to pray: 
 "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." In 
 the "Weird Sisters the Poet clearly ,disdosesJha,tjUieinfluenee 
 
THE TEMPTATION OP MACBETH 61 
 
 of evil spirits OY er_jxiaii^J&-measa£6d-j3y--h4s-o-wn-eba¥acter ; 
 for tEeir malignity extends only to minds predisposed, to evil. 
 SomeyTiFOTacBetKTtHey inflameTo crimeTotKei^^li^ Banquo, 
 tliey^cSnot '^swayr' They are not^ like "tlie 'f^tes^oT'old, irre- 
 sistible, and this trut h Shakespe are inculcates in all his trage- 
 dies. He knows no blind fa^QTty nor makes demo ns the 
 niaalS£S of man 's fate ; but ahva^'portrTys t^hj OKj^tiaBT 
 ideaj^that we, in the^SeaSom^of our will, are the architects 
 of our own destiny .' 
 
 The demons most opportunely accost Macbeth on the' 
 blasted heath "in the day of success," when, in the glory of 
 his double victory, his mind broods in exaltation over his 
 ambitious hopes. This the Weird Sisters knew, and accord- 
 ingly gave voice to salutations which are in harmony with 
 thoughts that preoccupy his mind. Their pro phecies and 
 promises are but the echo of his own secret ambition, and 
 though they startle, yet they interest and influence him, 
 because in conformity with his own wishes. ThejE£56r of 
 theJ^Veiri.SJsJtfir&J^, -ihesefoxe^ in -M-acbeth 2s-affi«i.tyl with 
 evil ; "Iayin his ruling passion, which, begetting an inordinate 
 ambition for the crown, gave birth to evil thoughts and regi- 
 cidal purposes; and these evil thoughts and purposes the 
 Weird Sisters harp upon, and stimulate, and strengthen into 
 resolution ; and, when from vacillation his resolution weakens, 
 they summon a feminine ally, through whose agency they 
 regain ascendancy, drive him on from crime to crime, and 
 finally vanquish him when in surprise he falls in overwhelm- 
 ing ruin. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 THE CHARACTER OF MACBETH 
 
 The drama of Macbeth has been called a tragedy of char- 
 acter. If its hero resembles Richard III. in certain qualities, 
 he differs much in others. From the first, Richard is pictured 
 as a formed villain, whose intellectual pride and royal ambi- 
 tion have so smothered his moral nature that he appears 
 before us, boasting brazenly of his wickedness, and gloating 
 over villainous plots and prospective murders: 
 
 ' ' I am determined to prove a villain. 
 Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous. 
 By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams 
 To set my brother Clarence and the King 
 In deadly hate the one against the other. ' ' i 
 
 The tragedy does nothing more than graphically describe 
 with dramatic effect the wickedness of a monstrous villain. 
 Not so, however, is the tragedy of Macbeth. He is introduced 
 to us as a renowned warrior, loyal to his, king, and honored 
 by his peers. "A worthy gentleman," whose sense of duty, 
 and love and esteem of honor, have preserved his name 
 untainted. Shakespeare, however, by portraying in scene 
 after scene his gradual transformation from good to evil, has 
 given us a wondrous piece of biography. We move along 
 step by step with the hero of the story, and perceive him, in 
 opposition to reason and conscience, yielding himself to the 
 influence of preternatural powers of evil, and slowly descend- 
 ing amid fear and terror down to the dark abyss of despair 
 and destruction. 
 
 In his character are revealed strange inconsistencies which 
 
 1. Rich. Ill, 1. 
 
 62 
 
THE CHARACTER OF MACBETH 63 
 
 awaken unusual interest. As a free born wande?fer ov^ftr^hills 
 and glens, his youth was schooled amid t^ solitude of moor^ 
 lands, wilds, and crags, where weird- ^5ices of the winds, tor- 
 rents, and roaring waterc- suokfTln tones strange yet sooth- 
 ing and mysterious. Amid such environments his romantic 
 nature and poetic fancy found unretarded development. If 
 he appears a dreamed in the drama, wild in fancy, meditative, 
 and often lapsing into self-musing and moody introspection, 
 he is, nevertheless, strange to say, in the world of affairs a 
 practical man of high energy and courage, and a warrior bold 
 and instant in action. In temperament sanguine and nervous, i 
 he is naturally gifted with large powers and capacity; and 
 his experience in military life has won for him the proud 
 distinction of supreme commander in the battles of his 
 country. 
 
 Macbeth 's sphere is the outward world of action. In it he^ 
 proves himself equal to every emergency. Poorly disciplined, 
 however, in the inner life of thought, he is unfamiliar with 
 
 'the intellectual world, and his mind is readily perplexed, 
 and his imagination disturbed in presence of some mental 
 or moral crisis. Marked by an intellect susceptible and, 
 
 J reflective, his mind is often overmastered by illusory impres/| 
 
 "sions; hence, though bold in action, mental conflicts concerii-', 
 ing external and practical consequences subject him to tem- 
 porary vacillations. "The strangeness of events that sur- 
 round him fills him with amazement and fear; the preter- 
 natural sights that he sees and the unearthly music that he 
 hears, confuse his world of reality with the world of fancy,/ 
 till all is tumult within and without his mind." The fervid 
 imagination of his poetic mind reveals his romantic nature 
 at every stage. It makes him susceptible to the mysterious 
 suggestions of preternatural beings; it enables him in lofty 
 
 'tones to blazon his blackest deeds in noble thoughts, clothed 
 in glorious word painting; it makes him sensitive to fears of 
 his own fanciful creations, and rouses intellectual emotions 
 and terrors that leave him a prey to self-torture and self- 
 excusing in a war with conscience. Such terrors might have 
 been met with a smile of indifference by an abandoned crim- 
 
64 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 inal likp.Bicirji.rd III. ; but Macbeth, still unhardened in crime, 
 -fireyhaunt by da-y^and by night ghost-like keep ceaseless vigil 
 about his sleepless coiIeJi. 
 
 " An intense selfishness'n*Upstrain,pi by moral principles 
 or sympathetic feelings, dominates Macbeth. Under the 
 impulse of an irritated imagination, it rouses him to a morbid 
 sensitiveness which, while not inconsistent with great physical 
 courage, nevertheless generates in him a remarkable moral 
 cowardice. If he shrinks from the murder of Duncan, i l is 
 not from '^cornpvinctious vTsitirigs of Tiaiure," hut, becau se 
 his" TFrely imaginatiorrcoiijures up the-impossibility-aLmask- 
 ing his guilt, of escaping consequent odium, and thfijetribu- 
 ftion, which his crime must necessarily bring in t he pr esent 
 llife. But, once having snatched the crown by secret mufd'er, 
 Ihis criminal position startles him into terrible apprehensions, 
 'and to escape them he perpetrates further crimes. That he 
 commits subsequent murders with less agitation than that of 
 Duncan's, is not inconsistent with moral cowardice; by the 
 first crime he gratified his master passion of ambition, by 
 later murders he aims to attain security by ridding himself 
 of torturing, guilty fears. Having won the crown by blood, 
 he resolves to wear it at any cost. 
 
 If Macbeth fails in moral courage, personal valor is, never- 
 theless, his chief characteristic. Tried in many a personal 
 conflict on the field of battle, his bravery never failed him. 
 In fact, so ingrained was it in his nature that if sometimes, 
 under strange and surprising conditions, it was momentarily 
 cheeked by moral or religious scruples and rational fears of 
 foreseen consequences, it was sure to reassert itself, as soon 
 as the temporary agitation had passed. Failure to distin- 
 guish between moral and physical courage has,- no doubt, led 
 certain critics to question the latter trait of Macbeth 's char- 
 acter. The drama, however, throws not the slightest shadow 
 on his personal courage; on the contrary, the Poet through- 
 out the tragedy insists on his hero's manly character, and 
 even before his entrance causes others to proclaim and eulogize 
 his martial valor. The wounded captain, returning from bat- 
 tle, sounds his praises to the King: 
 
THE CHARACTER OF MACBETH 
 
 "For brave Macbeth — well he deserves that name- 
 Disdaining fortune, with his brandish 'd steel, 
 Which smok'd with bloody execution, 
 Like valor's minion carved out his passage 
 Till he faced the slave; 
 And fixed his head upon our battlements." 
 
 In the conflict he is "Bellona's bridegroom lapp'd in proof," 
 and again, an eagle among sparrows and a lion among hares. 
 Furthermore, Macbeth 's M^ell known intrepidity is admitted 
 by his enemies, and remains unchallenged by all who suffer 
 from his cruelty and oppression. Moreover, his frequent 
 appeals to his own concious valor are convincing proofs of 
 Shakespeare's purpose to create in him a hero of dauntless 
 spirit and unfaltering courage. Macbeth 's claims, it is clear, 
 would, if unfounded, only degrade him to the low level of a 
 FalstafSan braggart, M^ho would merit nothing more than 
 ridicule and laughter. His own idea of courage seems one 
 with manliness of character. To this he insistently lays claim. 
 When the woman that sways his affection would in angry 
 words attaint him a coward, he is quick to repel the aspersion 
 in terms that time has made a proverb expressive of true 
 courage : 
 
 "Lady Macbeth. . . . Wouldst thou have that 
 Which thou esteem 'st the ornament of life. 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem. 
 Letting ' I dare not ' wait upon ' I would, ' 
 Like the poor cat in the adage? 
 
 Macbeth. Prithee, peace: 
 
 I dare do all that may become a man; 
 Who dares do more is none." 
 
 Again, to the challenge, ' ' Art thoii a man ? " he replies : 
 
 ' ' Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
 Which might appal the devil. ' ' 
 
 At the disappearance of the ghostly, blood-boltered Banquo, 
 his first exclamation is. 
 
66 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 "Why, so; being gOBe, I am a man again;" 
 
 and, in fine, on discovering the equivocation of the fiends 
 "that lie like truth," he affirms, "it hath cowed my better 
 part of man." This conscious manly courage, in which he 
 so often glories, is manifestly his characteristic trait. Before 
 it, weak moral scruples give way, but scruples of worldly 
 honor still sway him, as natural to a man who in pride of 
 life prizes the esteem of his fellow-men. Hence, human 
 respect and love, of fame, even more than the dread of an 
 insecure throne, halt his limping purpose. He is convinced 
 that. 
 
 "Murder, though it hath no tongue, will speak 
 With most miraculous organ. ' ' i 
 
 The haunting thought arouses his imagination to picture 
 the folly of exchanging safe honors and golden opinions for 
 universal hatred and eternal obloquy. This thought more 
 than moral scruples affrights him, checks his lawless impulse, 
 and impels him in vacillation to ruminate upon the pros and 
 cons of his royal aspirations. But, when his evil tempters 
 have fanned the embers of his smoldering ambition- into 
 flame with assured hopes of success; when his wife, by expos- 
 ing how he may gain the throne and yet escape discovery, 
 has in daring and scornful impatience beaten down the fears 
 that unmanned him : his courage is at once unfettered, and he 
 leaps forward in feverish activity to seize the prize coveted 
 by his wayward ambition. Henceforth, amid the storm of 
 his overmastering passion, he is driven on by the impact of 
 his one purpose, and, with full faith in the powers of evil, 
 hein_superstitious awe faBiously~stridBg'7?nr"tnid5rTIigir ]per^ 
 meious inBtrence-tcrvenfy lEeir prophecy. The'murder once 
 done, he can waveFnoTonger. As a usurping monarch, ruled 
 by suspicions and fears of treachery, he must face further 
 crime, and his energy and fixed desperation against every 
 enemy are only intensified by further counsel of the Weird 
 Sisters. 
 
 1. Hamlet, II, 11. • 
 
THE CHARACTEE OF MACBETH 67 
 
 The freedom of the human will is the basis of moral 
 responsibility. Without it there can be neither vice nor 
 virtue; no one is virtuous for doing what he cannot help 
 doing, nor vicious for doing what he cannot possibly avoid- 
 Hence, all vice and virtue are referred to the human will, the 
 freedom of which is presupposed by Christian morality. This 
 truth is emphasized in the present tragedy, wherein Shake- 
 speare pictures the human will as the moral principle of action. 
 If Macbeth 's will, strengthened by an eager ruling passion, 
 which is abetted by preternatural agencies, proves weak in 
 resistance to evil, it is because, unenergized by moral prin- 
 ciples of religion, it lacks the sway and guidance of conscience 
 in the choice of the ambitious object, and in the means of 
 attaining it.(^ In contrast with Banquo, he is less religious by 
 nature and less influenced by moral precepts and, in conse- 
 quence, has less energy to reject the wrong. That religion 
 sat lightly upon him is disclosed at his first meeting with the 
 "Weird Sisters. Though strongly suspecting their fiendish 
 nature, he greets them gladly, believes their words, and feels 
 gratified at their flattering promise ; while Banquo looks upon 
 them with abhorrence, distrusts them, and neither "begs nor 
 fears their favors nor their hate." Later, when royal messen- 
 gers hail Macbeth, thane of Cawdor, he is less surprised than 
 gratified, and in self-miising mutters : 
 
 . . . ' ' (Aside) Glamis and thane of Cawdor ! 
 The greatest is behind." 
 
 Now ensnared, as the fiends intended, he places fuU confi- 
 dence in their thij-d promise — that of the crown. Banquo, on 
 the contrary, is perplexed " and exclaims with displeasure, 
 "What can the devil speak true ?" Unaware that two predic- 
 tions of the Weird Sisters were but post-factum declarations, 
 he is naturally mystified and troubled, but, guided by the 
 teaching of his Christian religion, he suspends judgment, and 
 is saved from error and deception. Henceforth, Macbeth 's 
 passion of ambition daily dominates him more and more ; but 
 the bright dreams of royalty in which he revels are often 
 
68 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 overclouded by the vision of murder, as the sole means of 
 reaching the throne. The thought morbidly arouses fears, 
 which are prompted, not by scruples of conscience, but by 
 foreseen dangers of the enterprise. Though these fears induce 
 irresolution and impel him to reflect in moody introspection 
 upon the crime suggested, its motives, and its probable fatal 
 consequences, they exhibit- no awakening of his conscience to 
 the moral heinousness of the crime. "Shakespeare," says Sir 
 Henry Irving, "has in his text given Macbeth as one of the 
 most bloody-minded, hj^pocritical villains in all his long gal- 
 lery of portraits of men instinct with the virtues and the 
 vices of their kind. He was a poet with his brain and a 
 villain with his heart, as he himself bears witness, when at 
 the close of Act III he announces his fixed intent on a general 
 career of crime : " ^ 
 
 . . . ' ' For mine own good. 
 
 All causes shall give way: I am in blood 
 
 Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more 
 
 Returning ivere as tedious as go o 'er : 
 
 Strange things I have in head that will to hand; 
 
 Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd." 
 
 If the Christian moralist finds nothing to palliate the guilt 
 of Macbeth, not so the mental physiologist. "The subject of 
 his study," says Mr. Bucknill,^ "are the nerves rather than 
 the conscience, the function of the brain rather than the power 
 of the will. It is impossible to omit from calculation the 
 influence of the supernatural event, which is not only the 
 starting point of the action, but the remote cause of the mental 
 phenomena." By ignoring man'^ free will, conscience, and 
 the natural law which binds him, and concentrating attention 
 solely upon the condition of his brain and nerves, mental 
 physiologists have come to see in the habitual thief, a klep- 
 tomaniac, and in the confirmed drunkard, a dipsomaniac. But, 
 if kleptomania be a morbid desire — a species of moral insanity 
 
 1. Character of Macbeth, a lecture delivered at Owens College, Man- 
 chester, December, 1894. 
 
 2. Mad Folks of Shakespeare. 
 
THE CHARACTER OF MACBETH 69 
 
 actuating its subject to theft; if dipsomania be a drink mad- 
 ness — an irresistible craving for alcoholic liquor, both are, 
 nevertheless, aberrations in the moral life; habitual indul- 
 gence of a passion, either of a man's higher or lower nature, 
 necessarily leads to an abnormal condition of mind or body, 
 and such abnormal conditions, when deliberately and volun- 
 tarily induced, are in so far culpable in their victim. Unlike 
 the neurotic physiologist, the Christian moralist examines all 
 ■causes concurring in producing a moral act, and if there be 
 wanting in the culprit either full knowledge of the morality 
 of the act, or deliberation, or freedom of choice, then he is 
 inculpable for the evil deed. Macbeth, however, is perfectly 
 aware of the heinousness of the crime contemplated, and in 
 full deliberation weighs the motives for and against the mur- 
 der, as well as its probable fatal consequences to himself. 
 Vacillatiug for a time between hopes and fears, he exhibits 
 no abnormal strain either of brain or nerves that impedes or 
 overpowers his choice of action. On the contrary, he regrets 
 that, aside from his vaulting ambition, he has "no spur to 
 prick the sides" of his intent and to impel him to the bloody 
 deed. The Weird Sisters do not drive him to the crime. They 
 tempt him, indeed, because they find his evil nature predis- 
 posed to evil and, in consequence, expect him to take their 
 equivocal suggestions in the most pernicious sense. Their 
 temptation, however, leaves him full freedom of action, andfif 
 he hesitates at the crime, it is not from moral scruples, as 
 certain critics think, but from fear of foreseen evil conse- 
 quences to himself : 
 
 "If it were done -n-hen 't is done, then 't were well 
 It were done quickly; if the assassination 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catch 
 With his surcease success; that but this blow 
 Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
 But here, upon this bank and shoal of time. 
 We 'd jump the life to come. 'J 
 
 Hence, he becomes irresolute from caution — such caution as 
 prudence would, indeed, dictate to any sensible man, beset 
 
70 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 by similar difficulties and dangers. Strong as is the ambitious 
 impulse of his master passion and magnificent as is the prize 
 coveted, he, nevertheless, sees the dangers so clearly that he 
 would have been sensible enough to abandon the hazardous 
 attempt, had not the one woman whom he loved and trusted — 
 a woman of preternatural strength of will — ^undermined his 
 caution and silenced his fears by persuading him that he 
 could murder DrT-cnn, seize the crown, and escape detection: 
 
 "Macbeth. If we should fail? 
 Lady Macbeth. We fail. 
 
 But screw your couragp_±c_tM^stiaKmg-plaee, 
 
 And HfiZICJoFTEaSr 
 
 What cannot you and I perform upon 
 
 Th' unguarded Duncan? What not put upon 
 
 His spongy ofScers, who shall bear the guilt 
 
 Of our great quell? 
 Macbeth. Bring forth men-ehildren only; 
 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 
 Nothing but males. Will it not be received, 
 
 When we have marked with blood those sleepy two 
 
 Of his own chamber, and used their very daggers 
 
 That they have done 't? 
 Lady Macbeth. Who dares receive it other, 
 
 As we shall make our griefs and clamors roar 
 
 Upon his death? 
 Macbeth. I am settled, and bend up 
 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
 
 Away, and mock the time with fairest show; 
 
 False face must hide what the false heart doth know." 
 
 Macbeth, it is clear, is not a callous adept in crime. "He 
 feels," says Kreyssie, "the enormity of his guilt with pain 
 and horror only to be found in natures still unweakened and 
 uncorrupted. But his morality is, from the beginning, more 
 the result of habit and feeling than of thought and will. 
 Whenever he rises out of the whirl of emotion and the fitful 
 horror of crime to a calm contemplation of things, we find 
 him busied in weighing, not his own moral scruples, but the 
 expediency of his violent deeds. His instincts, as a man of 
 
THE CHARACTER OF MACBETH 71 
 
 honor more than his sense of evil, cause him to shrink from 
 the deed." Seldom troubled by moral restraints or actuated 
 by religious principles or sentiments in ordinary life, he is 
 roused to a real sense of religion only when distressed under 
 pressure of a crisis. Hence, after the murder, when over- 
 come by unforeseen sentiments of horror and guilt, which 
 awaken his latent sense of religion, he complains that he 
 could not join the chamberlains in prayer : 
 
 "One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other. 
 As they had seen me with these hangman's hands: 
 Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen ' 
 When they did say 'God bless us.' 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Consider it not so deeply. 
 
 Macbeth. But -nherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? 
 I had most need of blessing, and ' Amen ' 
 Stuck in my throat." 
 
 After the murder, the voice of conscience ceaselessly 
 reproaches him, nor can further crime deafen him to its cries, 
 nor despair stifle his remorse, which compels him to complain 
 that he has "defiled his soul and put rancors in the vessel of 
 his peace." Subsequent murders heighten his sense of guilt, 
 and impel him to confess to Macduff that his soul is "too 
 much charged with blood already.'* 
 
 Yet the torturing guilt, which afflicts his conscience, is no 
 proof that his nature is deeply religious, or that moral prin- 
 ciples habitually ruled his inner life. On the contrary, there 
 is much evidence to show that neither a real love of religion 
 nor of virtue for its own sake, had any root in him, either 
 from intelligent choice, or from deep reflection. This truth 
 the Poet emphasizes in a scene wherein Macbeth, if possessed 
 of even small sympathy with moral goodness, must have dis- 
 played it prominently. His mind enclouded with doubt by 
 the desperate dangers of the treason contemplated, he tears 
 himself away from the banquet, in order to ponder undis- 
 turbed upon the various motives that restrain him from the 
 murder of the King. If actuated by any sense of religion 
 or regard for the moral order, he would surely, in the face 
 
72 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 of so great a crime, have been roused to some degree of vir- 
 tuous feeling or repugnance for the dastardly deed. Yet he 
 is wholly concerned with immediate practical consequences; 
 his soliloquy discloses no thought suggestive of sin and its 
 retribution hereafter. Hope of Heaven and fear of hell, it 
 is true, are not the noblest barriers against evil, but they are, 
 nevertheless, far higher than motives of worldly failure or 
 prosperity. Though his searching examination concern sin, 
 retribution, and circumstances, which are specially calculated 
 to rouse horror and compunction in a moral nature, his 
 thought rises no higher than that murder is a dangerous game 
 at which two parties can play, that his heartlessness will 
 engender universal execration, and that ambition commonly 
 defeats its own purpose ; and, in fine, he confesses his readi- 
 ness "to jump the life to come," if only sure of enjoying in 
 mortal life the fruit of his crime. ^ 
 
 In the impersonations of Macbeth on the modern stage, 
 tragedians, thinks Mr. Winter, the dramatic critic, do not 
 sufficiently discriminate his character from that of Richard 
 III. Shakespeare, it is true, endows these two personages 
 with certain qualities in common. Both, under the inspira- 
 tion and sway of a ruling passion, thirst for royal honors; 
 both resort to the same means, and in their unhallowed 
 triumph are haunted by the menacing ghosts of their victims ; 
 both, falling into frenzy and desperation, are on the field of 
 battle slain by a special antagonist. Though these are strik- 
 ing similarities, both characters are, nevertheless, distinctly 
 differentiated by other traits most radical and divergent. In 
 the character of Macbeth, a certain weakness arising from 
 infirmity of will, a remorseful consciousness of guilt, and a 
 dread of ultimate disaster, are exhibited in contrast to his 
 renowned valor, fearlessness, and fortitude; in that of 
 Richard appears an unwavering and terrible strength that 
 quakes in terror but once in the presence of inexorable Fate. 
 The one yields himself to the sway of the demon, "the angel 
 whom thou still hast served ; " the other all-sufficient unto self, 
 seems infernal power incarnate. The one is the slave of a 
 1. Cf. Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, by E. G. Moulton, C. 7, passim. 
 
THE CHARACTER OF MACBETH 73 
 
 tremulous imagination ; the other of an intellect flaming and 
 malignant. The one loves and suffers; the other knows no 
 such passion and suffers but a transient spasm. The one in 
 opposition to his better self succumbs to evil only under the 
 impelling influence of a v^^ife and the lying powers of dark- 
 ness; the other needs neither a human nor superhuman 
 abettor in crime. The one, in his pathetic fall, merits some 
 sympathy; the other, perishing miserably, excites our abhor- 
 rence.^ Notwithstanding Macbeth 's moral weakness, which 
 allows him to be swayed by his ruling passion, there is some- 
 thing in his character that sustains our interest from first 
 to last. Whether we consider him halting in the pursuit of 
 his ambition from an indecision that springs from a soul 
 unhardened in crime, or view him as a polished mirror, reflect- 
 ing the common frailty of human nature, when subjected to 
 temptation, or as a warrior whose valor excites our admira- 
 tion, he retains so strong a hold upon our sympathies, that 
 it tends to palliate the horror provoked by his crimes. Hence 
 when finally betrayed by the poAvers of evil and overtaken 
 in surprise by the Nemesis of justice, he falls in valor, despair- 
 ing of earth and heaven, his fate excites mingled sentiments, 
 of which one is regret at the sad ruin of a soul that 
 
 "Falls like Lucifer, never to hope again." 
 1. Cf. Shakespeare on the Stage, by William Winter, p. 467. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH 
 
 The drama portrays the character of Lady Macbeth in 
 admirable contrast with her husband's. Her leading trait 
 is an indomitable force of will. In her nature, richly endowed, 
 glows a ruling passion of anibitipii,, which dwarfs every other 
 human emotion, and enkindles an unholy thirst for the 
 diadem. Her ambition, though highly criminal, appears in 
 harmony with her grand gifts of intellect and will. Her char- 
 acter reveals her a woman powerful in features and majestic 
 in bearing, whose brow the diadem befittingly adorns. Cer- 
 tain inferences, thinks Rotscher,^ may be drawn concerning 
 her person. 
 
 Bsxal in .app_earance, her countenance displays ni)ile- 
 and_ energetic outlines, from whose every feature mean de- 
 sires are banished; her glittering eye betrays a restless busy 
 ardor, while the finely chiselled lips and nostrils eloquently 
 express scorn of moral opposition to her ambitious resolve. 
 Her queenly bearing, as well as the nobility of all her move- 
 ments, proclaims her title to the highest earthly greatness 
 and power. 
 
 If her looks enchain us, yet they chill us withal, for 
 such features awaken no human sympathy, and only dis- 
 close the dominion of monstrous powers. Without a single 
 scruple, save only a momentary compunction at the sight 
 of Duncan, she appears a ruthless woman who, with natural 
 instinct of affection for her own, can like a lioness prey upon 
 her victim though she gambols with her cubs. Yet, says 
 Friesen,^ we should guard against aggravating the abhorrence 
 
 1. Blnakespeare in seinen Hochslen Charackterbilden, apud Tbe Variorum 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 2. Jahrbuch der deutschen Shakespeare Gessellschatt, 1S69, p. 224. 
 Ibidem, 
 
 74 
 
THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH 75 
 
 of her charactex" and rather alleviate it, so that the intelligent 
 reader may view her, not as a Northern Fury, nor a monster, 
 still less, a heroine or martyr to conjugal love, but a woman 
 capable of the greatest elevation, who, seized mysteriously by 
 the magic of passion, falls the more terribly, and thus in spite 
 of our horror of her crime, wrings from us our deepest sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 Her character has been accorded a twofold interpretation. 
 The one considers her a woman, who, selfishly ambitious for 
 the crown, goads her husband on to murderous usurpation, 
 a fiend in woman's form, a purely demoniacal incarnation 
 of cruelty and wickedness. An able exponent of this inter- 
 pretation is Mrs. Siddons. As her impersonation of the char- 
 acter long ruled the stage, and remains today in common 
 opinion unsurpassed, her estimate deserves attention. She 
 writes : 
 
 "Lady Maebetli had from childhood commanded all around her with 
 a high hand; had uninterruptedly, perhaps, in that splendid station 
 enjoyed all that wealth, all that nature had to bestow; she probably 
 had no directors, no controllers, and in womanhood her fascinated lord 
 had never once opposed her inclinations. In this astonishing creature, 
 one sees a woman in whose bosom the passion of ambition had almost 
 obliterated all the characteristics of human nature, in whose composition 
 are associated all the subjugating powers of intellect, and all the charms 
 and graces of personal beauty, a beauty which, I believe, is generally 
 allowed to be most captivating to the other sex — fair, feminine, nay, 
 perhaps even fragile, 
 
 'Fair as the forms that riove in fancy's loom 
 Float in light visions round the poet's head.' 
 
 "Such a combination only, respectable in energy and strength of 
 mind and captivating in feminine loveliness, could have composed a charm 
 of such potency as to fascinate the mind of a hero so dauntless, a 
 character so amiable, so honorable as Macbeth ; — to seduce him to 
 brave all the dangers of the present and all the terrors of the future 
 world; and we are constrained even while we abhor his crimes, to pity 
 the infatuated victim of such a thraldom. ' ' i 
 
 J. Life of Mrs. Siddons by T. Campbell, II. 
 
76 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Mrs. Siddons' impersonation of Lady Macbeth 's character 
 was long supposed to be in harmony with Shakespeare's own 
 conception, and the opinion was mainly based upon the fact 
 that by the mouth of Malcolm he calls her a "fiend-like 
 queen." This epithet, however, has not in modern times been 
 accepted as a real index of her character. Had the utterance 
 been the calm and deliberate judgment of an unbiased mind, 
 its force would indeed be more conclusive; but what was 
 more natural for the Poet, who is always true to nature, than 
 to make the crown-prince body forth his overwrought feel- 
 ings in impassioned terms, which are proportioned to his 
 horror of the criminal and to his own supreme sense of 
 wrong ? 
 
 Another and later interpretation of Lady Macbeth 's char- 
 acter, views her more leniently and is likely to supersede the 
 former on the modern stage. It considers her neither a 
 fiendish woman nor a monster of cruelty and wickedness. It 
 ascribes her action, not to an evil nature, nor to a selfish desire 
 for the crown, but to her deep love for her husband. It makes 
 her overmastering desire of elevating him to the lofty pinnacle 
 of his ambition, the all-sufficient motive for obvious wicked- 
 ness. This interpretation is well expounded by Mrs. Jameson. 
 She writes: 
 
 ' ' The very passages in wliich Lady Macbeth displays the most 
 savage and relentless determination, are so worded as to fill the mind 
 with the idea of sex, and place the woman before us in all her dearest 
 attributes, at once softening and refining the horror, and rendering it 
 more intense. Thus she reproaches her husband for his weakness: 'From 
 this time such I account thy love,' and 'come to my woman's breasts, 
 and take my milk for gall, ' and ' I have given suck, and know how 
 tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me,' and, lastly, in the moment 
 of extreme terror, comes that unexpected touch of feeling, so startling 
 and yet so wonderfully true to nature, 'Had he not resembled my 
 father, ' etc. Thus in one of Weber 's or Beethoven 's grand symphonies, 
 some unexpected minor chord or passage will steal on the ear, heard 
 amid the magnificent crash of harmony, making the blood pause and 
 filling the eyes with unbidden tears. 
 
 "She is nowhere represented as urging Macbeth on to new crimes; 
 
THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH 77 
 
 so far from it that, when he darkly hints his purposed assassination of 
 Banqno and she inquires his meaning, he replies, ' Be innocent of the 
 knowledge, dearest chuck, till thou approve the deed.' The same may 
 be said of the destruction of Macduff's family. Every one must per- 
 ceive how our detestation of the woman had been increased, if she had^ 
 been placed before us as suggesting and abetting these, additional 
 cruelties into which Macbeth is hurried by his mental cowardice. If 
 my feeling of Lady Macbeth 's character be just tg tlie conception of the 
 Poet, then she is one who could steel herself to the commission of a 
 crime from necessity or expediency, and be daringly -wicked for a great 
 end, but not likely to perpetrate gratuitous murders from any vague 
 or selfish fears. She is nowhere brought into immediate connection with 
 these horrors, and we are spared any flagrant proof of her participation 
 in them. ' ' i 
 
 While agreeing only in a general way with both of these 
 fair advocates, Campbell, an eminent critic, differs from them, 
 with reason, we think, on important points. He writes : 
 
 "Lady Macbeth is not thoroughly hateful, for she is not a virago, 
 not an adulteress, not impelled by revenge. On the contrary, she 
 expresses no feeling of personal malignity toward any human being in the 
 whole course' of her part. Shakespeare could have easily displayed her 
 crimes in a more commonplace and accountable light by assigning some 
 feudal grudge as a mixed motive of her cruelty to Duncan; but he 
 makes her a murderess in cold blood, and from the sole motive of 
 ambition, well knowing that, if he had broken up the inhuman serenity 
 of remorselessness by the ruffling of anger, he would have vulgarized the 
 beauties of the splendid Titaness ' * 
 
 "By this entire absence of petty vice and personal virulence, and 
 by concentrating all the springs of her conduct into the one determined 
 feeling of ambition, the mighty Poet has given her character a statue- 
 like simplicity which, though cold, is spirit-stirring from the wonder 
 it excites and «hich is imposing, although its respectability consists, as 
 far as the heart is concerned, in merely negative decencies. How many 
 villains walk the earth in credit to their graves from the mere fulfil- 
 ment of these negative decencies. Had Lady Macbeth been able to 
 smother her husband's babbling, she might have been one of them. 
 
 "That the Poet intended us to conceive her more than a piece of 
 august atrocity, or to leave a tacit understanding of her being naturally 
 
 1. Mrs. Jameson's Characteristics of Women in Shakespeare, II. 
 
 « 
 
78 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 amiable, I make bold to doubt. I think tlie eloquent authoress of the 
 Characteristics of Women has tried rather too elaborately to prove her 
 positive virtues by speculations which, to say the least, are not certain. 
 She goes beyond Mrs. Siddons' toleration of the heroine; and getting 
 absolutely in love with her, exclaims, 'What would not the firmness, the 
 self-command, the ardent affections of this woman, have performed, if 
 properly directed! ' Why, her firmness and self-command are very 
 evident; but as to her ardent affections, I would ask, on what other 
 subject on earth she bestows them except the crown of Scotland? We 
 are told, however, that her husband loves her, and, therefore, she could 
 not be naturally bad. But in the first place, though we are not directly 
 told so, we may be fairly allowed to imagine her a very beautiful woman; 
 and with beauty and superior intellect, it is easy to "conceive her manag- 
 ing and making herself necessary to Macbeth, a man comparatively weak 
 and, as we see, facile to wickedness. There are instances of atrocious 
 women having swayed the hearts of more amiable men. 
 
 "It seems to me, also, far from evident that Lady Macbeth is not 
 aaturally cruel, because she calls on all the demons of human thought 
 to unsex her; or because she dies of what her apologists call remorse. 
 If by that word we mean true contrition, Shakespeare gives no proof of 
 her having shown such a feeling. Her death is mysterious, and we 
 generally attribute it to despair and suicide. Even her terrible and thrice 
 repeated sob of agony in the sleep-walking scene shows a conscience 
 haunted indeed by terrors, but not penitent; for she still adheres to her 
 godless old ground of comfort that 'Banquo is in his grave.' She is a 
 splendid picture of evil, nevertheless — a sort of sister of Milton's 
 Lucifer; and like him, we surely imagine her externally majestic and 
 beautiful. Still I am persuaded that Shakespeare never meant her for 
 anything better than a character of superb depravity, and a being 
 with all her decorum and force of mind naturally cold and remorseless. ' ' i 
 
 The keynote of Lady Macbeth 's character is, we think, 
 unbounded ambition. Her master-passion is love, not for her 
 husband, but for supreme power. It holds in subordination 
 all other human sympathies and feelings. Having made the 
 crown her sole aim of life in which alone she sees involved 
 her own and her husband's perfect happiness, she worships 
 it as the one true god with a devotion so ecstatic as to admit 
 of no strange gods before it. After the portentous letter, she 
 welcomes her husband, returning victorious from the wars, 
 
 1. T. Campbell's Life of Jlrs. Siddons, II. 
 
THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH 79 
 
 with no word of love or affection, but her face aglow and eyes 
 aflame with royal hopes, she exclaims in eagerness : 
 
 . . "Great Glamis! Worthy Cawdor! 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter ! ' ' 
 
 Ambition has so roused her soul to enthusiasm that, heedless 
 of her own feminine weakness, she insists in fearless intensity : 
 
 . . . "You shall put 
 
 This night's great business into my despatch. 
 Which shall to our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. ' ' 
 
 These telling words disclose that she aspires to royal power 
 for self as well as for her husband. Wife-like, absorbed in 
 his career, her queenly desire is to share as crowned consort 
 in his prospective kingly power and glory. Her lofty aspira- 
 tion may seem to obliterate the softer passions of her nature, 
 but it only clouds them by its magnitude and intensity. Her 
 ambition completely mastering her mind and heart enables 
 her to dominate all other feelings and emotions and to subor- 
 dinate all other passions to her yearning thirst for royalty. 
 Her soliloquy on her husband's character discloses no female 
 scorn, no absence of wifely or womanly respect, but an exceed- 
 ing pride, which is betrayed rather than asserted in the 
 manifest consciousness of her o-mi mental superiority: and 
 behind it all looms up an undoubted affection that is entwined 
 with all the roots of his life. Love, without which her ambi- 
 tion would remain cold or indifferent, inflames the ruling 
 passion of her nature to a more glowing intensity. Realizing 
 that his royal ambition is one with her own, that her aspira- 
 tion for the diadem is involved in his kingship, as an effect 
 in its cause, she covets the crown for him with a feminine 
 vehemence greater than his own. Both had long revelled 
 in day-dreams -,of royalty, but now that Macbeth had voiced 
 his ambitious project, now that preternatural predictions fol- 
 lowed by opportunity seem to body forth their dreams into 
 tangible form and give promise of success, she is determined 
 
 /- 
 
80 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 to hold him to his purpose. Her boundless confidence in his 
 well tried courage bars all thought of fear or failure. Glory- 
 ing in his manly nature she delights and trusts in his valorous 
 qualities. To him she thinks all greatness due, and deeming 
 him the worthiest to rule she seeks to reward his merit with 
 the throne. If her warrior-lord foresees and fears the dan- 
 gerous consequences of the project, she in her exalted idea 
 of his manly courage is ready to plunge fearlessly into the 
 abyss of guilt in order to procure for ' ' all our days and nights 
 sovereign sway andmasterdom." ^ 
 
 A striking quality of her feminine character is her lion- 
 like courage. Whilst Macbeth 's imagination alternately stimu- 
 "lates and enfeebles him, she, on the contrary, perceives things 
 in their clearest outlines, and unhaltingly leaps from decision 
 into action. The ardor of her unchecked ambition scorns 
 every obstacle in its path. In its glow she resolutely over- 
 powers all resistance, even her better nature, makes light of 
 facing the dead, and summons the demons of hell to seal up 
 her mind and heart against all dread of horror and remorse. 
 Pier surprising courage is, indeed, commensurate with her 
 ambition; but it is the moral courage of a mind deluded by 
 the charm of a lofty purpose, and of a will enchanted and 
 blinded by the brilliancy of the prize. In her life of feminine 
 seclusion she had through the passing years often nurtured 
 enchanting aspirations of queenly dignities and honors, in 
 dreams wherein the courage of fantasy was mistaken for the 
 actual courage of bearing the realities of remorse. Hence, 
 what in her hours of solitude she had in fancy imagined to be 
 her life's ambition, that she was ready to pursue with fear- 
 less and unswerving energy, and accordingly in a supposi- 
 titious courage that springs from the fiery enthusiasm of her 
 lofty passion, she rallies her vacillating but more prudent 
 husband with unwonted audacity, an audacity of fancy, which, 
 when tested by actual circumstances, proves devoid- of truth- 
 ful reality. As a consequence, when with the deed accom- 
 plished and the "golden round" obtained, she perceives that, 
 instead of successful greatness and imagined happiness, noth- 
 
 1. Ct. Gerrimis, Shakespeare Commentaries, p 597. 
 
THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH 81 
 
 ing but the ruin of the land and the destruction of her consort 
 is the fruit of her crowned ambition, her fancied fortitude 
 collapses into airy nothing, and leaves her in dismay a prey to 
 guilty fears and remorse of conscience. This torture of con- 
 science, engendered by harrowing imaginations, she might 
 with her iron will have defied, if properly supported by her 
 husband; but his further crimes and the prospect of his 
 certain ruin, crush her hopes and leave her immersed in black 
 despair. "Like an ivy, she had twined her fresh greenness 
 round the kingly tree, when the trunk totters she falls to the 
 ground, her iron heart dissolved in the fire of affliction. ' ' 
 
 The harmonious contrasts of character which Shakespeare 
 portrays in his greatest dramas appear most prominent in the 
 present tragedy. Macbeth is undoubtedly an eminently mas- 
 culine character, gifted with physical courage aijd personal 
 strength; and, nevertheless, his strong, masculine nature 
 reveals qualities, which in remarkable contrast are eminently 
 feminine, such as irritability of fancy and infirmity of resolu- 
 tion. Against these traits of the hero's character, the heroine 
 in turn exhibits contrasts exactly the reverse. Her firmness 
 of purpose grows in magnitude in proportion as Macbeth 
 weakens and wavers in resolve; but her "undaunted mettle" 
 is set in a "frame as exquisitely feminine as her husband's 
 is magnificently manly. This was necessary in order to make 
 her taunts of Macbeth 's irresolution operate with the fullest 
 intensity. Such sentiments upon the lips of what is caUed 
 a masculine-looking or speaking woman have little moral force 
 compared with what they derive from the ardent utterance 
 of a delicately feminine voice and nature. ' ' ^ 
 
 Great as is her lion-like courage, it springs from an uncon- 
 querable will, and her strength of will is one of the most 
 dominant notes in her character. In this she is the antithesis 
 of her husband. If Macbeth be preeminently a practical 
 man, molded in the world of action and caring little f0r t}^ 
 inner or intellectual life, she, on the other hand, is»';th# 
 embodiment of that same inner life and its intellectual '•teB^ 
 ture. Shut out by her feminine lot from the activitl^ of ,it^ 
 
 1. Cf. G. Fletcher, Studies of Shakespeare, p. 109. 
 
82 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 external world, she had both the time and the inclination to 
 devote her genius and her energies to the development of her 
 mental faculties. Her soul, like her "little hand," unhard- 
 ened by the work-a-day world, is quick, delicate, and sensitive. 
 At home in mental struggles and accustomed to moral lone- 
 liness, she had, unillumined by the truths of revealed religion, 
 settled for herself some of life's problems, as when in the 
 crisis after Duncan's murder she exclaimed, "the sleeping 
 and the dead are but as pictures." In her life of solitude 
 the intellectual world was the sole kingdom of her personal 
 experience, and within it her will was unquestioned king. 
 Strengthened by mental discipline, it gave her perfect self- 
 control and dominion over evil passions; and even now it 
 proves true to her, when seduced by inordinate ambition, 
 she, in spite of instincts of her nature, determines to 
 battle for evil against good. This is seen in particular when 
 thrilling all over with feminine repugnance to the bloody 
 enterprise, which, nevertheless, her royal will insists upon her 
 undertaking, she invokes "the spirits that tend on mortal 
 thoughts to unsex her and fill her from crown to the toe with 
 direst cruelty." Her career in the tragedy is a mental civil 
 war between sinful ambition and the impulses of her better 
 nature, a war in which her indomitable will, after conquer- 
 ing all resistance, in fine collapses, when, though crowned 
 with the coveted diadem, but with hopes blighted and ambi- 
 tion blasted, she feels herself overwhelmed with misery. Such 
 overstraining of mental forces could only end in madness.^ 
 
 As Lady Macbeth 's affection and concentration of mind 
 give intensity to her ruling passion, so her splendid imag- 
 ination arrays its object with unwonted radiance. Her tower- 
 ing ambition knows no hesitation nor vacillation and needs 
 no encouragement nor spur. Hers is an ambition which alone 
 suffices to absorb or obliterate all other feelings and to control 
 and fix her imagination on the one prize in view; hers is an 
 ambition that inspires a courage to contemn all obstacles to 
 her husband's faltering purpose, an ambition without scru- 
 ples, or doubts of success, or fear of consequences ; and when 
 
 1. Cf. E. G. Moulton, Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, C. VII. 
 
THE CHARACTER OP LADY MACBETH 83 
 
 the crown, once a possibility, now seems a certainty, she revels 
 in sovereignty, luxuriates in dreams of power, reaches at 
 the diadem that is to sear her brain, arrays it with an ideal 
 glory, and in the full blaze of the sunlight of hope, eagle- 
 like fixes unflinchingly her gaze upon it. With an enthusi- 
 asm as perfect and a faith as settled as that of the martyr 
 who at the stake sees heaven and its crown of glory opening 
 upon his gaze, she sees in royalty her heaven of existence, 
 and imagines that, when clothed in regal robes and crowned 
 with the "ornament of life," she shall also with "sovereign 
 sway and masterdom" have attained to supreme good and 
 happiness. Her ambition is nothing vulgar. Her grand 
 and capacious mind is neither dazzled nor allured by the 
 mere trappings of royalty. Hers is a thirst for supremacy 
 and power. Hers is the sin of the apostate angel. She 
 forfeits her heaven of the future for the grandest and loftiest 
 prize of the present life, and the magnitude of her guilt 
 almost overclouded by the magnitude of her courage, fails 
 to excite our full abhorrence. Unlike a Goneril or a Regan, 
 she is wicked solely to attain a great end; and only when 
 the royal diadem of her ambition has dazzled her vision and 
 blinded her moral sense, does she spurn all womanly feelings 
 and scruples, and peril her life and soul for its attainment.^ 
 Lady Macbeth 's moral nature as portrayed in the drama, 
 merits close consideration. A giantess in force of intellect 
 and wiU, but in morals a pigmy, she was her own and her 
 husband's ruin. After his resolve "to jump the life to come," 
 her dominating will did not allow his fears, imaginings, and 
 falterings to lose the prize for which he had bartered his 
 eternal jewel. In extenuation of her guilt, Lady Martin 
 says that, how horrid soever her crime may appear in the 
 eyes'of modem civilization, it no doubt seemed less enormous 
 in her o\vti day, when social life was more primitive and 
 rude, and when civil strife was the common order. Succes- 
 sion in direct line was often broken on the theory that might 
 was right. When a great stake was at play, moral suscepti- 
 bility was not over-nice, and what we call murder often 
 
 1. Cf. Mrs. Jameson's Characteristics of Women. 
 
84 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 passed in common estimation as an act of valor.^ Such 
 sentiments, founded on fiction rather than fact, may be 
 prompted by goodness of heart or by natural fellow-feeling; 
 but humane feelings were never the form according to which 
 justice passes sentence upon murder, treachery, and treason. 
 The moral law does not change according to man's state. 
 Virtue is always virtue, and vice is always vice; for the 
 natural law, because immutable, must at all times be the 
 same moral guide of conscience. In this Shakespeare is 
 unwaveringly true to nature. Hence, we find the sentiments 
 of Lady Martin in contradiction to the drama itself. Therein, 
 the Poet clearly shows that neither Lady Macbeth nor her 
 husband held the view that might is right; and, moreover, 
 by their well laid plot, and fears, and scruples, and conse- 
 quent remorse, he proves that neither mistook a cold-blooded 
 murder for an act of valor. On the contrary, nothing in 
 the tragedy is exhibited more luminously than that/ for the 
 sake of a grand passion. Lady Macbeth knowingly devoted 
 herself to evil, and steeled her heart to remorse of conscience, 
 and in so doing deliberately and voluntarily rejected the 
 moral law and defied its sanction. 
 
 It has been asked what would not religion have done with 
 a character of such "superb depravity." It would have 
 surely done for her what it does for the worst criminal, when 
 opening his mind and heart to its redeeming and ennobling 
 influence. Religion alone could have controlled her rebellious 
 will and wild passion. Had hers been a genuine and practi- 
 cal religious faith, her mind would have been illumined by 
 Christian principles, her will captivated by the beauty and 
 dignity of a virtuous life, and, enamored of good and hating 
 evil, she would have seen how virtue always brings its own 
 reward, while in the path of vice always follows, as a shadow 
 does its substance, a remorsdess and avenging Nemesis. But 
 unfortunately her nature was a soil barren of religion. Her 
 fallow soul, unadot-ned by the fructifying seeds of Christian 
 morals, was overrun with the noisome weeds of practical 
 unbelief. He nce, she fell a prey to fatalism, that u nnatural 
 
 1. Cf. Lady Martin, Some of Sliakespoaro's Female Characters, p. 232. 
 
THE CHARACTER OF LADY MACBETH 85 
 
 religion which gains supremacy over minds only after its 
 principles have acquired a rank growth in hearts callous to 
 Christian truths of revealed religion. Hence, her mind 
 imbued with such principles, she glibly utters: "What is 
 done is done ' ' — ' ' things without all remedy should be without 
 regard" — and "the sleeping and the dead are but as pic- 
 tures." "There is something hideous," says Dr. Campbell, 
 "in the very strength of her mind that can dive down, like 
 a wounded monster, to such low depths of consolation." 
 
 Under the influence of practical unbelief and an over- 
 mastering passion. Lady Macbeth made evil her good; yet 
 after the murder her raoral^jiature, though steeled against 
 compunction, arose in rebellion, and disclosed that her lofty 
 courage was only imaginary, and that her bravado was only 
 the'empt}^ fiction of a self-deluded mind. Even before the 
 murder, her moral nature was roused to repugnance. Her 
 impiety and dominant passion could obscure, but not eradi- 
 cate the clear and certain knowledge of primary principles 
 of morals. The natural law, known by the light of reason, 
 irradiates in the soul of every one by means of its first 
 principles; hence all recognize, as laws binding by nature, 
 a certain number of moral principles, which at all times have 
 been universally accepted, and according to which reason 
 distinguishing between good and evil, commends the one and 
 forbids the other.^ 
 
 Duncan's murder was in the eyes of Lady Macbeth a 
 most heinous crime, from which instinctively her womanly 
 nature shrank. When, however, she had yielded up her 
 soul to evil ambition, she also opened the door to malignant 
 spirits, who are ever watchful to fan the pernicious fires of 
 passions that slumber in the hearts of their unwary victims. 
 Her affinity for evil attracted them as kindred spirits and 
 gave them glad welcome. "In the case of those," says St. 
 Ignatius, "who are going from good to bad or from bad to 
 worse, evil spirits touch the soul gently and sweetly like a 
 drop of water entering into a sponge; the disposition of the 
 
 1. Philosophers maintain that no one having the full use of reason can bo 
 Invincibly Ignorant of the natural law in its most general principles and tluir 
 obvious consequences drawn directly from them. 
 
86 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 soul for evil engenders a strong affinity with fallen spirits 
 and by reason of this harmonious relation they enter the 
 soul, as in their own house quietly through the open door." 
 When the horror of Lady Macbeth 's projected crime had 
 aroused a violent revulsion of feeling, her passionate ambition 
 impelled her to stifle repugnance, to harden her heart, and 
 to contemn all idea of remorse; but she still feared the 
 weakness of her own womanly nature, and, in consequence, 
 resolutely and impiously called upon her affinities, those 
 sightless monsters of evil, "to stop up the access and passage 
 to remorse," that no compunctious visitings of nature might 
 shake her fell purpose." In surrendering her soul, aflame 
 with ambition to the influence of her demoniacal affinities, 
 she forfeited the grace of heaven, and in her impiety was 
 abandoned to the guidance of the demons she had invoked. 
 The effect is immediate. Her nature is transformed to evil, 
 alike to that of her affinities : she revels in passionate ambition 
 and gloats over the murderous project ; feels inspired with 
 a preternatural strength and enthusiasm that shame her 
 husband's falterings; sneers at his fears and scruples as 
 womanly weaknesses unbecoming a man; re-enkindles his 
 waning purpose and reawakens his halting courage by reason- 
 ing cold and passionless; and after the murder urges him 
 to stifle conscience and remorse, to contemn fears of conse- 
 quences, and to meet suspicion with a bold front. How easy 
 it all is: "A little water clears us of this deed." 
 
 A tendency to the blackest crime and a strong suscep- 
 tibility to moral emotions, are not incompatible traits of 
 character. In every human heart one passion or another 
 attempts to establish its empire. If nurtured and indulged, 
 it waxes strong in rebellion against restraint and the laws 
 of morals, until, like a roaring tempest overwhelming its 
 victim and drowning the voice of conscience, it rushes madly 
 into lawless action. But after the crime comes reaction. In 
 Lady Macbeth is aroused a moral detestation and horror, 
 which, through watchful days and sleepless nights, tortured 
 her with mental agony and drove her ultimately to despair, 
 to insanity, and to suicide. Such reaction is a clear proof 
 
THE CHARACTER OP LADY MACBETH 87 
 
 that hers was a moral nature which, though long dormant, 
 was, nevertheless, when awakened keenly responsive to a 
 sense of guilt, to remorse, and to the stings of conscience. 
 "Jussisti, Domine, et ita est ut poena sua sibi sit omnis inor- 
 dinatus animus."^ 
 
 Before the crime, the fires of her glowing passion had 
 blinded her to the Nemesis that was sure to pursue her 
 through remorseful days, and fill her dreams with "visions 
 of the old man 's blood, trickling down before her' eyes. ' ' Her 
 fear and terror of future judgment, which racked her soul 
 by day are, perhaps, revealed in sleep in the words, "Hell is 
 murky," and in her heart-piercing sobs of despair. Hers is 
 a remorse without repentance or any reference to an offended 
 Deity. Arising from the torture of self-condemnation, from 
 the pangs of a wounded conscience, and the violated feelings 
 of her nature, her remorse is as fatal as her resolve, as 
 terrible as her crime, as strong as her soul, and as deep as her 
 guilt.^ "In the terribly swift succession of punishment to 
 her crimes, lies one of the master-traits of skill by which 
 Shakespeare contrives to make us blend an awful feeling, 
 somewhat akin to pity, with our satisfaction at her death. 
 She "dies, she is swept away darkly from before us to her 
 great account. We do not exult over her fate; to see a 
 fellow-creature, a beautiful woman, with a bright, bold intel- 
 lect, thus summoned to her destiny, creates a religious feeling 
 too profound for exultation. ' ' ^ 
 
 1. The Lord has decreed, and so it is that every disordered soul Is unto 
 self its own punishment. — Confess. St. Aug.. fap. XTI. 
 
 2. Cf. Mrs. .Jameson, Characteristics of Women in Shaliespeare, II, p. 320. 
 
 3. T. Campbell, Life of Mrs. Siddons, II 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MORAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TRAGEDY 
 
 As art teaches moral truths only indirectly, so 
 Shakespeare, as a dramatic artist, inculcates morality, not 
 as a moral philosopher by express precepts, but by living 
 impulses, by illustration, and example. This touching of 
 the heart teaches us better than the cold language of precept 
 to feel delight in the right and disgust at the wrong, and 
 to develop within us that true spirit of self-love which impels 
 us to make the good and the beautiful our own. To the Poet, 
 evil was always deformity, and virtue beauty. Because his 
 poetic impulse is inseparably interwoven with his ethical 
 feelings, he took life as a whole, in which the moral, the 
 aesthetic, and the intellectual qualities are severed by no 
 speculative analysis. Hence, he affirms: "The web of our 
 life is a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our virtues 
 would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and- our 
 crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our 
 virtues. ' ' ^ 
 
 In Shakespeare, says Cardinal Newman, "there is neither 
 contempt of religion nor scepticism, and he upholds the broad 
 laws of moral and divine truths with the consistency and 
 severity of an Aeschylus, Sophocles, or Pindar. There is no 
 mistaking in his works on which side lies the right; Satan 
 is not made a herx), nor Cain a victim, but pride is pride, 
 and vice is vice, and whatever indulgence he may allow him- 
 self in light thoughts or unseemly Avords, yet his admiration 
 is reserved for sanctity and truth." - Beyond all other poets, 
 he inculcated the moral truth that a Christian's life calls 
 for the taming of the passions. His deep insight into human 
 
 1. All's Well That Ends Well, IV, iii. 
 
 2. Card. Newman, Catholic Literature in Its Relation to Classical Litera- 
 ture. 
 
 88 
 
MORAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TRAGEDY 89 
 
 nature safeguarded him against the too common error of 
 our times that the mere knowledge of good and evil is in 
 itself a sufBcient guard against the temptations of life. He 
 knew that where one man regulates his conduct by precept 
 and example, there are thousands who follow the line of 
 least resistance, all regardless of moral obligations. One 
 good impulse is more productive of virtue than a hundred 
 good precepts; "one thorn of experience is worth more than 
 a whole wilderness of warnings." Though Shakespeare's 
 dramas uphold the natural rights of the heart as well as moral 
 freedom, they inculcate moderation and discipline against 
 the common enemy of man — excess of the passions. His is 
 not the folly of the modern dramatist, who pictures human 
 impulses or weaknesses in such attractive colors as to capti- 
 vate the mind and heart, and lead them into the paths of 
 moral turpitude. On the contrary, he believed, it seems, in 
 Aristotle's dictum, that the main purpose of tragedy is to 
 purify the passions, and, in consequence, he idealizes our 
 human weaknesses in grander characters, in order that in 
 their more awful results we may the better see how evil 
 actions react upon us, and lead to the catastrophe of our 
 lives. They awaken the spectator to an intimate and sensi- 
 tive realization of the beginning of the false way, that he 
 may, in alertness, walk more circumspectly through the drama 
 of his own life.^ 
 
 In view of their moral force, the tragedies of Shakespeare 
 have been called the "Grand Mystery Plays of Humanity." 
 Mystery Plays were dramas of medieval faith and genius. 
 Their object was primarily to set forth by illustrations of the 
 prophetic history of the Old Testament, and more particu- 
 larly of the fulfillment by the New, the central mystery of 
 the Redemption of the world as accomplished by the Nativity, 
 the Passion, and the Resurrection of the Savior. By dis- 
 closing the interior union of the visible with the invisible, 
 of the temporal with the eternal, and of the human with the 
 divine, they purposed to reveal the Providence of God, who is 
 ever present in the world of His creation, directing and ruling 
 
 1. Cf. James Russell Lowell, Literary Criticism. 
 
90 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 human affairs. The Mystery was no sudden form of play 
 sprung into existence ; it was based upon an historic tradition 
 of rare interest, involving centuries of social progress. To 
 her congregations to whom the Bible was a sealed book, since 
 they could not read, the Church presented Scriptural 
 panoramas, which told the story of the Savior's life and 
 resurrection. The part these plays occupied in the Church's 
 service is in many cases indicated at the beginning of the 
 manuscripts. The directions of one state that on the second 
 night of the birth of our Lord, after the Te Deum is sung, 
 the Play of the Shepherds shall begin, followed by the Mass ; 
 the direction on another, that of the Epiphany, reads: "After 
 the third response, three priests of high rank, representing 
 the Magi, shall come to the Altar, and after the Play the 
 service shall begin." 
 
 Prom France and Germany, the Mystery and Miracle 
 Plays passed into England. The earliest known was the 
 "Ludus de S. Katharina," played at Dunstable in the 
 twelfth century. It was presented by the pupils of Geoffrey, 
 Abbott of St. Albans. In the time of Chaucer, the Mystery 
 Play with its pageant in the open was already well estab- 
 lished. The Mysteries of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries 
 were fostered by the guilds of England. Each guild had a 
 patron saint whose day was observed, and, as time went on, 
 rivalry grew as to the superior merit of the presentations, 
 resulting in pageants of wonderful ambitions. The whole 
 sweep of the Bible was not too much for representation, 
 even though it took many days. The popularity and gigan- 
 tic proportions which the Mystery Plays had attained arose 
 from the Faith of the masses who, penetrated with Christian 
 beliefs and ideas, had come to love them, and to see in them 
 the manifestations of Divine Providence at once merciful and 
 just. They pictured the whole history of the human race, 
 and gave to that representation all the development demanded 
 by the religious conscience and the ethics of the nations then 
 united in the one Faith of Christendom. Their portrayal 
 of sin and the fall of the first man, exposed the real meaning 
 of the justice and pardon of Calvary; and the impressive 
 
MORAL SIGNIFICANCE OP THE TRAGEDY 91 
 
 spectacle of the universal judgment solved the mystery which 
 envelopes the tragedy of human destinies. If we be inclined 
 to blame the literary taste of our good ancestors, let us 
 remember that it was remarkable for their times, when their 
 langixage and litei'ature was still in the process of formation. 
 Their philosophy was, however, admirable. It established 
 on an immovable basis the fundamental laws of our dra- 
 matic art, and from its literary infancy, as from a germ, has 
 developed the strength and the character of manhood as 
 seen in the greater dramas of Shakespeare.^ 
 
 Out of the Mystery and Miracle Plays sprang a third 
 class called the Moralities. They were more perfect in 
 dramatic form, and consisted of allegorical personifications 
 of the virtues and vices, which were introduced as dramatis 
 personae. These religioiis dramas, which still flourished dur- 
 ing the reign of Elizabeth, and the modern drama as 
 Shakespeare created it, were two streams running side by 
 side. We have continuous evidence of their popularity and 
 frequent production in nearly every part of England during 
 the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Records which survive 
 show theii performance in at least thirty English towns and 
 villages. Shakespeare no doubt took part in the Moral Inter- 
 ludes which were enacted in praise of learning at the 
 advanced school which he attended at Stratford-on-Avon. 
 The York Miracle Plays were last enacted when the Poet had 
 attained his majority; and ten years later, when he had 
 begun his career as dramatist, the Newcastle Plays were 
 yet in vogue. The Chester Plays were still presented in 1600, 
 and the Beverly till 1604^ when Shakespeare's work was 
 already drawing to a close. The Miracle Plavs dying with the 
 death of Elizabeth, had overlapped the noblest period of the 
 English drama ; and the reminiscence of' the Harrowing of 
 Hell in the Porter's speech in Macheth, is perhaps the most 
 noticeable trace which they have left on the drama of the 
 Shakespearean age. Having fostered a love of acting in 
 every county of England, the Miracle and Morality Plays 
 
 1 Cf A. ra^our. S. J., Dramatic Mysterleis of 15th & 16th Centuries. 
 Catholic World, Vol. I. 
 
92 A GEEAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 had prepared the ground from which the Shakespearean 
 harvest was to spring in all its glorious abundance.^ 
 
 All the elements of power and art present in the Mystery, 
 Morality, and Interlude, Shakespeare unfolded in his trage- 
 dies, and harmonized them in the spirit of freedom, and with 
 the feeling for beauty which he inherited from the Renais- 
 sance. His tragedies took on a new and deeper form from 
 an invisible background against which human life is set, and 
 from the moral order, which man cannot violate without 
 calling tragic forces into action. His is a clear perception of 
 the Christian view of man's place and meaning in the world 
 in which is exhibited human personality as largely shaping 
 its own destiny; for he makes man solve the problem of 
 existence, not in the action of his mind alone, but by all the 
 resoiirces of his complex nature, his appetites and emotions, 
 his instincts and passions, and his thought and will. This 
 action reveals man to himself and to his fellowmen, evokes 
 his powers, develops his personality, and, by giving free play 
 to his human spirit, makes him conscious of his moral sig- 
 nificance, and invests him with immortal hopes. This notion 
 of man's character is the key to the Poet's conception of 
 human life; for apparently the problem of life in the 
 Shakespearean tragedy, is to create in the civil or social order 
 a harmony between man 's individual will and the eternal and 
 immutable principles of the higher moral law. 
 
 In tragic characters this harmony is disturbed and broken ; 
 self-love, swollen to egotism under the impulse of unbridled 
 passions, hurries them to an unhappy end. Such characters 
 tragedy depicts — men who in defiance of the powers of heaven, 
 rely upon exaggerated human strength, and in the blindness 
 of fearful passions brave every human and divine law. Their 
 unbounded pretensions, being incompatible with the rights 
 of individuals and of society, cause a natural reaction in 
 which they suffer wreck and submersion. Such ignoring of 
 the moral law must precipitate a series of tragic events, either 
 when individual passion is set in opposition to the welfare 
 
 • l-.^l- Alfred W. Pollard, English Miracle Plays, Moralities and Inter- 
 ludes,- Introduction, passim.— Henry J. Montrose, "Every Man." 
 
MOEAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TRAGEDY 93 
 
 of the family, as in Lear and in Romeo and Juliet, or when 
 individual will is set in opposition to the State, as in Corio- 
 lanus, Julius Caesar, and Macbeth. In the latter the State 
 is pictured as striving after harmony, and a conflict is inev- 
 itable, and this conflict, not fanciful nor accidental, but an 
 actual working out, under tragic forms, of the moral and 
 social order, ultimately results in a deeper harmony. The 
 Poet's clear representation of this process of reconciliation 
 has stamped his tragedies as high moral works of art. "For 
 true art is the illumination of experience, and in Macieth 
 the ultimate truths of life and the deepest secrets of experi- 
 ence are organized into forces of the highest beauty, wherein 
 are revealed spiritixal impulses and hidden aspirations of 
 the human heart. '^ 
 
 The drama portrays Macbeth as the slave of his ruling 
 passion, and wholly engrossed in selfish interests. By their 
 very nature, they make him a solitary at war with the people 
 and the nobles of the realm. His usurpation and continuous 
 course in crime, not only overwhelm the whole State with 
 misery, but also invite further devastation and ruin by the 
 hostile forces of the neighboring kingdom. Thus is impressed 
 "upon us the solemn truth that crime in its evil influence, like 
 a fire growing into a great conflagration, spreads its baneful 
 effects far and wide. Accordingly, the moral of the action 
 exhibits a dual element : the one arising from a necessary and 
 rapidly increasing estrangement of the usurper from God 
 and' his fellowmen; and the other from his crimes, which by 
 their fearful acceleration rush him on to inevitable destruc- 
 tion. Evil is always its own avenger, but there are times 
 when its growth is so rank and its roots so deeply set that 
 nothing can eradicate it, save the superhuman power of an 
 all-ruling Providence. This truth is embodied in the person 
 of St. Edward (1004-1066), the holy king of England, who 
 by his miraculous touch diffuses the blessing of health, and 
 who is here called in to rescue a Christian people from 
 tyranny and ruin. Unwilling in his spirit of humanity to 
 
 1. C'f. Hamilton W, Srahio. Sliakospparo, Poet, Dramatist, and Man, C. 
 XV. passim. 
 
94 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 wield the sword of vengeance himself, he delegates his power 
 to the pious and magnanimous Siward, who with the aid of 
 Scottish nobles, crushes the bloody monster, and restores 
 order and justice to a long suffering country. Thus, in the 
 destructive consequences of evil which the Poet pictures, one 
 may, says Ulrici,^ glean the thought of comfort and instruc- 
 tion that victory is ultimately ever with the virtuous, that the 
 deadly power of evil is blasted and uprooted by the love and 
 justice of God, and good is at last enthroned as the conqueror 
 of the world. 
 
 In the tragedy of Macbeth and the Mystery Play of 
 Man's Pall in Eden, appear striking parallels. In both the 
 situation is essentially the same, and the same are the natural 
 and preternatural agencies. In both, is the same temptation 
 to ambition — ' ' You shall be as gods, ' ' and ' ' All hail, Macbeth, 
 that shall be king hereafter." In both, there is the same 
 violation of a divine command: "Thou shalt not eat" — 
 ' ' thou shalt not kill, ' ' and the same tempter seeking to defeat 
 the will of the Almighty. In the one, the fallen angel assumes 
 the guise of the wily serpent, and in the other, evil spirits 
 clothe themselves in. the visible forms of the Weird Sisters. 
 In both, the lying tempter gives delusive assurances that 
 "keep the word of promise to the ear and break it to the 
 hope"; in the one, "Ye shall not surely die," and in the 
 other, "none of woman born shall harm Macbeth." In both, 
 the husband and the wife are the transgressors, and of the 
 two, the woman is the more daring, the accomplice, and the 
 instigator of the crime. ^ 
 
 In every tragedy of Shakespeare is portrayed a more or 
 less noble character under the degenerating influence of some 
 ruling passion. Othello is the type of jealousy, Coriolanus 
 of pride, and Macbeth of ambition. In all a master-passion 
 is the one central theme. By depicting it in strong colors 
 with all the shadows of real life, the Poet deduces a moral 
 lesson as luminous and universal as the light of day. His 
 portrayal of the gradual transformation of his hero's char- 
 
 1. Shakespeare's Dramatische Kunst. 
 
 2. Cf. Kirke, Atlantic Monthly, April, 1895. 
 
MORAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TRAGEDY 95 
 
 acter for evil, presents no less a psychological than a dra- 
 matic interest. Awe-inspiring is the picture, unrelieved by 
 softer hues which might distract from the contemplation of a 
 moral shipwreck, as revealed in the temptation, surrender, 
 and ruin of a soul. Macbeth first comes before us a loyal 
 nobleman, a warrior, valiant and renowned, whose antece- 
 dents give assurance of a roseate future full of worth and 
 honor. Before our eyes, however, he gradually grows into 
 a bloody tyrant whose cruelty knows no pity, and sin having 
 deadened conscience and wrecked his moral nature, he reck- 
 lessly defies all the dangers of the present and all the terrors 
 of the future life. His crimes have, nevertheless, separated 
 him from God and man in a hopeless isolation, made more 
 miserable by the prospect of losing the prize for which he 
 sacrificed his "eternal jewel to the common enemy of man." 
 They overwhelm him with remorse, which ever driving him 
 on in delirium from crime to crime, drags him onward to his 
 wretched doom ; a remorse that, knowing no repentance nor 
 hope of alleviation can only end in despair. 
 
 No other tragedy of Shakespeare portrays the ethical 
 element with such single-mindedness and power, nor do the 
 annals of mankind, either sacred or profane, furnish an 
 example which so clearly pictures Satanic temptation and so 
 forcibly illustrates the baneful ravages of a ruling passion, 
 when once rooted for evil in the human heart. Hence Macbeth 
 not only challenges our consideration as a high literary work 
 of art, but also arouses our interest and enchains our attention 
 by reason of its practical moral significance, so true to nature, 
 so pertinent to every individual, and so universal in its 
 application. Many have been the Macbeths of history — men, 
 who in the selfish interest of their egotism, have in defiance 
 of the rights of their fellowmen and of the moral law of 
 God, brought ruin and desolation upon a once smiling land. 
 Others again in multitudes, though playing upon a more 
 sequestered stage of life, have fallen victims to some ruling 
 passion, and bartered an eternal for a temporal crown. 
 Ignoring the sublime destiny of man and the fleetingness of 
 human life, they devoted all the energies of their brief exist- 
 
96 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 ence to the worship of some false god, all forgetful of the 
 fact that such transient objects cannot satisfy an immortal 
 soul in its innate yearnings for imperishable and eternal good. 
 "The thorns they reaped were of the tree they planted." 
 
 After a careful study of Shakespeare's dramas no one 
 can doubt that he excels as a moralist. Certain passages 
 may be of questionable taste, but his works taken as a whole, 
 and especially his tragedies, cannot fail to elevate the mind 
 by the purity of the morals they inculcate. Through them 
 breathes so strong a belief in virtue, so steady an adherence 
 to good principles united with such a vigorous tone of honor 
 as testifies to the author's excellence as a moralist, nay as a 
 Christian. This commendable quality is indeed so prominent 
 as to be noted even by foreign commentators. Among the 
 German critics, Gervinus writes: "The high moral spirit 
 which in Shakespeare's plays controls the complications of 
 fate and the issues of human actions, indicates the eternal and 
 incorruptible justice in human tilings — ^the finger of God, 
 which our dull eyes do not perceive in reality." This view 
 is re-echoed by several critics across the Rhine. De Lamartine 
 says : "If his dramas are criminal in their issues, their logic 
 is invariably and inexorably orthodox. In Macbeth we see 
 above all the immediate expiation of crime by the secret 
 vengeance of God. Herein lies the invincible morality of 
 Shakespeare: the Poet is in harmony with God." His voice 
 he recognizes in the dictates of conscience, which speaking in 
 every man through the ages, commends good and reprobates 
 evil. Though his tragic characters are taken from peoples 
 greatly diffeiing and separated by long periods of time, all 
 are made to exemplify the same moral truths. Centuries may 
 follow centuries; civilization may ebb and flow; men's opin- 
 ions and creeds may change; kingdoms may rise and fall; 
 and peoples may flourish or sink in decay; yet through all 
 and surviving all, Shakespeare recognizes the same moral 
 law; for undying and unchangeable, "it is written on the 
 tablets of eternity." Puny man may ignore it or rebel 
 against it, and in folly think to thrive by injustice, or false- 
 hood, or cruelty, or lust, or pride ; but soon his vices become 
 
MORAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TRAGEDY 9? 
 
 the scorpion lashes with which avenging Nemesis drives him 
 to his doom. Across the pages of his tragedies is written in 
 glaring letters the prophetic warning: "The wages of sin 
 is death." 
 
ACT FIRST 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 
 A PEEMONITION 
 
 Condensing within brief limits the action of eighteen 
 years, the drama strides along with amazing rapidity. In 
 the very first scene, the spectral chant of the Weird Sisters 
 in a wild desert place, prepares the mind for all that is to 
 follow in a drama which is to run on under diabolical control. 
 The curtain rises upon a thunder-storm in the dead of night. 
 Its preternatural suddenness, as well as its physical blackness, 
 which is intermittently illumined by lurid flashes, fittingly 
 forebode the moral gloom of the drama. A few moments pass 
 and three horrid creatures glide in noiselessly as ghosts from 
 a thundercloud. Unlike the common old hag witches of 
 tradition, they are Shakespeare's own peculiar creation, pre- 
 ternatural beings, visible forms of evil spirits; and their 
 sudden entrance from the blackness of the tempest aptly 
 indicates their affinity with the wild and destructive elements 
 of nature. These repulsive, unearthly creatures, speaking 
 a peculiar language full of rhythmic sounds, which forms 
 the weird music of their dismal dance, reveal their diabolical 
 hopes in regard to Macbeth, and gloat over their reversal of 
 man's moral code, "fair is foul and foul is fair." At the 
 warning of familiar spirits, sentries of the nightj whose 
 voice they recognize in the mew of cat and croak of frog, they 
 circle round and round, delirious in joy over their evil pur- 
 pose, and quickly vanish in the blackness of the stormy 
 night. 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 
 NEWS OF BATTLE 
 
 The King and attendants are encamped at Forres. We 
 learn from a wounded captain, straggling homeward from the 
 
 98 
 
IN AMBUSH 99 
 
 battle, of Macbeth 's double victory in one day, tiie one over 
 Macdonwald 's rebel forces, and the other over the invading 
 army of Sweno, Norway's king, in league with the thane of 
 Cawdor. The latter, the king condemns as a traitor, and 
 creating Macbeth thane of Cawdor, commissions Ross to go 
 and greet the returning warrior with the title. Duncan 
 appears in strong contrast with Macbeth. Though charac- 
 terized by amiability and gentleness and by a vivid sense of 
 affection and gratitude, his is a greater weakness than becomes 
 a king. Though bravery was in those stormy days the high- 
 est requisite for a monarch, he was lacking in the greatly 
 needed qualities of a warrior. His known aversion to war, 
 as well as his incapacity to lead an army, gave free rein to 
 strife among his more ambitious nobles, and in consequence, 
 treason multiplied under his rule. Furthermore, while his 
 crown was in danger from the rebel army of Macdonwald, 
 and the kingdom was struggling for existence with the invad- 
 ing forces of Norway's warrior king, he was satisfied to 
 tarry tamely in camp, instead of encouraging, at least by his 
 presence, the loyal soldiers who were bravely battling in 
 defense of his crown. In contrast with Duncan's weakness, 
 the valor of Macbeth shines more b rillian tly. His personal 
 courage, his undaunted valor, his prowess at arms, his 
 resources in war, and his repeated victories won for him such 
 unequaled military prestige that his troopers named him 
 "valor's minion," or favorite, and "Bellona's bridegroom." 
 The whole scene is likely to suggest the thought that the 
 amiable and gentle king, though adorned with many virtues, 
 was, from lack of more rugged qualities, unfit for his high 
 position in those days of strife, while his cousin, Macbeth, 
 eminently possessed the qualifications demanded of a monarch 
 at a time when only warriors were kings. 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 
 IN AMBUSH 
 
 Upon a blasted heath near Forres, the Weird Sisters are 
 anxiously awaiting the passing of Macbeth. "There is not," 
 
100 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 says Knight, "a more dreary piece of moorland to be found in 
 all Scotland. It is without tree or shrub. A few patches of 
 oats are visible here and there, and the eye reposes on a fir 
 plantation at one extremity; but all around is black and 
 brown, made up of peat and bog water, white stones and 
 brushes of furze. The desolation of the scene in stormy 
 weather, or when the twilight fogs are trailing over the path- 
 less heath or settling down upon the pools, must remain 
 indescribable." The scene harmonizes with the evil nature 
 of the Weird Sisters. It reveals the malignity of their char- 
 acter as in horrid ceremonies of incantation, they gloat 
 maliciously over their past and future evil deeds. The Poet 
 expresses in the person of these repulsive and abnormal 
 creatures the terrible ravages which evil works upon the 
 human soul. Sin is a moral r yiL. _which^i)y flighting the 
 mind and blasting the heart to aU that is good and beautiful, 
 destroys every trait of iiobility and refinement of character. 
 Furthermorcj the malign influence that wicked persons may 
 exercise upon the good is exhibited by the rehearsal of the 
 evil which these anomalous creatures have done upon human 
 beings. The beat of drum announces the near approach of 
 Macbeth. In sudden excitement, the Weird Sisters, full of 
 glee, wind up the charm that is to allure their approaching 
 victim. At once closing their Satanic ritual by joining hands 
 and chanting, they invoke the magical power of the mystical 
 number and circle around, three rounds for each, and then 
 exclaim, "Peace! the charm's wound up" (11. 1-37). 
 
 Of Macbeth 's entrance upon the scene, Campbell says: 
 "When the drum of the Scotch army is heard on the wild 
 heath, and when I fancy it advancing with its bowmen in 
 front and its spears and banners in the distance, I am always 
 disappointed with Macbeth 's entrance at the head of a few 
 kilted actors. I strongly suspect that the appearance of the 
 Weird Sisters is too wild and poetical for the possibility of 
 its ever being duly enacted in a theater. I think it defies 
 theatrical art to render it half so welcome as when we read 
 it by the mere light of our own imagination." Their pres- 
 entation on the modern stage is certainly incongruous if not 
 
IN AMBUSH 101 
 
 ridiculous. Managers too often influenced by reason of 
 economy or convenience rather than of art, are satisfied to 
 give the "Weird Sisters and the vs^itches of Middleton, which 
 follow later, the same impersonation. Such treatment of 
 characters that are most distinctly different is undoubtedly 
 inharmonious with the Poet's design. The text shows that 
 he wished to present in visible concrete form an illustration 
 of the belief widely prevalent in his time that demons, as 
 embodied spirits of wickedness intent on alluring man to 
 evil, are permitted to infest the earth. Only on such a sup- 
 position can be verified the common opinion of Shakespearean 
 critics that in the presentation of the Weird Sisters the Poet 
 departs from the traditional witches of superstition, and 
 gives us a new creation uniquely his own. That such was his 
 purpose is clear from the delineation of their nature, char- 
 acter, arid appearance, as described by Banquo. They 
 suddenly bubble up before his astonished eyes — ghostlike from 
 airy nothing — appearing in female garb, but with men's 
 bearded faces, abnormal, monstrous beings, crooked, mis- 
 shapen, withered, haggard, repulsively uncanny, and, in short, 
 anomalies, deviating from the essential characteristics of the 
 known human type. In their horrid and unearthly forms, 
 so "unlike the inhabitants of earth," they amaze and overawe 
 both Macbeth and Banquo. The latter doubts their reality, 
 and mistrusting his senses, questions in bewilderment whether 
 they are actually living beings, as outwardly they seem, or 
 only forms phantasmal. When they vanish from his gaze, 
 like some corporeal thing that suddenly dissolves itself into 
 invisible air, he further questions the veracity of his senses 
 and the saneness of his mind. Their nature and character- 
 istics, as preternatural evil beings who purpose Macbeth 's 
 moral ruin appear beyond doubt in the progress of the 
 drama. 
 
 Macbeth flushed with victory and returning at the head 
 of his clans, feels depressed in spirits from the gloomy foul- 
 ness of the weather. Communing in silence with himself, his 
 mind is agitated by conflicting thoughts: there is the in ac- 
 tivity and weaknes s of the aged Du ncan i n contrast with his 
 
102 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 own energy and valpr in the Md olaction ; there is th e king' s 
 manif^,.infia;pacity to jule and to prfiserve .i.he., jealm m 
 _pe ace, an incapacity whic h^ftiTOwsjponJiims&ii-tha burden 
 of the^wars~ in defens e of th"e ~craw n; there are the nobles, 
 who contemn the unchivalric inaction of Duncan, and recog- 
 nize his own warlike valor and influence over the chiefs and 
 clans of the nation ; now that he is returning victorious and 
 acclaimed the national hero, who has saved the kingdom from 
 the destruction which was threatened by domestic and foreign 
 strifes, why not be de jure king, as well as de facto? His 
 right to the crown equals that of his cousin, Duncan. Why not 
 take the scepter in his own hand, to maiatain the peace in his 
 distracted country, and to strike terror into the foreign foes 
 of Scotland ? Heated in mind by these ambitiou s thoughts, 
 Macbeth is _afwakened from, his, musings by startling notions' 
 suggestive of the means of their attainment, and mjgerturbed 
 spirits exclaims,. —So foul a33' fair a day I have not seen. ' ' 
 A day so fair in glorious achievements and yet so foul at 
 its close — so foul in lustful thoughts of jajdess ambition 
 secretly indulged. His words — the echo of the"Tast wOrdg^ 
 of the Weird Sisters — "fair is foul and foul is fair" — indicate 
 that, though he be not yet in alliance with the powers of 
 evil, there is, by means of his master passion, an unconscious 
 relationship already established between his soul and the 
 malignant spirits of temptation. Banquo first notices the 
 presence of the Weird Sisters, and in surprise at their wild, 
 withered and abnormal appearance, questions their real 
 nature, whether of earth or air, and whether man may 
 address them (11. 38-47). 
 
 Indifferent to Banquo 's questions, each of the Weird Sisters ' 
 places her choppy fingers on her skinny lips, to signify the 
 wish for him to remain silent. They have no concern with 
 him. Hereupon, Macbeth in impatient and imperious tones 
 commands them to reply. Instantly they give him attention. 
 He and not Banquo is their special quarry. His wayward 
 passion has created in his heart an affinity for evil, which 
 attracts these powers of darkness, and arms them with malign 
 influence over him. They have been lying in ambush, as a 
 
IMPERFECT SPEAKERS 103 
 
 previous scene discloses, awaiting the opportune moment to 
 surprise him in the summer of his glory. ;@is_mad passion 
 of ambition, they ha ve discovered in the secret thougMs_and 
 wicked d esires o|~his heart, and hope to stimulate_,.them _to 
 regiMde, and jQoral_zuia,__ Wherefore, they shall attempt to 
 c'Geat him, to entrap him by wiles, and, by fatal equivocations, 
 to lead him to believe that the kingship of his ambition is the 
 decree, the work of fate, whereas it must be the fruit of his 
 own bloody deed. In addressing Macbeth, they drop all the 
 vulgarity of the previous scene, assume a dignity and an 
 elevated tone, as become spirits that are endowed with pre- 
 ternatural powers and foreknowledge of events. Like oracles 
 of old, they voice their prophecies in terms brief and obscure, 
 but with a majestic solemnity that inspires their auditors 
 with preternatural awe : 
 
 Macbeth. Speak, if you can : what are yoa? 
 
 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! Hail to thee, thane of Glamis ! 
 
 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! Hail to thee, thane of Cawdor ! 
 
 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter ! 
 
 IMPERFECT SPEAKEES ' 
 
 The predictions of the Weird Sisters startle Macbeth, 
 and throw him into such manifest excitement that Banquo, 
 in surprise, questions why he should _' ' fear things that sound 
 so fair." Wrapt in silence and brooding over the predic- 
 tions, Macbeth feels himself transported with guilty thoughts 
 and imaginations. The Weird Sisters have struck the master 
 chord of his heart and find it vibrates at their touch. Their 
 strange knowledge of his evil dreams and secret aspirations 
 awakens him to doubts and fears. Unsummoned, they have 
 come from the spirit world as shadowy ministers of fate, 
 and, in harmony with his own thoughts and desires, seem to 
 be willing accomplices in the attainment of his lawless ambi- 
 tion. While the words of the Weird Sisters stir Macbeth 
 to great excitement, they leave Banquo unaffected, save by 
 a natural curiosity. Tbis is due to their different relations 
 to the wicked tempters; unlike Macbeth, Banquo 's soul is 
 
104 A GEEAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 not harrowed by an evil passion that places him in agreement 
 with evil spirits, and in consequence, their words touch no 
 responsive chord in his heart. Hence, though in surprise 
 he gazes in simple wonderment at their strange appearance, 
 and in roused attention, listens to their mysterious words, 
 he perceives in them no forebodings of evil; f 0£_3Ia£ feeth 's 
 _succession to the throne seemed far from improbable in those 
 warlike times, when the aged Duncan might haturallyTISy 
 approyed^ustom, choose for successor his cbusinrarwelT tried 
 warrior and national favorite, rather than the boy_Malcd[m^ 
 Banquo still doubtful of the reality of the Weird Sisters, 
 and of their prophetic powers, questions them further. 
 Though they have greeted Macbeth "with present grace" — 
 the thane of Cawdor; and with "royal hope" — the future 
 kingship, he, while neither begging their favor nor fearing 
 their hate, skeptically challenges them to read his horoscope 
 of destiny. 
 
 Lost in silence, while musing over the welcomed 
 prophecies, Macbeth suddenly regained his voice, when he 
 observed the Weird Sisters about to depart. In pondering 
 over the predictions, he foresaw obstacles to their fulfilment, 
 and, in consequence, anxiously attempted to stay the depart- 
 ing visitors. In tones full of impatience and excitement, he 
 imperiously commands them — ' ' i mperfect s peake rs, ' ' to solve 
 his doubts by further information! Bfeedless of his words, 
 the Weird Sisters instantly "melted as breath into the air," 
 and left him surprised and dazed gazing in wonderment into 
 vacant space. 
 
 The astuteness of these tempting spirits and their long 
 experience with mankind enable them to conjecture with 
 moral certainty that their chosen victim will solve his doubts 
 in the manner they intend. His insistence that the spirits 
 stay and tell him more, without examining their nature, their 
 purpose, and their truthfulness, shows his readiness to believe 
 promises that harmonize with his desires. His accepta nce of 
 4]ieir^prophecies and his anxiety and sore distress at faila xe. 
 to learn mofe7 in3icate that he is already strbngly underjbfiir 
 pernicious spell. Having marked him for their own, they 
 
CAN THE DEVIL SPEAK TRUE 105 
 
 have studied liis character,^ his good and bad qualities, and 
 his natural dispositions, and among them have d iscerned a 
 lofty ambition, which rules his hea rt and predominates" all 
 
 ■ ot her Tee lmgs. In acuteness of inteiiect7"the3r perceive that 
 for the attainment of the grand prize after which he secretly 
 aspires, he will in all probability barter fortune, honor, vir- 
 tue, in this life, and even his eternal weal in the next. The 
 fire of his absorbin g passion now enkindled, they withdraw 
 to_watch. ia secret its steady progress, to fan its flames ever 
 and anon with pernicious winds, until, culminating in a dire- 
 ful'conflagration, it shall strew destruction in its path,, and- 
 
 "leave Tnin^ exgosed, the charred moral ruin of his former 
 nobrer_sglL~ 
 
 """Macbeth and Banquo stood dazed and somewhat fright- 
 ened at the sudden disappearance of the Weird Sisters. The 
 mysterious melting away of corporeal beings before their 
 very eyes, forced upon them t'he truth of the real nature of 
 their incorporeal visitors. In vain Banquo in awe and 
 wonder gazed searchingly about him; they had disappeared 
 as quickly as bubbles which rise from the deep to the water's 
 surface only to break and vanish into nothingness. Fearful 
 lest some ocular illusion may have taken his reason captive, 
 he is inclined to doubt the veracity of his senses. Macbeth, 
 onjie— contrary, indifferent as to the nature of the Weird 
 Sisters, firmly believes thsil^^ffiQixls. His concern and regret 
 that they~liaH"^ot stayed for further parley clearly mark 
 how, under their evil spell, the poisoned leaven is already 
 working in his mind and heart. Wholly absorbed and 
 inflamed by their prophecies, he in joy repeats them approv- 
 ingly, and. fojr the first time manifests a tinge of jealousy 
 of Banquo; the latter, however, still skeptically inclined, ex- 
 presses his indifference in slighting words and tones (11. 51-89). 
 
 CAN THE DEVIL SPEAK TRUE? 
 
 That Macbeth tempted the evil spirits to tempt him, and 
 that they in turn stimulated and inflamed thoughts and 
 
 1. Sciritual Exercises of St Ignatius, Eule XIV for Discernment of 
 Spirits, Second Treatise. 
 
106 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 desires, which originated in his own mind under the impulse 
 of his ruling passion, is evident up to this point; and the 
 evidence is further strengthened with the arrival of the royal 
 couriers in the latter part of the present scene. Ross and 
 Angus greet Macbeth in the king's name and, by way of 
 preamble, relate Duncan's praise of the warrior's personal 
 combat with the traitor Maedonwald, as well as of his won- 
 drous victories. In bestowing only the petty thanedom of 
 Cawdor, as a reward for his brilliant service, Duncan is 
 conscious of ingratitude, and in consequence, expresses a 
 wish to maintain a proportion both of thanks and payment. 
 Hence, he speaks of a "greater honor," of which the thane- 
 ship of Cawdor is but "an earnest," or pledge, and this 
 "greater honor" can be nothing less than the crown itself. 
 In this mood, say they, Duncan 's ' ' wonders and his praises do 
 contend which (dignity) should be thine or his." Having 
 hinted at such abdication, the king prudently checks himself, 
 ' ' silenced with that. ' ' ^ 
 
 The preamble ended, the couriers announce their royal 
 commission; and Ross, speaking formally in the name of the 
 king, hails Macbeth thane of Cawdor. This unexpected veri- 
 fication of the "Weird Sisters ' prophecy astounds both Macbeth 
 and Banqu o. The latter self -musing, ^xgresses^ surprigettiat 
 the "fatEer..of lies" can speak the truth. In this, however, 
 he was deceived; for the prediction both of the thane of 
 Glamis and of Cawdor were only seeming prophecies. The 
 death of Sinel, the father of Macbeth, had occurred after his 
 son's departure for the distant field of action; hence, the 
 son had not yet entered into possession of his father's domain, 
 nor assumed the title, which was his by natural right of 
 inheritance. Furthermore, th£__eyi]_spirits whqjiad_plaiuied_ 
 Macbeth 's moral ruin, were^ware,- as -Macbeth- was not-,~4hat- 
 'Ee^ had already "BeerTcreated thane of Cawdor, and that royal 
 messengers were en route to greet him- wi th the tit lel hence, 
 the Weird Sisters intercepting the returning warrior, before 
 the arrival of the king's couriers, could in truth salute him, 
 
 1. Concerning these difficult and mucli-disputed lines, cf. Sprague, apud 
 Furncss, p. 47, Fourth Edition. 
 
CAN THE DEVIL SPEAK TRUE 107 
 
 "hail to thee, tliane of Cawdor." Thus was the cunning 
 design of these evil spirits crowned with sviceess; for when 
 Macbeth saw that their predictions were fulfilled in the 
 thaneship of Glamis and of Cawdor, he felt assured that their 
 other prophetic salutation, "All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be 
 king hereafter," would likewise be verified. 
 
 Banquo's incredulity regaxding. the -truthfulness of the 
 " Weird " Sisters~ jven after j:lie_ vei"ifi.catioji-j)l their -first and 
 second prediction, brings Jnto greater prominence Macbeth 's 
 a'bsolute credulity. The latter 's thoughts in reverie quickly 
 run" from the thane of Glamis and of Cawdor to the "golden 
 round" of his ambition. With glad feelings of assured hopes, 
 he exclaims in tones full of confidence, "the greatest is 
 behind." Surprised, however, at Banquo's indifference to 
 the promise of the "Weird Sisters, he wonders and questions 
 him in impassioned words, which reveal his own undoubted 
 faith: "Do you not hope your children shall be kings?" 
 But Banquo, proof against the wiles of the tempters, cautions 
 him lest the thaneship of Cawdor may enkindle in his soul 
 unholy hopes for the crown. Furthermore, he expresses sus- 
 picion that spirits of darkness are seeking to beguile and 
 ensnare him. His words are prompted by a strong moral 
 rectitude, which enables him to comprehend the nature of the 
 "Weird Sisters and to penetrate their artifice. In the present 
 instance, as well as on other occasions, the Poet manifestly 
 designs Banquo to stand as a good angel between Macbeth 
 and his evil tempters, and as a counter-agent to guard him 
 against their deceits, and to strengthen his moral weakness 
 of will against their covert design. 
 
 Banquo's words indicate his Christian belief in truths of 
 divine revelation, which teaches the existence of good and 
 evil spirits, and their relation to mankind. He believes that 
 lying spirits of darkness, in their efforts to estrange men 
 from the Creator, sometimes assume the form of an angel of 
 light, in order to deceive and "win us to our harm." "It is 
 peculiar to evil spirits to enter a soul in the guise of inno- 
 cence and then to come out wearing their own colors." That 
 is, they begin by suggesting thoughts in conformity with the 
 
108 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 dispositions of the person tempted, and then gradually 
 endeavor to involve him in their secret snares, and to instil 
 perverse intentions, seeking thereby to gain their own wicked 
 ends. If the thoughts suggested by the tempter have a bad 
 termination, or if they tend to evil or to a lesser good, or 
 disturb and disquiet the soul, it is a clear sign that they 
 proceed from the bad angel, the enemy of our salvation. Such 
 are but a few of the principles laid down for moral guidance 
 in temptation by Ignatius of Loyola^ about eighty years 
 before Shakespeare gave the world Macbeth. Banquo's 
 thoughts are in perfect harmony with these principles; he 
 is sure that the Weird Sisters are demons in disguise, and 
 expressly states that oftentimes Spirits of darkness tell us 
 truths to win our confidence and then to betray us into the 
 evils of the "deepest consequence." 
 
 Banquo's warning word s fell upon _listle^ ears. Macbeth, 
 assured of sovereignty by faith in the prophetic promise, was 
 in exaltation of mind lost in reverie. The two verified pre- 
 dictions he considers but welcome prologues to a drama in 
 which the theme of empire, swelling act by act, shall close 
 happily in his coronation. At this point, roused from abstrac- 
 tion by a suspected breach of decorum, he turns and speaks 
 his thanks to the royal messengers. But observing them in 
 converse apart with Banquo, he resumes his former train of 
 thought, and again lapses into soliloquy. Iii mental excite- 
 ment, heightened by a disturbed imagination, he wavers 
 concerning the good or evil nature of the "Weird Sisters' 
 promise. Their pretern atural e xcitement of his ruling passion 
 by tiie assurance of success, cannot be wicked, since it began 
 with ^_,truth; yet it cannot be good, since it suggests lor its 
 fulfilment a bloody deed whose horrid image stirs his whole 
 being to revulsion. For this perplexing question, Banquo's 
 warning words offered a solution ; but Macbeth, willfully dis- 
 regarding them, continues in soliloquy to reveal the hue of 
 the visions passing through his mind. His rul in g passion, 
 _havin£been inflamed by evil spirits, he is^subjeeted tojurtlifir 
 
 1. Discernment of Ppirits, Rules IV and V, apud The Science of Spir- 
 itual Life, by Rev. J. Clare, S. J., p. 261, *^ 
 
HORRIBLE IMAGININGS 
 
 109 
 
 ^^pf,pt^n^^ hy way nf +1ip gngnpcgtinn. that DuiiCaU 's HlUndar 
 
 is the meaas^£rfiachiiLgjth_e.thxaJie.-(n. 89-127). 
 
 HOBEIBLE IMAGININGS 
 
 Macbeth has so far been portrayed by the Poet as a loyal 
 subject, possessed of virtues common to honorable men, as 
 the world views them. Lady MacbetlL - who had beyond 
 others an intimate knowledge of his character and moral 
 qualities, explicitly affirms that he is "too full_of the milk 
 of human kind ness to catch the nearest way ""to his ambition 
 ly a wicked deedT'thatfFiougBLhKLdesires the 'g fown , he would 
 
 have jt "lioE]y7'^ withoutpJayin^ " f alse^' or winning wrong 
 ^^I^^^ISucli a man would have repelled with horror^tTie 
 suggestion of foul murder as a means, if it had been at first 
 proposed by the Weird Sisters in conjunction with the prom- 
 ise of the throne. But when, by brooding over their 
 prediction, his ruling passion had become extremely intensi- 
 fied, and his ambition had been fanned to a glowing heat, 
 then they deemed it opportune to take the second step in his 
 temptation. Under their evil influence, his whole nature is 
 disturbed. His external senses, and imagination, and intel- 
 lectual faculties, seem all affected and distorted in their 
 action, like one obsessed. "Facts are lost sight of; he sees 
 nothing but what is unreal, nothing but the specters of his 
 overwrought fa!ncy. His conscience, acting through his 
 imagination, sets it all on fire, and he is terror-stricken and 
 lost to the sense of things before him," as the elements of 
 evil gather round and strive to press upon him the monstrous 
 purpose (11. 127-142). 
 
 As mu rder, the profferedja eans-Q£.£3alifxiagJlJ,a-aB3Jaiitioa. 
 is ^]};j^^^^J^^_^ji_^l^W^''A^G<]l'^'^, bp >viIl-ajg.ait„-^veM.ts. The 
 Weir3" Sisters have promised him the crown, perhaps they, 
 too, will secure its attainment. Rejecting the temfttat ion. .lie 
 still nurtu res his passionatfc_an]^i^Qai Its growing obstinacy 
 harasses and importunes him, but, unable to proceed from 
 fear of dangers rather than from moral scruples, he finds 
 relief by placing success in the hands of chance. Time sets 
 
110 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 all things right. It shall remove all obstructions, and usher 
 in the opportune moment when the fated hour shall strike. 
 
 Macbeth 's mental abstraction and manifest excitement 
 fill Ross and Angus with surprise, but Banquo seeks to bar 
 or allay their suspicion by equivocating words, which, while 
 concealing the real cause of his partner 's disturbance, ascribes 
 it to the new honors of Glamis and of Cawdor. His secrecy 
 concerning the prophecies of the Weird ^sters was prompted, 
 no doubt, by a tacit understanding with Macbeth, as well as 
 by his own interests. Furthermore, his reserved character 
 and secretive temperament, as disclosed in the drama, made 
 him naturally averse to intermeddling with the affairs of 
 others. Certain critics, again, ascribe it to a direct tempta- 
 tion of the "instruments of darkness," and not without good 
 reason. The Weird Sisters were attempting Macbeth 's moral 
 ruin, and for success secrecy was all essential ; ': the prophecy 
 2I— i^5~J^iS^lyP °°*^^ disclosed, Duncan would neverhave 
 fallen a victim to^Hacbeth''s ambition. 
 
 In fine, Macbeth 's musing are rudely interrupted by 
 _Banquo jind_the^kin£^sjnessengers. They rouse hi m fro m the 
 world of _dreams_to the reanile^^f___action. Lost inTEe 
 perspective of his guilt, TieT^ufiis round suddenly, alarmed 
 lest his thoughts may be suspected, and instantly jitt ering the 
 lie_o f_ambition . pours forth in profusion the promised cour- 
 tesies of a usurper in intention (11. 142-156). 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 EXTRAVAGANT EXPECTATIONS 
 
 Though Macbeth still be anxious for the throne, he 
 becomes irresolute, and prefers to leave its attainment to the 
 work of chance. The scene considerably advances the action 
 of the drama by eliminating every fortuitous element, and 
 by forcing the hero to resort to decisive measures, if he would 
 realize his hopes. Moreover, as the king in comparison with 
 
 1. Book of Spiritual Exercises, Discernment of Spirits, Rule XIII, First 
 Treatise. 
 
EXTRAVAGANT EXPECTATIONS 111 
 
 his general has thus far appeared in less favorable light, 
 another purpose of the scene is to portray him in more attrac- 
 tive colors; hence, nobility and gentleness of nature, a frank 
 and trustful disposition free from guile and suspicion, an 
 appreciation and recognition of true worth, and a strong 
 affection and absolute trust in his cousin, are all pictured as 
 noble traits in the royal character of Duncan. Our esteem 
 for him is further heightened, when we gaze on the contrast 
 which the same scene portrays in Macbeth. A ruling passion, 
 as a fire consuming his soul, urges him as a subject, to base 
 disloyalty; as a kinsman, to an abuse of confidence and of 
 the natural ties of affection, and in utter disregard of justice, 
 honor, and virtue, to slake in blackest treachery the soul-thirst 
 of his blazing ambition in the resolve to commit a most cruel 
 and abhorrent crime. His treachery grows blacker in eon- 
 t£a§LSJJkJMJ£a )iknes sI.a3id'Iiohest£^"tI]^^ 
 
 In Malcolm's description of the thane of Cawdor's execu- 
 tion, several commentators recognize a striking correspond- 
 ence with the circumstances attending the death of the 
 unfortunate Earl of Essex. His asking pardon of Elizabeth, 
 his confession and repentance, and his concern about behaving 
 with propriety on the scaffold, are all minutely recorded by 
 Stowe. Essex was a bosom friend of the Earl of Southamp- 
 ton, and both were Shakespeare's friends and patrons. As 
 Essex was a popular idol and the favorite of Elizabeth, his 
 execution, occurring only a few years before Macbeth's first 
 enactment, was still fresh in the minds of all, and, in eon- 
 sequence, the Poet's allusion to his friend could not fail to 
 have the desired effect upon an audience, many of whom 
 were eye-witnesses to the severity of that justice Avhich 
 deprived the age of its greatest ornament.^ 
 
 Malcolm's description of Cawdor's death causes the king 
 to express surprise that he had been deceived into honoring 
 the traitor with such absolute trust. His deception he ascribes 
 to the fact that the mind's disposition can not be read upon 
 the countenance, as from an open book. 
 
 His words, spoken as Macbeth enters, are full of tragic 
 
 1. Cf. Steevens apud Furness in loco. 
 
112 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 irony. Though the king wonders at Cawdor's treachery 
 and affirms that man's secret thoughts can not be read upon 
 the face, nevertheless, in his guileless and trustful nature, 
 he welcomes to his bosom another and darker traitor, 
 whose unholy ambition shall lead to a more signal and fatal 
 crime. Though Duncan greets his cousin with joy and with 
 soul-felt M'ords of friendship and appreciation, he feels the 
 sting of ingratitude from his inability to reward his general 
 in proportion to his transcendent merits. In reply to his 
 frank sincerity and heartfelt generosity, Macbeth almost 
 overplays the part of loyalty by an eiEort to conceal his 
 hypocrisy beneath high-flovm and unnatural terms of rhetoric 
 JJL 14-33). 
 
 The aged Duncan, surrounded by courtiers and victorious 
 generals, is visibly affected by the strong expressions of their 
 loyalty and the blessings of an unexpected peace, which glad- 
 ,dens a long-troubled land. His "plenteous joys" overburden 
 his kind heart and find relief in tears. Now that peace is 
 restored, and the throne firmly established, the old monarch 
 deems it an opportune time to proclaim the long-delayed 
 creation of Malcolm, his eldest son, to the princedom of 
 Cumberland. The crown was, not,, at that__^inehereditajy. 
 15Tipmsoexe]LlJie,kingjihflSfi.for th.e-Suecession,.iuii,_aceQrding 
 to custom, he created Prince of^ Cumberland^ a Jtitla^proper 
 only to the crown" prince of the realm. The act not only 
 surprised and pained Macbeth, but even harrowed his very 
 soul; for besides disappointing his fond expectations, it, 
 moreover, frustrated his ambitious hopes. But his chagrin, 
 however great, he conceals beiieath honeyed words of loyalty, 
 and, in assumed glee^ announces his purpose of hurrying on 
 in -advance of the royal cavalcade. He.must-himself_hfiai 
 the glad news that the castle of Inverness shall that n ight b e 
 honored by a kingly visitor. The main purpose of his hasty 
 departure, apart from gaining time to prepare for the enter- 
 tainment of his guests, is to disclose to Lady Macbeth this 
 new obstacle in the path of their royal aspirations. As a 
 man of practical sense, he perceives that dreams of chance 
 must now yield to active measures (11. 1-47). 
 
AN OBSTACLE TO OVERLEAP 113 
 
 AN OBSTACLE TO OVERLEAP 
 
 Macbeth had decided against active measures for the 
 attainment of the erown, because he believed that Duncan 
 would name him his successor. For thisextrayagant expecta- 
 tion several reasons, seemin gly cogent, loomed up before _his 
 ^_7'^itiffl^s ^y^r^A There was the fact that the crown was not 
 hereditary; there was his equal right with Duncan^ to the 
 throne, since both were sons of sisters of the former king; 
 there was his hope that the aged monarch, weary ' oT'The 
 disorders of the troubled times, would abdicate in his favor, 
 or at least bequeath to him the succession rather than to 
 Malcolm, a mere stripling, unskilled to take the helm amid 
 the storms of state. His hopes had, moreover, been further 
 strengthened by Duncan's own promises: "I have begun to 
 plant thee and will labor to make thee full of growing, ' ' and 
 again, when he assured him that the thaneship of Cawdor 
 was only "an earnest of a greater honor"; but the only 
 greater honor was the throne. When the king, therefore, 
 proclaimed Malcolm his heir, Macbeth saw in that act the 
 bl asting of his hopes and aspirations, a.nd7i"-'^Q^»«*>q*'*''Ww? 
 his towerin g ambition, roused_ anew, surged in violence 
 a gainst this unlooT^f^r) for o bs tacle in his royal p ath. Nothing 
 now, ke teels, save most drastic measures can seat him on 
 the throne. There is nojlonger question of loyalty or treason ; 
 but only of gra tifying his flaming ambition. Against the one 
 obstacle in its patIi,TiTs uhe6ntroIIe3'"passwn rouses his whole 
 being to rebellion, and upon his excited mind and disturbed 
 imagination, flashes for a moment a strong sense of wrong 
 in the ingratitude and injustice of the old king, whom by 
 valiant arm he had more than once preserved upon the 
 throne. 
 
 While in this perturbed state of feeling, the evil spirits 
 who are bent upon his moral ruin, again renew their perni- 
 cious efforts. Loving to fish in murky waters, the.y find no 
 time more promising, than when their prey, in darkness of 
 mind, feels disquiet, weariness, and disgust.^ When first they 
 
 1. St. Tpiatius, Book of Byerciscs, Pi?cerrirprt of Spirit^, Pule 4, First 
 Treatise. Scieice of Spiritual Life, by Rev: J. Clarp, S. ,7., p. 48. 
 
114 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 whispered the thought of murder, Macbeth was appalled by 
 its heinousness, and in impassioned words complained of the 
 miirderous suggestion: 
 
 ' ' Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, 
 And make my. seated heart knock at my ribs 
 Against the use of nature. ' ' 
 
 But, when his ruling passion had under temptation grown 
 more intensified, and the thought of murder more familiar, 
 his evil tempters deemed at length the moment opportune to 
 suggest murder as the only means of removing the one 
 obstacle in his path to the throne. As a man, commencing t o 
 surrender to the solicita tion of this or that evil passion, for^ 
 feits divin e assistance, and. abandQ ued-t(.v-iujci^p1f, fiyifJH f"^iV 
 agencies ever ready to expedite his d escent to perdition; so 
 ,MS£MilliJ;fter long dallying" with an evil ambition, instantly 
 crosses the Rubicon of temptation, anSTat a critical moment 
 a depts th e crime from whic h at firs t "he shrank with horror. 
 His words, hoAvever, disclose a nature yet unhardened In 
 evil, and an imagination powerful enough to picture the 
 difficulty and the horror of the murder. 
 
 His action by contrast recalls that of David.^ After the 
 son of Jesse had been chosen by God's prophet and anointed 
 as king to rule over Israel, he received no other immediate 
 mark of God's favor. "He had a severe trial to endure for 
 many years ; the trial of being still and doing nothing before 
 God 's time, though he had apparently the means in his power 
 of accomplishing the promise for himself. It was to this 
 trial that Jeroboam afterwards showed himself unequal. He 
 too was promised a kingdom, but he was tempted to seize 
 upon it in his own way, and so forfeited God 's protection. ' ' ^ 
 
 Whilst the dark thoughts of Macbeth 's troubled soul find 
 expression in soliloquy, the gracious Duncan, standing apart 
 with Banquo, listens with manifest pleasure, as the latter 
 recounts the noble and valiant qualities of his kinsman. The 
 
 1. 1 Sam. 17:.-. 
 
 2. Cardinal Newman, Character Sketches, Early Years of David. 
 
THE TELLTALE LETTER 115 
 
 scene closes with the predominating note of irony, when at 
 the exit of Macbeth, Duncan exclaims, "He is a peerless 
 kinsman" (11. 48-58) 
 
 SCENE FIFTH 
 
 THE TELLTALE LETTER 
 
 Macbeth, still under the influence of evil spiQta,-_£QS±ers 
 his ino rdinate ambition7and thoughhesitating at the means 
 su^ ^ea, would probably Tia?ve conquered the temp"tation . 
 had~Ee^ot encountered a new_allY of the Weird Sisters ._who 
 deliberately enterg 'fEe'^eld of battle with thpTn against hi fa 
 better nator e^ Lady Macbeth enters hurriedly, as if anxious 
 to finish in seclusion the reading of a letter from her husband. 
 Resuming at the words, ' ' They met me in the day of success. ' ' 
 she continues the perusal with mind intensely absorbed, 
 pausing here and there to catch the true meaning of words, 
 so full of terrible significance. She reads the prediction of the 
 Weird Sisters and the reason of her husband's firm faith in 
 their promise of the kingship. The letter, he knew, would 
 awaken a keen interest, and by,„r£asQn_jQ£-hjer.'jiiaa,t£r^^sIu. 
 ofambition, would strik e t,he moat^^res^onsiYe chord of her 
 fieart^ His 'dearest partner of greatness" is charged "to 
 lay it to heart" and rejoice in the promised queenship. The \\ 
 letter clearly expresses th eir thorough union of mind and 1 
 heart, a union of purpose and ambition^^ ^ 
 
 Lady_ Ivi'acFetl i "~^ves'*nH°"'thought to the preternatural 
 powers of evil of which the letter speaks, but js_ _whollY 
 engrossed in her dreams of ambition . In comparison with 
 h'er soldierly husband, who, though most unscrupulous in his 
 ambitious purpose, is still unhardened in crime, she appears 
 from the first indii¥erent or resigned to evil. The letter, it 
 is clear, makes no reference to Duncan's violent death, yet 
 as she holds it in her hand and in passionate feeling begins 
 to soliloquize, her words indicate that s he accepts withou t 
 mi sgiving a policy, which under the impulse of mutual ambi- 
 tion, had more than on^ been made the subject of conjag aL., 
 
116 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Hisp.iissim]- Hence, reference to the kingship and to her own 
 "promised greatness," is sufficient to engender the thought 
 of murder without the least scruple or mental conflict. Now, 
 that for the first time in intensity of temperament, she real- 
 izes the full meaning of the promise, her ruling passion, 
 enkindled and long nurtured in retirement, flames forth and 
 so fires her imagination that she appears wellnigh overpow- 
 ered by the fumes of her royal aspirations. Reaching an 
 immediate and compelling resolution, her sole concern is her 
 husband's good, easy nature. With a^ woman's finer instiTiyt. 
 s he part l y divines and partly anticipates the hesitation which 
 Macbeth afterwards dTsplays . She knows that, though" a 
 warrior bold, he is not given needlessly to bloody courses; 
 that, though of a nature not over-strong in morality nor 
 commonly given to scruples, he is, nevertheless, capable of 
 compunction; that he would gain his end openly and hon- 
 estly, as a straightforward and honorable man, and over 
 many such, religion has little more than a theoretical 
 influence. 
 
 Such an estimate of her husband might be correct under 
 ordinary conditions, but not under the extraordinary circum- 
 stances in which an unbridled passion, abetted by fiendish 
 tempters, has placed him. If she thought that he shrank 
 instinctively from an unnatural deed, because of natural 
 feelings for humankind; if she believed that while wishing 
 the murder of Duncan, he was unwilling ' ' to catch the nearest 
 way" by imbruing his own hands with his blood; if she 
 imagined that he "would not play false" to gain the crown, 
 and yet would win that which it was wrong to win; if, in a 
 word, she supposed that his recoil from murder was prompted 
 by a manly benevolence, and that his scruples arose from 
 conscientious religious feelings: it was, because, warped in 
 judgment by her own nature so susceptible to the remorse 
 of an awakened conscience, she did not in her inflexibility of 
 will and self-control, comprehend how her husband, in the 
 excitement of a feverish imagination, could be dismayed by 
 fantastic fears, by vague apprehensions, and the dread of 
 foreseen fatal consequences, of which she was little able to 
 
AN ALLY OF EVIL SPIRITS 117 
 
 conceive. Her mistaken notion of his character, the drama 
 sufficiently refutes. 
 
 Macbeth 's ambition she has made her own . His elevation 
 is her exaltation, and to it she subordinates all other interests 
 of life. She is strong wh ere he is wpa1? ; hpx _am bition knows 
 Tin fears nnr s c ruples . Conscious of his irresolution and 
 instability of purpose, she deems her presence requisite, in 
 order that, imparting to him her own self-reliance, singleness 
 of wiU, and tenacity of resolve, she may goad him on to the 
 consummation of his promised greatness in the crown, to 
 which fate and preternatural agents have destined him. 
 Hence, in a keen spirit of exulting triumph and in an uncon- 
 trollable eagerness of anticipation, which expand all her 
 faculties, she summ ons him i n person (11. 1-28) . 
 
 AN ALLY OF EVIL SPIRITS 
 
 Her monologue is interrupted by the hurried entrance of 
 a messenger, ' ' The king comes here tonight ! ' ' The tidings so 
 astound her that she can only exclaim, "Thou art mad to 
 say it." Recognizing instantly, however, the compromising 
 nature of her passionate words, she quickly seeks shelter 
 behind questioning words of doubt. The news, in harmony 
 with her murderous thoughts, at once suggests the looked 
 for opportunity; and immediately her glowing imagination 
 grasps its meaning.- What may not happen to the unsuspi- 
 cious Duncan, when once enclosed within her castle? "In 
 an instant her whole nature is strung up to a single end ; 
 the long-expected occasion for the concentration of a whole 
 life's energy upon a decisive stroke is come. So rapidly does 
 her imagination move that she sees the deed before her as 
 already done, and, as she casts her eyes upwards, the very 
 raven over her head, a bird of evil omen, seems hoarse from 
 long and loud croaking of the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 under her battlements. ' ' ^ The raven 's croak, in supersti- 
 tious lore, was ominous of evil: "When a raven stands on 
 a high place, and looks in a fixed direction, and croaks, 
 thence a corpse comes soon." 
 
 t. R. G. Moulton, Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, p. 159. 
 
118 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 The following apostrophe is a lumirious refutation of the 
 notion that, from mere affection for her husband, Lady 
 Macbeth, as a tender and most devoted wife, consecrated all 
 her energies to the commission of a horrid crime. Such a 
 supposition endows her character with inconsistency, and is 
 in contradiction with the whole tenor of the tragedy. While,_ 
 no doubt, she loved her husband well, her affection unpor- 
 
 Travpd^ is; Ipft tn_ onr snnnisj^ Not so in regard to her 
 
 inordinate ambitioii^ Her thirst for royalty is clearly pic- 
 tured as the flaming passion that dominates all her other 
 feelings. 
 
 The burden of Macbeth 's letter is not affection but 
 "the greatness" that is promised her. Her glowing words 
 of we lcome tohe r husband, returning from the war^ are 
 not insp irfid3^~iJo.ve,, bu.t--by-4Qy—at_the prospect of. roy- 
 alty; and in the present instance, the same dominant pas- 
 sion impels her to abjure womanhood with its tenderness 
 and love. 
 
 With mind bent on murder, her affinity with evil not only 
 attracts but even welcomes kindred evil spirits. Strong in 
 the sense of womanhood and of feminine sensibilities, she 
 feels that to gain the crown she must in violation of her 
 nature crush the instincts of her sex. Her evil prayer woul d 
 neve]iJa.iWK»--b««.w— u-tlered ^I'^'^ L gj ^ie _been~( levoid otjKomajriy 
 feeling. They exhibit h^r ^T'ma rke d • contrast I with her 
 EusbanS . Tie battles more or less feebly against the same 
 passion; he never thinks of invoking demons to harden his 
 heart and to seal up his conscience against remorse. jis£- 
 conflict i^ of a di fferent nature . It is a conflict, not against 
 her tempters, but against herself, against her feminine sensi- 
 bilities, and in the struggle she attempts to cry them down, 
 and to suppress them by iron strength of will. The struggle 
 is intense. Appalled by the vision of violence and blood, and 
 trembling from the fearful distrust of her womanly instincts, 
 she cries aloud to the unseen powers of darkness to aid her 
 against the weakness of her nature. They answer her evil 
 prayer. They foment her ruinous passion. They dazzle her 
 imagination with the glittering diadem. They enkindle her 
 
AN ALLY OF EVIL SPIRITS 119 
 
 soul to the desperate resolve, until yielding her will to the 
 demons invoked, she freely abandons herself to the excite- 
 ments of hell. Under their inspiration, h er dark eyes aglow 
 \vith_ vaulting arnhiti on and intrepid daring, she breaks forFT " 
 i ntowords fervid and sensitive, which reveal for the first 
 time an imagination g reat in cafra"cTtv 1rr"5iT( f fi wrija-:- - The 
 \T+rDie~invocation, alive with the ~ excitement 6t""a nature 
 delicate and overstrained, quivers in every word with strange 
 preternatural passion : 
 
 L-U)Y Macbeth. . . . Come, you spirits 
 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here; 
 And fill me -from the crown to the toe top-full 
 Of direst cruelty! 
 
 Such language is, indeed, uncommon to a cold-blooded 
 inurderess. Her sentiments, moreover, reveal a conscience 
 still undeadened by that callousness to crime which gives 
 comfort to the criminal. If the forbidding voice of c onscience 
 is n ot the cause of Macbeth 's faltering purposeJ mt fear^Iof. 
 foreseen fatal c onsequences, she, on th e contra ry, in a g _reater^ 
 i ntensity of am bition, \^ blind to air~consequences~qf the 
 crime, an d is concer ned solely with o bstacles in her path to 
 "ro^lt^i^ Hence, hernext invocation is against remorse. It 
 discloses a vehement and uncontrollable desire that the 
 demons smother her conscience, lest its awakened voice cry 
 out and countermand the execution of her fell and unnatural 
 purpose : 
 
 Lady Macbeth. . . make thick my blood; 
 Stop up the acceES and passage of remorse. 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 The effect and it! 
 
 Still fi'srful of her feminine sensibilities and the repelling 
 
 power of conscience, she again in the third invocation appeals 
 
 to those murderous ministers, invisible, horrible beings that 
 
 foment evil in human minds and hearts; she summons them 
 
 "to come and enthrone themselves in her bosom that, by their 
 
120 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 preternatural powers, they may change her milk to gaU, and 
 make her insensible to pity and to every feeling of humanity. 
 Under their fell influence, her passion is heightened to 
 demoniac frenzy, as her eyes glittering with infernal fire, her 
 stately form expanded, and her hand clutching convulsively 
 her bosom, she there and then unsexed, "dedicates herself to 
 the powers of hell in a manner more irrevocable than if the 
 bond of blood and parchment had passed between the arch- 
 fiend and herself." Hers is a positive wooing of eternal 
 perdition in a most dauntless self-damnation: 
 
 Lady Macbeth. . . . Come to my woman 's breasts, 
 And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 You wait on nature 's mischief ! 
 
 In frenzied mind, she now imagines the murderous blade 
 in her grasp, and feeling fully capable of striking the blow 
 herself, she turns to apostrophize the night, invoking her to 
 clothe herself in the blackest smoke of hell that the victim's 
 horrid wound maj'' be veiled from her sight, and that an aU- 
 seeing Providence may not mercifully intervene to frustrate 
 the horrid deed : 
 
 . . . Come, thick night, 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell. 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
 To cry, "Hold, holdl" 
 
 GRIM BESOLVE 
 
 Macbeth, hastening forward to announce the king's 
 approach, enters hurriedly. His wife, all forgetful of the 
 dangers he encountered and of his happiness at safe return, 
 offers no word of congratulation, manifests no sentiments of 
 love, nor greets him with the "common-places of affection." 
 Her action has sometimes been considered a proof of her lack 
 of real affection, but an examination of her position will dis- 
 close that love for Ji er husband was n o t less, but her amhi' tion 
 
GRIM RESOLVE 121 
 
 greater . Her suprem e passion outglowed every ot her sen ti- 
 ment. An intense craving for royalty now so absorbed her 
 soul that, oblivious of all else, she could only speak of that 
 which preoccupied to the uttermost the mind of herself and 
 husband. As both placed their highest happiness in the 
 scheme of their exaltation, her words of greeting were most 
 natural, sympathetic, and in perfect consonance with the 
 letter read a few moments previously. That letter was his 
 harbinger and, solely redolent^^of^ambition, JJ cha£gexi,„he,r 
 tolayT;o heart" the ' promise, and to rejoice at the prospect 
 of fh"eif~greatness. Hence, in imagination aglow with amb i- 
 ti on. 'slie""greets her husband in words of joyous exaltatio n, 
 l oud and triumphant in tone. _ Under the impulse of roval 
 liopes, she idolizes him as the thane of Glamis and of Cawdor, 
 but still more as the future king of Scotland. Like many a 
 woman, merging all her ideas of the man in his celebrity, 
 and loving not so much his character as his glory, she 
 indulges this passion, though its fires consume her. She is 
 but a type of a certain class of her sex, earnest and devout 
 worshippers of fame, who will brave suffering, guilt, and 
 obloquy, to bask in the sunshine of renown and glory. His 
 exaltation is her own, and its prospect fills her with enthu- 
 siasm, a nd so transports her with a passionatfi-aJitiiapaliQn 
 of the futu re that in arde nt imaginalion_shg,&ees.J^ 
 the living'^esent^"'cro-OTi edwiFh tEe long longed for_ diadem^ 
 ller enchantment, howeverT'^^ot shared by Macbeth; his 
 mind is clouded by other thoughts. His bloody project has, 
 indeed, been formed, but the presence of the awaited oppor- 
 tunity has weakened his resolve, and he hopes to regain 
 courage from the firmness of his wife. He had suggested 
 the murde r, she n ow suggests its actual accomplishment ^ 
 
 In the absence^oiTer husband, L'ady iviacbexli M'd'icle'aiized 
 his character, as free from the wickedness that should attend 
 ambition ; but, now, as he stands before her, she detects behind 
 his irresolution a fierce aspect of villainy. At her grim 
 determination, expressed by the words, "never shall sun that 
 morrow see," she reads the bloody purpose reflected in his 
 looks, and fearing lest the murderous frown, lurking, like 
 
122 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 the hand-writing of hell, upon his brow, may betray him, 
 she urges the necessity of hiding his intent behind a smiling 
 mask. She herself will take the initiative in the formation 
 of the plot ; but he, the while, must present a fair countenance 
 to the guests. Macbeth, in reply, asks delay for further dis- 
 cussion and exhibits his mental state of suspense. Dangers 
 and difficulties disturb his imagination, undermine his 
 courage, and leave him devoid of self-control ; hence, his wife 
 attempts to excite in him her own tenacity of will. She 
 counsels "the great ruined man with all the gloom and agony 
 of guilt upon his face, to look up clear;" his altered mien 
 will surely create fear or suspicion in the minds of his guests. 
 With mock courage, stupor of conscience, and a blindness to 
 consequences, with which the demons have preternaturally 
 inspired her, she feels, in the madness of ambition, sufficient 
 coura ge to m an age the bloody enterprise herself. When a 
 woman enters upon the path of degeneracy, slie tails quicker 
 and deeper than man; her innate love of virtue, greater 
 delicacy of conscience, and more intimate sense of religion, 
 are her staunch safeguards, which, if once overthrown, leave 
 her to sink helplessly to the lowest depths (11. 29-71). 
 
 SCENE SIXTH 
 
 THE FATAL ENTRANCE 
 
 With the excitement of the former scene, the sixth is in 
 peaceful contrast. The venerable king, pausing before the 
 portals of Macbeth 's castle to enjoy its pleasant site and 
 nimble air, listens approvingly to Banquo's poetic discourse 
 upon "the temple-haunting martlet." In the opinion of Sir 
 J. Reynolds, the subject of their quiet and easy conversa- 
 tion gives that repose so necessary to the mind after the 
 tumultuous bustle of the preceding scene, and perfectly con- 
 trasts the scene of horror that immediately succeeds. Such 
 is the practice of Homer when, turning from the midst of 
 battles and horrors, he introduces some quiet rural picture 
 to relieve and refresh the mind. 
 
THE FATAL ENTRANCE 123 
 
 At Lady Macbeth 's entrance, the king exclaims, "See, 
 our honored hostess!" In apology for the trouble which his 
 visit may cause, he says : the affection which urges us to desire 
 the society of our friends is sometime the occasion of trouble 
 to them; but still we f eel . grateful for the affection which is 
 manifested. So she is to regard this visit; and with this 
 view of it, she will be disposed to thank him and pray God to 
 reward him for the trouble which he causes/ His royal 
 courtesy, marked bj' words so affable and overflowing with 
 genuine sentiments of good will, is in dramatic contrast with 
 Lady Macbeth 's over-sti'ained expressions of simulated wel- 
 come. In her state of mental excitement, she is entirely 
 engrossed with the one purpose of suppressing her over- 
 wrought feelings, and of guarding against suspicions. Hence, 
 her labored and empty words of. greeting, all devoid of 
 personal traits or sentiments, are solely expressive of general 
 duties. She concludes with the promise that she and her 
 husband, like eremites, will pray for him in return for favors 
 heaped upon their house. 
 
 As Macbeth had hurried forward to prepare for the com- 
 ing of the king, the latter, while naturally expressing surprise 
 at the non-appearance of his host, formally announces him- 
 self the thane of Cawdor's guest over-night. Lady Macbeth 
 ignores the king's query; and in allusion to the feudal system, 
 by which the nobles held their titles and domains upon the 
 good pleasure of their sovereign, she again, in general termS, 
 assures him that the castle and all therein are at his royal 
 service. Duncan, in giving his hand to Lady Macbeth, requests 
 her to lead him to his host, and, while passing through the 
 portals, he gives renewed expression of his high love for her 
 husband, and of his purpose of further gracing him with 
 honors. The scene, closing with Duncan's fatal entrance 
 under the battlements of Inverness, leaves the spectator's 
 mind keenly aroused to the contrast between the gracious and 
 unsuspicious Duncan, and the hypocrisy of his cold-blooded 
 hostess; and, as in playful mood the King steps within the 
 murderous den, we instinctively feel chagrin at Banqtio 's indif - 
 
 1. Cf. Hunter, in loco apud The Variorum Shalcespeare. 
 
124 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 ference or inactivity. He knows well Macbeth 's character 
 and ambition; knows the promise of the Weird Sisters; how 
 it strangely whetted his desire for the crown ; and, moreover, 
 observes his unaccountable failure to welcome the royal guest ; 
 and, nevertheless, impervious to suspicions of foul play, he 
 seems to remain indifferent to the fate of his king. 
 
 SCENE SEVENTH 
 IN MENTAL CONFLICT 
 
 While Lady Macbeth is engaged in the entertainment of 
 the royal guests, her husband, harassed by vivid imaginings 
 concerning the dangers of his project, hurries from the guest- 
 chamber to wrestle in privacy with the fell purpose, the risk 
 of which and rashness a feminine intensity conceals from his 
 wife. Under the influence of evil spirits, he feels t he murder . 
 but yet "fantast ical, " pressedji^n^his souI_as_^if by destin y. 
 They keep_ aglow Jiia..va3jJLting-_.amiutiaD,.,and..be^^ him 
 onward, but horrible imaginings appall and repel himj imaging 
 ings which are only selflsh fears of External dangers,. Jn^- 
 sified by a morbidly actiYS-iancy. His soliloquy exhibits no 
 qualms of conscience nor even a trace of genuine compunc- 
 tion. If scruples he has, they are scruples of honor and not 
 of morality ; if haunted in mind, it is not by horror of sin nor 
 compassion for his victim, but by the dread of losing the 
 golden opinions so lately won ; if he pauses before the crime, 
 it is not from the dread of its enormity, but from fear of fatal 
 results. Before him are clearly traced out the pathways to 
 heaven and to hell: the one unadorned with royalty but 
 unsullied by crime, the other strewn with scepters and dia- 
 dems, but intermingled with blood; and the dark clouds of 
 perplexity, which encircle him i n his faltering am bi tion, h e 
 labors to pierce in a heated soliloquy. If discloses a mental 
 conflict, in which his thoughts are burdened by the con- 
 sciousness of guilt and the dread of punishment. 
 
 His first thought, the keynote to the whole soliloquy, mas- 
 ters him entirely. If the mere murder would surely end the 
 
IN MENTAL CONFLICT 125 
 
 matter, then the sooner it were done the better. But he fears 
 fatal issufia^which-the-hload^deed may not foreclose. This 
 thought further enlarged upon grows in intensity. If the 
 blow would end with itself, would shut off all dreaded conse- 
 quences, and ensure success in the attainment of his hopes, 
 then, "here," upon the shoals or shallows of the fluctuating 
 waters of life, he would dare the great abyss of eternity, dare 
 hazard his eternal weal, and "jump the life to come." If he 
 hesitates solely from fear of detection, universal obloquy, and 
 punishment in the present life, it is not from forgetfulness of 
 retribution in the world beyond the grave. He simply ignores 
 it, defies it ; for, under the impious incitements of evil spirits, 
 he is reconciled to the crime, ready to foresw ear the_Creator 
 and eternal ha ppiness, and to sac rifice himself, sou l and body 
 to ambition, iT only assured of juccess in his present existence. 
 He is an example of imany irreligious men who, in idolatry of 
 pleasure, or wealth, or power, in this fleeting life, scruple not 
 to pay the final price of temporal success, by forfeiting their 
 souls to the devil in defiance of judgment consequent to death, 
 in the courts of eternal Justice. 
 
 Macbeth 's greatest concern is, therefore, the vengeance 
 which inevitably overtakes the criminal. He fears that his 
 act of treason and of murder willbut teach others to turn 
 against himself the weapon he may use on Duncan. Con- 
 scious that his crime will arouse universal execration, he pro- 
 ceeds in mental keenness to examine, in rapid review, the 
 causes that underlie its enormity. Fealty to his liege-lordT] 
 the bond of kinship, the sacred laws of hospitality, and Dun- / 
 can's meekness, all cry aloud against it. Moreover, so gentle^ 
 and irreproachable has been the king's exercise of the pre- 
 rogatives of his office, that his virtues will speak with trumpet- 
 tongues against the "deep damnation of his taking off." His 
 reasoning, it is clear, is unclouded by passionate emotions, 
 which sometimes overpower man's moral energies. As he. 
 re counts the motives that should bar him fro m the treacherous 
 cri me, we_ jistenjja_vain for the voic^ of religion or of con- 
 science, which, crying aloud against the inherent "abKorreiice 
 ofTKelBSfia^nSQiaiErdrive hiinTaek' appalled and terrified by 
 
126 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 ihe_enormity of the contemplated cri me. A s a prRPtical man, 
 he^tEm5~bOhe deed only m its extrinsic relation to himself 
 and others, and reaches the climax of repelling motives in the 
 thought that his treachery will excite universal horror against 
 himself, and a pity as universal for his victim. Thisjthoughti 
 above all others, sways his excited im a ginatio n, and fnreseeingf 
 a horrible future, he gives expression to his feelings in a 
 pat hos full of wild imagery. R ecalling, as it seems, the words 
 of the Psalmist, "He ascended upon the cherubim, and flew 
 upon the wings of the wind, " '^ he personifies pity, and imag- 
 ines it to ride like heaven's cherubim, on the invisible winds, 
 and to call down vengeance upon him, and to fill all eyes with 
 tears. 
 
 He regrets, in fine, that, save ambition, he can find no 
 i gcentive to _hiri villainy In feverish imagination, he yer- 
 sonifies ambition , makes his intended crime a courser, and is 
 himself without a spur to stimulate its slow and halting pace. 
 By another metaphor, ambition is a rider, who, in vaulting 
 upon his steed, overleaps himself, and falls in wretchedness 
 and dishonor on the other side (11. 1-28). 
 
 HIS EVIL GENIUS 
 
 While in this state of vacillation, Macbeth 's tempters sum- 
 mon to their aid the woman who has become their willing ally. 
 Her soul bartered for the diadem, and completely under the 
 domination of evil spirits, whom she has invoked, they now 
 preternaturally inspire her to stimulate her husband's cour- 
 age, and to hold him to his murderous purpose. As his evil 
 genius. Lady Macbeth enters upon the scene, and, by a mix - 
 ture of~love, scorn, and contemptuous taunts of cowardice, 
 smothemhis sentiments of loyalty, gratitude, and humanity."" 
 
 Entering hurriedly in a spirit of vexation, she expostulates 
 with her husband concerning his strange conduct. His failure 
 to welcome the royal guest was marked, and his absence from 
 the banquet had, more than once, given rise to expressions of 
 surprise. 
 
HIS EVIL GENIUS 127 
 
 His absence was due to fear of self-betrayal fro m a 
 
 _ eonao,ioi]s inability " to look like the innocent flower and be 
 
 the serpent under it;" and, again, to an anxious desire to 
 
 commune alone in the hope of allaying turbulent fears and 
 
 emotions. 
 
 Though Lady Macbeth observes the changed mood re- 
 flected in his mein, she is not prepared to hear the conclu- 
 sion reached in soliloquy, as in tones full of confidence and 
 determination, he exclaims, "We will proceed no further in 
 this business." Not daring to admit that his firm resolye 
 has been undermined by fears of failure and resultant conse- 
 quences, he invokes noble motives in defense of his changed 
 position. 
 
 His attempt is, however, futile. Her insight into his 
 character enables her to discover, behind the vna f ik of spe- 
 cious motives, the real cause of his new resolve . HisvaeiP " 
 laition at the critical moment, in spite of solemn pledges, 
 induces in her a sudden revulsion of feeling, in which vivid 
 hopes yield to disappointment and depression, and, in a rising 
 anger, whetted by sentiments of contempt and resentment, 
 she launches forth into words full of stinging reproaches, and 
 aglow with withering scorn. Was he in a maudlin state of 
 drunkenness when he bravely formed his plan of action, and 
 does he now awake, crestfallen from a sleeping stupor to 
 shrink craven-spirited from his bold resolve? If he falter 
 now, she will measure his love by his inconsistency and fickle- 
 ness, and hold it as contemptible as his moral courage. From 
 the knowledge of his character, she proceeds with the quick- 
 ness of a woman 's instinct, to hurl a deadly shaft at the most 
 vulnerable point in the armor of the warrior. If she esteemed 
 his ambition for "the ornament of life" to be the grand 
 aspiration of a valiant man, she must now recognize in his 
 changed purpose the trembling heart of a coward. Shall he 
 unabashed, she asks in taunting, scornful anger, confess 
 himself brave in desire, but a vile poltroon in daring 
 (11. 28-45)? 
 
 "Her argument," affirms Dr. Johnson, "affords a proof 
 of Shakespeare 's knowledge of human nature. The excellence 
 
128 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 and dignity of courage, a glittering idea, which has dazzled 
 mankind from age to age, is a topic always employed with 
 much success." It is urged in the present instance with 
 peculiar propriety ; valor is the characteristic virtue in which 
 a soldier glories, and, therefore; he cannot well bear the 
 reproach of cowardice from any woman, especially from the 
 one he loves. Sensitive of the injustice of his wife 's reproach, 
 Macbeth is quick to retort by distinguishing true from false 
 fortitude, loyalty from treachery, and the valor of a soldier 
 in open, honorable warfare from the courage of a sneaking 
 assassin, bent on perpetrating secret murder. Hence, irri- 
 tated and stung to the quick, he in turn utters in anger the 
 noble words "that have done so much to gain him a place in 
 the army of martyrs to wifely temptation," words, which, 
 according to Dr. Johnson, would bestow immortality upon the 
 Poet, though all his other productions had been lost : 
 
 Macbeth. Prithee, peace: 
 
 I dare do all that may become a man; 
 Who dares do more is none. 
 
 HIS LAST STAND 
 
 By this exalted sentiment of his reawakened nobler self he 
 makes a last stand against the contemplated treachery. His 
 defense is, however, quickly beaten down by his wife, who, 
 in a renewed attack of embittered vehemence, scornfully asks : 
 if the project be unmanly — be not the device of a man — what 
 beast made him first moot it to her ? When he dared be more 
 than what he was — a king — then indeed was he more than a 
 man. 
 
 In deepening anger,. she ridicules his fickleness and incon- 
 sistency: having resolved upon the deed and sworn to it, 
 notwithstanding overwhelming obstacles, now, when chance 
 unexpectedly offers opportunity of time and place, he falters 
 like a craven. 
 
 It is clear from the context that Duncan's murder had 
 been previously discussed and resolved upon. The fifth scene 
 disclosed that Lady Macbeth, in assuming the management of 
 
HIS LAST STAND 129 
 
 "this night's great business," required her husband only "to 
 look up clear." In the present, the seventh scene, we see, 
 however, a change in their plans ; Macbeth is to do the bloody 
 deed and has even sworn it. We may suppose that in the 
 interim, between the king's arrival before sundown and the 
 banquet some hours later, Macbeth found the sought-for 
 opportunity of "speaking further," and, in that secret inter- 
 view, expressed a readiness "to bear the knife himself;" but 
 that, from the fear of his supposed scruples, she exacted from 
 him an oath against shrinking from the "fell purpose." 
 Kecalling now this oath, she scornfully charges him with 
 perfidy, and, in an a pari argument, attempts by sheer shame 
 to awaken his criminal resolution. To infuse into her words 
 the greatest force, she assumes the strongest possible parallel, 
 and colors it in every circumstance. Macbeth has sworn to do 
 a dreadful deed, but halts at its performance; had she so 
 sworn, nothing, however horrible and unnatural, would ter- 
 rify her into violating her oath. The murder of a loving, 
 benevolent, old man is indeed most abhorrent; but what is 
 its enormity compared with the crime of a mother, who, 
 without any conceivable motive, would, in defiance of nature's 
 most holy law, outrage maternal affection, by murdering her 
 own innocent, helpless, smiling babe at her breast ? Yet, had 
 she so sworn, she would be true to her oath, though it rup- 
 tured her very heart. Her growing anger and scornful alter- 
 cation has induced an hysterical excitement. The thought 
 that "the ornament of life," for which she has exchanged 
 her immortal soul, is about to be lost, when almost within her 
 grasp, fills her with unnatural frenzy, and, in strident, rising 
 voice, she shrieks out her words in abandonment of all 
 womanly seemliness. Her thoughts and feelings are, however, 
 not a mother's, but those of an infatuated frenzied woman, 
 obsessed and controlled by the "murdering ministers" of 
 hell, whom she had so impiously invoked. 
 
 Influenced by the present passage, certain critics ascribe 
 to Lady Macbeth a natural cruelty of character. It seems, 
 however, more in conformity with Shakespeare's genius to 
 view her boasted cruelty as only temporarily assumed. Her 
 
130 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 design is to rouse Macbeth from lethargy of purpose; but if 
 her ly)rrible threat were due to natural ferocity, it would lend 
 but little force to her argument ; while on the contrary, if he 
 believes her to be capable of such horrid cruelty, merely 
 by reason of a vow, then in his eyes she becomes an ideal 
 heroine. 
 
 _ S-he, therefore, as sumes a cr uelty of character, which, a 
 flaming passion of ambition, suppo rted by an iron energy of 
 will and a fierce vehemence of purpose, e nables her, lor fEg " 
 inomentj to fusejt into her personality with the view of making 
 her husband believe it to be her own, and thus to shame mm 
 into overcoming his "irresoIiitibnT ~ 
 
 The argument by which Lady Macbeth urges upon her 
 husband the force of his oath, Dr. Johnson notes well, is "an 
 art of sophistry by which men have sometimes deluded their 
 conscience, and persuaded themselves that what would be 
 criminal in others is virtuous in them, ' ' by reason of the oath 
 that binds them. Such was the wicked Herod, who murdered 
 the Baptist, because he had sworn to give a dancing damsel 
 anything she asked. It is clear to every Christian mind that 
 an oath is binding only when it is just. It is clear that an 
 oath to commit murder is not only criminal in itself, but also 
 that its fulfilment is a still more heinous crime. How wicked 
 persons, indifferent to all sacred things and unscrupuloiis 
 in the violation of human and divine laws, will sometimes 
 scrupulously observe the counterfeit obligation of an evil 
 oath, is a marvel to the Christian man, a sophistry and a 
 folly, which can be ascribed solely to the moral blindness 
 that afflicts the sinner, after sin has seared his conscience 
 (11. 47-59). 
 
 CAPITTJIiATION 
 
 Derided, baited, and his courage and affections pitted 
 against his conscience by the woman whom he loves, Macbeth 
 is near capitulation. Her terrible onslaught of scorn and 
 demoniacal eloquence has driven him from the covert of 
 honorable manhood into open expression, as, in awe^and yet 
 in admiration of her boasted heroism, he admits fear to be 
 
CAPITULATION 131 
 
 the real and sole cause of his hesitation. Instantly, she seizes 
 the plea, and in cool determination, characteristic of a woman, 
 dazzled by an unholy ambition, and blind to its fatal conse- 
 quences, she flouts the very thought of failure with all its 
 unfortunate results. If, to be king, he has resolved ' ' to jump 
 the life to come," she, too, to be queen, is ready to jump the 
 present life. But why speak of failure, when success is 
 assured? In low, confidential voice, she proceeds in earnest 
 tones to sketch her well concerted plan, in which the murder 
 shall appear the act of the grooms. Her scheme seems so 
 feasible, and so appeals to Macbeth 's practical mind th at, fo r 
 th e^ TnoniPTit, he is Instm ,admira ti6ii' of the astuteness and 
 daring of the wom an. Grasping her scheme before it is half 
 disclosed, he exultingly completes it. The practical j letails 
 of the plot are seized by the p ractical mind of a man pre- 
 e minent in act ion. He finds himself in his native element, and 
 passes instantly from hesitation to fierce resolve (11. 59-82). 
 The temptation is complete. His tempters have triumphed. 
 Evil spirits have, through Lady Macbeth, conquered where 
 alone they would have failed. By their aid, she soars before 
 his imagination like a fiery Nemesis that is commissioned to 
 bring fate to mortals. "With an invi n^'ibi" Tnon+qi pnwoT- cViq 
 has totally eradicated his fears bv forcing the belief that 
 he can commit the crime and escape i ts inf amY . . can gain th e 
 throne arid Tetam secure the good will of his fellowmen. His 
 fears are banished. The plot seems practical and even bril- 
 liant. He summons all his fortitude, and proceeds to the 
 bloody work without further recoil; and we experience the 
 greatest horror at seeing her who loves him so well, link her-' 
 self with the infernal powers to urge him on to perdition. 
 
ACT SECOND 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 
 
 At the opening of the Second Act, the spectator is pre- 
 pared for tlie tragic event so near at hand. Within the castle, 
 the guests who had caroused in the banquet-hall till long after 
 midnight have retired to rest; v^ithout, no silvery moon 
 softens the dense darkness of the courtyard, and all seems 
 wrapt in the stillness of the dead. But the breathless silence 
 is soon broken by two restless guests, who by the flare of a 
 torch find their way across the open court. The location of 
 the weird scene has always afforded matter for discussion. 
 The Poet very likely had in mind a large interior court with 
 galleries around the sides, into which opened chambers that 
 were reached by stairways from below. The entrance to the 
 courtyard was by a "college-like gateway," adjoining which 
 was a porter's lodge. That such a court, common to mansions 
 of noblemen in Shakespeare's day, is the place upon which 
 the Second Act opens, is indicated by circumstances scattered 
 through three scenes.^ 
 
 The time is about two o'clock in the morning, as Lady 
 Macbeth discloses later. The approach of dawn has already 
 paled the light of the flickering stars, when Banquo is seen 
 passing 'through the dark open courtyard. Nervous and 
 leaden in spirits, he is oppressed by drowsiness, consequent 
 upon the drugged possets which were served by the hostess. 
 He complains to Fleance of his fear to sleep, because he may 
 again be haunted by those tempters of the night, evil spirits, 
 
 1. "Buildings of this description arose in ages of chivalry, when knights 
 rode into their courts and paid their devoirs to ladles, viewers of their tilting 
 from tuose open galleries. Fragments of some of them, once the mansions of 
 noblemen, are still subsisting in London, changed to hotels or inns. Shake- 
 speare might see them much more entire and take his notion from them." — • 
 Capell, apud The Variorum Shakespeare, p. 113. 
 
 132 
 
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 133 
 
 that "tend on mortal thoughts," and try the souls of men 
 when their senses are deadened by sleep. Thus, Milton pictures 
 Satan at the ear of sleeping Eve, pouring disturbing thoughts 
 into her soul ; and Shakespeare insinuates that the evil spirits 
 whom Banquo had challenged on the heath at Forres were 
 continually, though invisibly, inciting him to ambition and 
 to crime. Aware of the latent power of evil suggestions, he 
 shrinks from them with horror, and rejecting the means of 
 mischief by ridding himself of sword and dagger, he implores 
 the "merciful powers" of heaven "to restrain the cursed 
 thoughts. ' ' The poisoned darts of the tempters recoil, blunted 
 by his virtuous character, because, free from inordinate ambi- 
 tion, he offers no opening to their malign attacks. 
 
 Here, the contrast between Macbeth and Banquo reveals 
 that the power of evil spirits is proportioned to man's affinity 
 with evil. Banquo rejects and prays against temptations; 
 Macbeth invites and cherishes them. The one awakened, 
 scrupulously invokes heaven against evil suggestions in sleep ; 
 the other, unscrupulously catching at them, eagerly hurries 
 into temptation. The one will not slumber, lest he be again 
 assailed by horrid phantoms of crime; the other, restless 
 through watchful hours and, anxiously awaiting the moment 
 to strike the murderous blow, welcomes them and blindly 
 yields to their guidance. 
 
 Banquo 's prayerful words are scarcely- uttered before a 
 torch-bearer, followed by another figure, enters the darkened 
 court. Suspecting the character of visitors at that strange 
 hour, he hurriedly seizes his sword. Macbetli is not less sur- 
 prised than Banquo, and both exclaim with one voice, "What, 
 sir, not yet at rest?" The thane of Cawdor hears in brief 
 that the king, highly pleased with his entertainment had, 
 before retiring for the night, liberally rewarded the house- 
 hold officers, and commissioned Banquo to present a gift of 
 rare value to his kind hostess. The narration, while again 
 emphasizing the tr\istfulness and graciousness of the guest 
 now sleeping in the lion's den, also marks anew the ingrati- 
 tude of the guilty thane. Macbeth, by way of apology, replies 
 that the entertainment would have been ampler had he had' 
 
134 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 sufficient notice of the king's visit. Probably in intent to 
 discover the thane's intentions, Banquo alludes to his dream 
 of the Weird Sisters. Macbeth, however, dissembles and 
 diplomatically sounds him concerning his support hereafter. 
 In words studiously obscure, he promises honors, if he will 
 adhere to him when the prophecy of the Weird Sisters shall 
 have been verified. Banquo 's reply clearly indicates sus- 
 picion : no new honor shall be acceptable to him, if acquired 
 dishonorably; "He shall keep his bosom franchised and his 
 allegiance clear." 
 
 BANQUO 'S TEMPTATION 
 
 The peculiar tenor of Banquo 's dreams, which, as already 
 noted, were full of "cursed thoughts," which horrified and 
 stirred him to prayer on awaking, is no less obscure than 
 is the special direction under which temptation assailed him. 
 It is unlikely that murder was suggested as a stepping stone 
 to royalty. His course to the kingship was far from clear; 
 in • his path were Duncan, Malcolm, and Macbeth. The 
 crown, moreover, which was promised to the thane of Cawdor, 
 was not to descend to himself, but to his children ; and, there- 
 fore, his temptation was not likely an incitement to crime and 
 usurpation. 
 
 Was Banquo 's temptation then in relation to Macbeth? 
 The former had observed how the Weird Sisters cast their 
 spell upon the thane, and led him to accept their predictions 
 with a firm and absolute faith. He himself, suspecting the 
 evil purpose of those preternatural beings, had felt obliged to 
 caution him against their wiles : 
 
 "Oftentimes to win ns to our harm. 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths. 
 Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's 
 In deepest consequence. ' ' 
 
 In the meanwhile Banquo had noted the thane's continu-. 
 ous brooding over the promised kingship. He had marked the 
 striking change in his conduct; had recalled the repeated 
 solicitations to espouse his cause; had wondered at his sur- 
 
A DIABOLICAL SPECTACLE 135 
 
 prising failure to receive and to welcome his royai guest on 
 the previous evening, and had noticed his unaccountable 
 absence from the banquet; hence, even though he did not 
 divine the desperate purpose of Macbeth, he had, nevertheless, 
 from his whole conduct since the "Weird Sisters hailed him 
 "king hereafter," ample reason for suspicion and. mistrust. 
 Did then the temptation, the "cursed thoughts," of which 
 he complains, consist in suggestions to throw in his lot with 
 Macbeth 's, so that by advancing him to the throne he might 
 promote his own cause? Or was his temptation a struggle 
 between bloody thoughts, which suspicious fancy conjured up 
 against the thane, and his own virtuous and noble nature, 
 which was shocked at the thought of attributing to an honor- 
 able man, a fellow officer and friend, a criminal purpose, 
 treasonable and most abhorrent, without sufficient proof? 
 Or again, suspecting Macbeth 's purpose^ of foul play, was 
 Banquo's temptation a struggle between conscience on the 
 one side, which dictated that duty and loyalty obliged him 
 to guard the king by revealing his suspicions, and reason on 
 the other side, which insisted on prudential silence; since he 
 could not proffer proofs for such heinous suspicions? "What- 
 ever the temptation was, it resulted in Banquo's silence, and 
 that silence furthered Macbeth 's murderous purpose, as was 
 the fell design of the "Weird Sisters. Evil Spirits hate the 
 truth, hate the light of exposure, and always strive to 
 enshroud their malicious movements in darkness and secrecy. 
 This truth is emphasized by St. Ignatius in his thirteenth 
 rule for the discernment of Spirits: "The devil studiously 
 endeavors, that the soul which he desires to circumvent and 
 ruin shall keep his deceitful suggestions secret, and is highly 
 displeased, if his attempts be made kno-WTi to any one, because 
 he understands that thereby he altogether fails in them. ' ' ' 
 (11. 1-30.) 
 
 A DIABOLICAL SPECTACLE 
 
 Macbeth again alone, impatiently awaits the tinkling of the 
 beU, which, as prearranged, is the signal that all is opportune 
 
 1. Spiritual Exercises, Rules for Discernment of Spirits, First Treatise. 
 
136 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 for the fatal stroke. Groping his way by slow steps through 
 the deserted courtyard, he feels oppressed by the appalling 
 silence and darkness of the night. As he peers into black 
 vacancy, he halts in suspense and bewilderment at the sudden 
 sight of a luminous drawn dagger, which floats before his eyes 
 in the direction of Duncan's chamber. His first emotion is a 
 Duzzling surprise, but it is intermingled with no sentiment of 
 fear nor terror. That he reveals no abhorrent feelings at the 
 ghostly diabolical spectacle; that he neither starts nor shud- 
 ders at the thought of following its murderous beckonings, is 
 because, his moral nature stifled, his soul is in harmony with 
 those malign spirits, whose evil guidance he follows willingly. 
 Hence, the preternatural vision animates his courage and fills 
 him with confidence. That stained dagger is the instrument 
 of those unseen agencies who, still favoring his bloody project, 
 beckon him on as by fate to the deed, which, he thinks, shall 
 crown him with honor and happiness. Hence, courageously 
 he reaches out impulsively to clutch it. But its delusiveness, 
 frustrating his repeated attempts, startles him and leads him 
 in bewilderment to doubt its reality. 
 
 Is the dagger a ghostly apparition presented by his tempt- 
 ers, or is it only the product of Macbeth 's overwrought brain ? 
 The senses, it is true, are commonly roused to action only by 
 their material proper objects. There are instances, however, 
 though rarely, when the imagination in abnormal excitement, 
 as in hysteria, inversely affects the outer sense, and, so power- 
 fully, as to cause the eye to perceive a thing as existing with- 
 out, objectively, which is unreal and only subjective within 
 the imagination. That such was the dagger floating before 
 the eyes of Macbeth is often taken for granted by the modern 
 stage; but our modern stage is not a safe guide, since it is 
 dominated by the irreligious and materialistic spirit of our 
 day. Materialists, admitting only such realities in nature as 
 are subject to our senses, must, to be consistent with their doc- 
 trines, deny all spiritual and preternatural existences.^ The 
 supposition of a purely imaginative dagger is, furthermore, 
 
 1. Cf. an exhaustive refutation in Der Kosraos (Paderborn, 1908) by 
 Const. Gutberlet. For a lucid exposition of Materialism, consult tlie same 
 author in Catholic Encyclopedia. 
 
A DIABOLICAL SPECTACLE 137 
 
 refuted by the action of Macbeth himself. A person whose 
 imagination is beyond the control of reason, mistakes his hal- 
 lucination for a thing real and objective, and will listen to 
 nothing in disproof of its reality; while Macbeth, on the con- 
 trary, when unable to clutch the dagger, reasons against its 
 objective existence, and is inclined to consider it merely 
 
 ' ' A dagger of the mind, a false creation 
 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain. ' ' 
 
 It is of little import that Macbeth himself doubts the 
 reality of the dagger. His reasoning is based on the fallacy 
 that he can clutch a ghostly phantom-dagger; as well might 
 he try to clutch a shadow or a sunbeam. Disregarding, there- 
 fore, his doubt and his fallacious reasoning, and turning to 
 a safer guide — to the Poet himself — we find on unmistakable 
 evidence that, in his day and long after, the dagger was 
 objectively represented on the stage, as a ghostly and pre- 
 ternatural phantom. Irrespective of this evidence, the nature 
 of the tragedy itself leads to the same conclusion. If Shake- 
 speare has constructed the drama upon a preternatural 
 foundation, and if he has created the Weird Sisters as the 
 visible forms of evil spirits, all intent on Macbeth 's moral 
 ruin, it is surely not unnatural, but even incumbent upon a 
 master-artist to choose means in harmony with those same 
 preternatural agencies. As the guiding spirits of Macbeth, 
 they naturally seek, on the very threshold of his guilt, to 
 preclude his further faltering, by presenting before his eyes 
 a ghostly dagger, which, with its blade now shining brightly, 
 and now crimsoned with gore., floats through the air, like the- 
 Weird Sisters themselves, and marshals him the way that he 
 is going. Such representations were, furthermore, common 
 rather than exceptional in the Elizabethan age. Then the 
 masses, like Shakespeare himself, were deeply imbued with 
 Christian principles, and firmly believed in the supernatural, 
 as well as in the existence of the preternatural. Hence, 
 though such scenes too often lose their meaning in a more 
 materialistic age, they were considered proper in the Poet's 
 day; by exciting the spectator to surprise and wonder, and 
 
138 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 by inspiring him with awe, they infused into the drama a 
 special charm, and elevated it beyond the ordinary or common 
 phase of life. 
 
 Though Macbeth often faltered, when meditating on the 
 contemplated crime, he seems in presence of the fated hour 
 to feel a dilation of his whole being. His fancy is crowded 
 with unusual imagery and he rises to the loftiest tones. 
 "Like the poet invoking his muse, he calls on night to scarf 
 up the tender eye of pitiful day, and moves on to the deed 
 itself with the exalted language of a Hebrew poet." His 
 imagination again dwelling on the night and the evil deeds 
 perpetrated under its sheltering gloom, he observes that now, 
 when half the earth is palled in darkness, and sleeping nature 
 seems dead, the powers of evil, the disturbers of the world, 
 find it opportune to practice sorcery and witchcraft, and to 
 celebrate fiendish rites to the queen of Hades. In mythology, 
 "pale Hecate" was another name for Diana. The latter 
 was associated with moon-worship, ghosts, and shades of the 
 dead. Hecate was, however, more commonly identified with 
 Proserpine, an infernal cruel deity, who, having at her com- 
 mand all the powers of magic, sent forth at night from the 
 netherworld all kinds of demons to teach sorcery, witchcraft, 
 and other diableries. Images crowd upon Macbeth, and from 
 Hecate his thoughts turn to the howling wolf, the night's 
 prowling marauder, and to the stealthy pacing murderer, and 
 to the wicked Tarquin, who, like himself now gliding in silence 
 over the flags of the courtyard, moved ghost-like to his evil 
 purpose : 
 
 "Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 Like a f antasma or a hideous dream. ' ' i 
 
 In vivid fancy he apostrophizes the firm-set earth and the 
 stones on which he treads, lest by betraying him, they break 
 the silence so horrid, and so well suited to his bloody work. 
 As he checks his poetic musings at the thought of time for 
 action, he hears the bell in the clock-tower toll two. Its sound 
 
 1. Julius Caesar, II, i. 
 
HOPES AND FEAES 139 
 
 recalls the death-knell, or the customary tolling of a bell for 
 the dying, and in a low, firm tone of determination he afSrms 
 it to be the knell of Duncan. It is, however, his own knell as 
 well, a knell that tolls his moral death, a death that shall 
 hurl him from the heaven of his ambition to a hell of crime 
 and guilty fears, which shall drive hiia on to eternal misery 
 and despair (11. 31-64). 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 
 HOPES AND FEARS 
 
 While Macbeth tremulously glides away, following the 
 phantom-dagger on his errand of death. Lady Macbeth, bat- 
 tling with contending hopes and fears, enters ia excitement 
 and breathless suspense. Like many perpetrators of crime, 
 who nerve themselves with stimulants to paralyze their con- 
 science against the thunders of heaven, she has resorted to th& 
 stupefying influence of wine. Though it mitigates her violent 
 emotions, deadens her feminine susceptibilities, and animates 
 her courage, it also reveals a woman's nature, which, though 
 inflexible of will, is not hardened in evil nor insensible to 
 crime. Evil spirits may dominate her will, but they cannot 
 completely eradicate feelings natural to her feminine nature. 
 Entering hurriedly in a tremor of emotion, she discloses her 
 highly wrought feelings in aspirated whispered words : ' ' That 
 which hath made them drunk hath made me bold, hath given 
 me fire. ' ' Her actions, however, in contradiction to her words, 
 tell that her boldness is not real, but assumed. She starts at 
 every noise; the shriek of the owl flitting through the silent 
 courtyard stirs her anew to fear and morbid excitement. That 
 shriek at the moment of Duncan's murder she fancies to be 
 the voice of the "fatal bellman" who commonly visits a 
 prisoner on the eve of execution. The cry of the night-owl, 
 as an evil omen, was a deep-rooted superstition among all the 
 Indo-Germanic rdces, and extended back even to pagan Rome. 
 Nervously excited and breathing with difficulty. Lady Mac- 
 
140 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 beth, in trepidation treads noiselessly toward the door. Lis- 
 tening intensely she exclaims in suppressed voice, "he is about 
 it," and tells in low excited whispers of the snoring of the 
 grooms, whose drink she had so highly drugged that life and 
 death seemed to "contend about them." 
 
 In the meanwhile, as Macbeth in mental excitement and 
 disturbed imagination, was nearing Duncan's chamber, he 
 heard a noise, as he fancied in the court below. Perhaps 
 Banquo and Fleance are again astir. Pausing a moment in 
 fearful suspense, he rushes back bewildered, and, peering 
 from the balcony down to the dark courtyard, he calls, "Who's 
 there?" But, seeing and hearing nothing, he hurries back to 
 the inner chamber to perpetrate the crime. Lady Macbeth 
 hears the noise and, at once seized with dread and dismay, 
 expresses her agonizing terror by hoarse whisperings and wild 
 gestures. Fearing that the awakened grooms or guests may 
 foil the murderous plot, she regrets that she herself had not 
 struck the blow, when, a few moments before, she had placed 
 the daggers beside the sleeping king. Her failure arose from 
 a fancied resemblance to her father, which she recognized in 
 the silver-haired Duncan, and which, awakening fond mem- 
 ories, stirred her woman's heart to tenderness. It is another 
 brief artistic touch, by which the Poet reminds us that she 
 is not an inhuman anomaly ; that even though abandoned to an 
 evil passion and to the guidance of the powers of darkness, 
 she still retains, under the guise of mock courage or bravado, 
 some sentiments becoming to womanly nature. 
 
 THE EEACTION 
 
 Macbeth in fear and tremor rushes in with uplifted dag- 
 gers. His countenance suffused with pallor, and, his wild eyes 
 staring to the right and left, he exclaims, "I have done the 
 deed. Did 'st thou not hear a noise?" Lady Macbeth, taken 
 by surprise and amazed at his changed appearance, can only 
 mutter, "My husband!" The excited whisperings, which fol- 
 low, "so laconic and yet so heart-piercing between the two, 
 who dare not meet each other's eyes, belong to the most 
 powerful that the poetry of all ages has created. ' ' Unassured 
 
THE REACTION 141 
 
 by his wife, Macbeth, awe-struck, hoarsely whispers, ' ' Hark ! ' ' 
 In breathless suspense he listens with straining, eager ear foi- 
 any sound that may break the silence of the night. 
 
 Before the perpetration of the crime he showed himself in 
 the dagger-scene a man of action, who, instead of shrinking 
 from the murder, rather exulted therein ; but a change comes, 
 when passing from the world of action to the realm of thought 
 and reflection, he utterly succumbs to unfamiliar fears and 
 terrors. 
 
 After a momentary paroxysm of dismay, his intellect, 
 stimulated by a fevered imagination, begins to work at a 
 surprising pace. Staring wildly at his bloody hands he sees 
 "a sorry sight," and gives voice to images that crowd upon 
 his distorted fancy. His thoughts are a wonderful example of 
 a runaway intellect, unchecked by a will powerless to stay it. 
 Again, he hears the grooms, the one laughing in sleep, the 
 other crying murder, and both aw'akened, resorting to prayer 
 against the fear of evil. His dia m-dprpd miii d^ is unable to 
 see th at mi;rde r and prayer are incompatible, and he wonders 
 why he could not join tliem~iir th'eii" in^vocation to heaven. 
 His regrets recall the hypocritical action of many great crim- 
 inals, Avho, in superstitious belief, have in their course of 
 evil invoked the aid of the Almighty. Macbeth/s_^mental 
 trouble at in ability to pray does not proceed, however, from 
 jrueremorse, or froroTa repentance~niat is prompted~by' a 
 conscience~awakened to a sense of abhorrent guilt . There is 
 no consideration for the stricken victim, nor a sensible realiza- 
 tion of the immoral nature of the crime which crimsons his 
 soul with heinous guilt. His is a mental perturbation, arising, 
 not from the crime already done, but solely from a riotous 
 imagination, which conjures up vividly the horror of irre- 
 pressible future consequences, and whose menace, loud as 
 heaven's angry thunders, reverberates through the halls of 
 his wild and morbid fancy. 
 
 Thus far Lady Macbeth had by the aid of stimulants 
 braced her failing nerves ; but now, the sight of her husband 's 
 bloody hands, his excited mutterings, uncontrolled agitation, 
 and ravings of fancy, which seem completely to unman and 
 
142 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 to rob him of reason, grate harshly upon her nerves, and 
 affect her like a hideous contagion. Feeling, for the moment, 
 a sensation of horror creeping over her, she yields to fright, 
 and shuddering, speaks prophetically, though unconsciously, 
 of madness, which, indeed, ultimately overtakes her. Unheed- 
 ing her impassioned words, Macbeth, still enslaved by his imag- 
 ination, begins to repeat in agonizing tones the words of the 
 ' ' airy voices, sleep no more ! Macbeth doth murder sleep. ' ' 
 These airy voices, in Holinshed, whence the Poet borrows the 
 incident, are recorded as objectively real and not the product 
 of the murderer 's imagination. They seem indelibly inscribed 
 upon his memory, and, spellbound by their menace, he begins, 
 in overwrought imagination, to expatiate in high poetic terms 
 upon the peculiar properties of sleep. To his wife, his words are 
 meaningless, and in amazement and dismay she interrupts and 
 questions, "What do you mean?" But undisturbed by her 
 words and even oblivious of her presence, he remains so wrapt 
 in that mysterious voice, still re-echoing in his ears the dread 
 penalty of his crime, that, in unmeasured anxiety and grief, 
 he runs on expressing his feelings of horror in harrow- 
 ing strains: "Glamis hath murdered sleep, and, therefore, 
 Cawdor shall sleep no more," therefore, king "Macbeth 
 shall sleep no more ! " He has murdered sleep, and, there- 
 fore, what avails the crime? Its fruit shall turn to ashes 
 in his grasp. 
 
 Lady Macbeth is bewildered at his strange and vivid word- 
 painting, and, unable to decide whether the voices were real 
 or imaginary, she exclaims, "Who was it that thus cried?" 
 She perceives the mental storm that agitates his soul and 
 catches in his impassioned tones his feelings of alarm and woe. 
 Summoning all the resources of her dominating spirit, she 
 seeks to allay his fears, and to still the tempest raging in his 
 distempered mind. Approaching closely, and gazing stead- 
 fastly into his wildly staring eyes, she attempts by earnest 
 words of remonstrance and reassurance to wake him from 
 the nightmare of a brain-sick fancy to the realities of actual 
 life. Go, she says, ' ' wash this filthy witness from your hand. ' ' 
 It is an easy task she thinks ; but later during many sleepless 
 
REPEATED KNOCKINGS 143 
 
 nights she will herself in heart-breaking sighs of guilt and 
 woe bemoan that "all the perfumes of Arabia" will not 
 smother the smell of blood upon her "little hand" (11. 1-47). 
 
 REPEATED KNOCKINGS 
 
 Laboring earnestly to calm her husband, Lady Macbeth 
 observes the daggers in his grasp. In excitement he had 
 forgotten to smear them with blood and place them beside 
 the sleeping grooms. The sight at once arouses her to anger 
 and, sharply upbraiding his blunder, she insists on his return- 
 ing instantly to correct it, lest suspicion fall on them and 
 their murderous plot come to naught. Macbeth, when face to 
 face with action, was firm of resolution ; he had only to strike 
 the fatal blow; but now, when engulfed in the world of 
 thou ght and reflection, his habitual irre solution r eturns to 
 ma^erTm^_an(Mn;^hi^_excitement, sway_ed.bx,„a-.j3MjSESr 
 imagmatimrhe cries jQutJSI'aaomzmg despair that he dare 
 not return, dare^npt even think of his gruesome crime, nor 
 again look upon his murdered vietiraT Such unexpecied 
 ^inHrinity ol purpose stirs Lady Macbeth to intensest anger; 
 but, obliged to confront alone the dilemma, she maintains her 
 self-possession and faces unflinchingly the dire necessity of 
 saving their plot from failure. Her indomitahle yHii at nnr^o 
 arou sed to action, her remorseless ambition smothers-a jl, Reel- 
 ing of humanity^ and, m an outDu rst ol: a.n^er and cjmtjemp.t, 
 she snatches the daggers from his trembling ^^rasg^^md, in 
 higF exaltaffcfc'_of 'spMJs', goes, back to JSmBlete the. plot „m 
 the presence of t h e ^ d ead k ing and the sleeping wilneMSg- At 
 that awt'ul moment she can" even jest on the word ' ' gild^' ' 
 In the Poet 's day, red was the popularly known color of gold, 
 hence arose common phrases, such as "golden blood," and 
 "gild with blood." By her jest, thinks Clarendon, Shake- 
 speare thought to enhance the horror of the scene. Her play 
 of fancy seems a beam of ghastly sunshine, gleaming over 
 gloomy, storm-beaten crags. 
 
 No sooner is Macbeth left alone than he hears loud knock- 
 ings, which again arouse his uncontrolled imagination. So 
 
144 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 disturbed are his senses, and so confused his mind that he 
 cannot tell whence they proceed. Every noise appals him. 
 The repeated knocking of Macduff and Lennox at the south 
 gate of the courtyard affrights him, and the fear of discovery 
 fills him with terror. Their knockings are not louder than the 
 voice of conscience, Avhich accuses and condemns him. The 
 horrifying sight of his bloody hands, iiplifted before his wild 
 bewildered eyes, throws him into a frenzied horror. All 
 ocean's waters cannot wash away those cursed stains; rather 
 will his foully crimsoned hands turn all the green waters of 
 the deep to a uniform red. 
 
 While Macbeth, overpowered by emotions of horror, is still 
 staring on the indelible proofs of crime upon his hands, and 
 uttering words of agonizing despair, his wife returning eon- 
 fronts him with hands as red as his, and sneeringly taunts him 
 with shame for wearing "a heart so white." Beneath her 
 words is recognized an effort to break the spell of fear and 
 remorse, in which an overwrought imagination holds him. 
 ip^pr irnn _wil l unwaver ing, her jii^h temperaT tip.nt practiced 
 to self-control, a nd her intoxicati on of %TTlhitiQH,.hpif;litpnpd 
 by fumes 'of wine, enable her to rep r ess feminine sensibiliti es, 
 ana to maintain, ajqrced ealoi, under J;he„st ressful ordeal. 
 Hence, while her distracted husband trembles from fear at 
 the continued knocking, she, apparently undisturbed, devises 
 means for their mutual safety, and airily assures him that a 
 little water will clear them of this deed. As Macbeth, still in 
 the throes of remorse and fear of detection, is hurried away, 
 he glances back and in a look of agony implores the impor- 
 tunate visitors to wake Duncan by their knocking, if they can. 
 
 After the murder Macbeth becomes, like all unhardened 
 criminals, a prey to the stings of conscience, whose moral 
 principles, seldom extirpated, now begin to react upon him. 
 "While th^_evil tempters roused his kee n ambit jftn by ^'bp ^h7r- 
 zl mg glare of royalt y , his mind^ in a false exaltation, dis- 
 regaxd^dTSiesel^^aJL^rmciples and, yiel ding to Impiety and 
 conte^^t ^^future Retribution, was ready" to'Sarter liis soul 
 ISS..*^^^ crown iT^jiJ-lcL'tlTe iTjevitrqble rreacticm:iliese" imiiniiitaM&. 
 'and eternal moral principles return in violence to accuse and 
 
THE DEVIL-PORTER 145 
 
 condemt Lhim. Now he sees that crime is a two-faced figure, 
 which, clothed with meretricious smiles and fascination before 
 the fatal step, reveals after it her horrid countenance, dis- 
 torted by agony and despair, and encircled by the writhing, 
 hissing snakes of hell. His soul now darkened with horror, he 
 shudders at the atrocity of his crime. Each knock at the gate 
 seems the voice of conscience proclaiming his guilt. In the 
 consciousness of perfidy and of the universal indignation it 
 will excite; in the apprehension that both heaven and earth 
 are stirred up against him, his imagination is haunted with 
 tremendous images, and his soul is distracted with remorse 
 and terror. By the murder he had placed himself in the" 
 power of his evil tempters, and they will drive him on enslaved 
 to further crime, till he falls in unending misery and despair 
 (11. 48-74). ^ 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 
 THE DEVIL-POETEE 
 
 The episode 'with which the third scene opens has been 
 rejected as genuine by no less a critic than Coleridge. "The 
 low soliloquy of the porter," he says, "and his few speeches 
 afterwards, I believe to have been written for the mob by some 
 other hand, perhaps with Shakespeare's consent, and that 
 finding it take, he with the ink of a pen otherwise employed 
 just interpolated the words : 
 
 "I'll devil-porter it no further. I had thought to have 
 Let in some of all professions that go the primrose 
 Way to the everlasting bonfire." 
 
 Of the rest, not one syllable has the ever present being of 
 Shakespeare." Leighton, another eminent critic, considers 
 that the episode is too coarse for a play otherwise correct; 
 that it is un-Shakespearean in regard to style and to certain 
 words, which are nowhere else used by the Poet ; and that it 
 bears too close a similarity to Middleton's work; hence, he 
 concludes that the latter patched the play at this place, and 
 did it unskillfully. 
 
146 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 In more recent times, critics are, however, inclined to hold 
 that the episode is genuine and an integral part of the play, 
 though it may have suffered some corruption in the porter's 
 speech.^ The curtain falls upon the exit of Macbeth only to 
 rise immediately with no change of scene upon the entrance 
 of the porter. If the sudden knocking at the gate in the pre- 
 vious scene is admittedly an integral part of the play, so in 
 the opening of the third scene is the same continued knocking, 
 which finally awakens the porter from his sottish sleep. 
 Viewed dramatically, the episode is necessary; some delay is 
 required to allow the criminals to change attire and to rid 
 themselves of the bloody witness of their crime, as resolved 
 upon at the close of the previous scene. Such delay is artistic- 
 ally supplied by the introduction of a maudlin porter, who, 
 entering wrathful against inopportune disturbers and fum- 
 bling for his keys, indulges the while in a brief soliloquy. 
 The objection that the scene is out of place in a tragedy so 
 severe as Macbeth is indeed valid in regard to the classic 
 drama, but in the romantic, of which Shakespeare is the 
 founder, it has no real value. All his tragedies, in harmony 
 with the law of eon1;rasts, intermingle the serious and the 
 comic. In the present instance, some relief was necessary; 
 a monotony of horror palls upon the senses. Shakespeare, 
 therefore, borrowing an idea from the Morality Plays, which 
 still flourished in his day, introduces the comic incident of 
 the porter, whose drollery, like that of the grave-diggers in 
 Hamlet, relaxes the minds of his auditors before taxing them 
 anew with other tragic events. While, therefore, there is 
 every probability that the episode in its general conception, 
 rhythmic prose, and grotesque humor, which is not at the 
 Poet's best, is Shakespearean, there is, on the other hand, 
 much evidence to infer that the reference to a tailor, a farmer, 
 and an equivocator, is an interpolation by a later hand. 
 "This allusion to the times," affirms "Walker, "is certainly 
 un-Shakespearean, and strengthens Coleridge's hypothesis of 
 the spuriousness of part of the Porter's soliloquy." 
 
 1. Cf. W. E. Hales, Notes and Essays. 
 
THE EQUIVOCATOR 147 
 
 THE EQUIVOCATOR 
 
 Granting then the interpolation in question, and that it 
 betrays the hand of Middleton^ and, furthermore, recalling 
 the well-known fact that, to cater to the new popular taste of 
 his day, he introduced into Macbeth new witch-scenes with 
 musical accompaniment, it is certainly not unreasonable to 
 suppose that, to v'in popular fa'vor, he also, like contemporary 
 dramatists, catered to the prevalent intolerant religious spirit 
 of the times, by interpolating certain quips against the hated 
 and persecuted Catholics. In acceptance of this view, the 
 "equivoeator," says Collier, "seems to have been introduced 
 at a subsequent period for the purpose of exciting applause 
 by reference to something which was then attracting public 
 attention. " "As equivocation, ' ' says Hudson, ' ' was a favorite 
 theme of invective with Protestant preachers of those times, 
 it could not but be familiar to the public, who then frequented 
 the pulpit as assiduously as the stage." These invectives of 
 the preachers against equivocation were aimed at Catholics, 
 who refused to conform to the new Protestant religion of the 
 State. That weak Catholics at that time resorted to dissimula- 
 tion is an historic fact; the persecution, which raged against 
 them under Elizabeth, attained such severity under her suc- 
 cessor that no Catholic could in safety profess his religion 
 openly. Many, says Lingard, the historian,^ to preserve their 
 families from starvation, by reason of multiplied fines, decided 
 to do violence to their conscience once or twice and appear 
 at the hated religious service, which a tyrant had imposed 
 upon them. "Some to escape the penalties, attended occa- 
 sionally at the established service and endeavored to elude 
 the charge of hypocrisy by maintaining, from the words of ' 
 the queen 's" proclamation, that such attendance was with them 
 nothing more than the discharge of a civil duty, an expression 
 of their obedience to the letter of the law." An eye witness. 
 Father Parsons, a Jesuit, then ministering by stealth to 
 Catholics under severe persecution, writes: "The priests 
 who publicly celebrate the spurious liturgy of the new religion 
 
 1. Vol. 6, Chap. V. 
 
148 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 say Mass in private for the benefit of the more faithful 
 Catholics. Many under the stress of persecution erroneously 
 think that, as long as they remain firm in the faith that the 
 Catholic Church is the only true Church of Christ, an act of 
 conformity, now and then, due to fear rather than to change 
 of will, cannot make them cease to be true sons of the Church." 
 This fact some wag of Shakespeare's day emphasized in the 
 following lines popular at that period and entitled "Pew 
 Words are Best : ' ' 
 
 ' ' There tie diverse Papists, that to save their fine. 
 Come to Church once a niorth, to service divine, 
 The Pope gives them power, as they say, to do so; 
 They save money by it, too; — but I know what I know." 
 
 THE JESUITS 
 
 Though Middleton's (1570-1627) interpolation of the text 
 may find some palliation in his common weakness, as a play- 
 wright, to cater to the popular anti-Catholic spirit of his day, 
 the same cannot be said of Warburton (1698-1779). His 
 prejudice against the Catholic Faith, which was still under 
 persecution, seems to have so blurred his mental vision that 
 he saw the lone equivocator of the text multiply into a whole 
 army of Jesuits. "The equivocator," he affirms, "has refer- 
 ence to the Jesuits, the inventors of the execrable doctrine of 
 equivocation." "Of that low fellow, Warburton," as Hume, 
 the historian dubs him, we read in a biographical sketch : ^ 
 "He went somewhat out of his way to issue an edition of 
 Shakespeare with notes critical and emendatory, which last, 
 though ingenious and occasionally happy, did not greatly add 
 to his reputation." His foolhardy opinion illustrates how 
 intelligent men, when blinded in mind and warped in judg- 
 ment by ill-feeling and prejudice, will, without examination, 
 rashly accept as true whatever is in harmony with their pre- 
 dilections. Great as was Mr. Warburton 's dislike of the 
 Catholic Church, his antipathy to the Jesuits was still greater. 
 By their zeal in defense of the Catholic Faith they had mer- 
 ited the extreme hatred of Reformers. Nothing could sup- 
 
 1. The International Cyclopaedia, Vol. XV. 
 
THE JESUITS 149 
 
 press their energy; nothing could daunt their zeal; nothing 
 could terrify them from labors in defense of man's natural 
 right of liberty . of conscience, which a bloody persecution 
 obliged them to undertake in secret. In spite of imprison- 
 ment in loathsome dungeons, in spite of the rack and the hang- 
 man 's rope, they took their lives in their hands, and, though 
 constantly tracked by pursuivants, labored on secretly under 
 ever changing aliases and disguises, ministering in hiding 
 places to the persevering faithful; and to them was greatly 
 due the preservation of the flickering flame of the Catholic 
 Faith from final extinction. Such irrepressible ardor could 
 not but enrage the Reformers, and from the pulpit, the 
 rostrum, and the press, they thundered their wrath against 
 them. No slander was too vile, no tale too incredible, no 
 calumny too atrocious to be uttered against the disguised and 
 ubiquitous Jesuits, and their vilification, born of the rancorous 
 religious spirit of those days, has survived with inherited 
 prejudices through succeeding generations, and has stained 
 the pages of English Literature for more than three centuries, 
 even down to our own times. 
 
 As Warburton 's gratuitous assertion has been copied with- 
 out question by several subsequent non-Catholic annotators, 
 it is important to note its falsehood. It is not true that the 
 Jesuits invented the "execrable doctrine of equivocation," 
 nor that Catholics teach and practice it, as Mr. Warburton 
 understands it. Before the birth of the Society of Jesus in 
 the sixteenth century, moral philosophers, to say nothing of 
 theologians, had treated of the moral question of equivocation, 
 or mental reservation. They distinguished two kinds : the one 
 properly and the other improperly so called; the former 
 always a lie and, therefore, "execrable," and the latter not a 
 lie, and at times permissible. Catholic moralists teach that 
 a lie is never lawful, not even a lie of necessity. Justice and 
 charity, however, require that secrets be kept, and often they 
 can be kept only by means of equivocation, or mental reserva- 
 tion. But in one kind of mental reservation the speaker men- 
 tally restricts his words to a sense, which in no manner can 
 be known from the words themselves nor from circumstances. 
 
150 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 As if on being asked, "are you going to town today?" one 
 would answer, "yes," meaning in imagination. Such mental 
 reservations being equivalent to lies are prohibited as sinful. 
 But, otherwise is the case with mental reservations widely so 
 called. In such the words are capable of being understood 
 in different senses, either, because they are ambiguous in 
 themselves, as when our Lord said, "the maiden is not dead 
 but sleepeth;" or, again, because the words, though not 
 ambiguous, have a special sense derived from circumstances 
 of time, place, or persons. Thus the "not at home" of the 
 servant may mean that his master is absent or that he does 
 not wish to see the visitor. The "I don't know" of the doctor 
 or lawyer concerning a professional secret, means I have no 
 knowledge which I may communicate; similarly, a priest, 
 questioned about a sin which a penitent has confessed to him, 
 may reply, "I never heard of it." All are aware that, as 
 a priest, he can never speak of any thing he has heard in sacra- 
 mental confession: hence his words can only mean, I never 
 heard of it outside the confessional. Such mental reservation 
 was employed by our Saviour when He replied to his disciples 
 that no one but the Father knew the time of the General Judg- 
 ment.^ Wide mental reservations, therefore, are not lies and 
 are sometimes necessary, as the sole means of keeping secrets. 
 If they were never lawful, the common good or great private 
 good would often have to be sacrificed without sufficient rea- 
 son. One who uses wide mental reservation, as an unavoidable 
 means, intends directly to save a private person or the public 
 from injury; and in so doing he is not the cause but the 
 justifiable occasion of error in the mind of the rash ques- 
 tioner. Yet mental reservation must not be employed without 
 just cause; for the good of society requires that we should 
 speak our mind, with frankness and sincerity, in the sense in 
 which we are understood by our hearers, unless there be a 
 good and sufficient reason which justifies us to allow the rash 
 inquirer to deceive himself by taking our words in a sense 
 that we do not mean.^ 
 
 1. Matth. 14:36. 
 
 2. Cf. Genicot, Theol. Moralis, Vol. 1, n. 414. Slater, Moial Theology, 
 Vol. 1, p. 467. Elckaby, Moral Philosophy, p. 232. 
 
FATHER GARNET 151 
 
 With the above universal teaching of Catholic moralists 
 Warburton seems to have been remarkably unfamiliar ; hence, 
 in ignorance, as we may suppose, of the two kinds of equivo- 
 cation, or mental reservation — the one always a lie and never 
 permissible, and the other not a lie and licit under grave cir- 
 cumstances — he made light of charging a large body of edu- 
 cated and religioiis men with "execrable morals." 
 
 TATHEB GARNET 
 
 Actuated by similar bias, Malone (1741-1812) readily 
 accepted without question the opinion of Warburton, and, 
 even going further, ventured to guess that the equivocator of 
 the text had reference to the Jesuit, Henry Garnet, a martyr 
 for the Faith in the days of Middleton. In opposition to 
 Malone are, however, many critics : Collier affirms that 
 "little confidence should be placed in Malone 's opinion, since 
 the application is too obscure;" and Flathe considers the 
 opinion most odd and asks: "How could so great and 
 ingenious a Poet dream of interpolating in his work so for- 
 eign a subject ? " ^ As Malone 's opinion is quoted by several 
 annotators without any qualification, and appears in several 
 school editions of Macbeth, it seems proper to show by a brief 
 expose of Garnet's case that the opinion rests upon an error 
 of fact. The story of the Gunpowder Plot has been recounted 
 through the years by many writers strongly prejudiced, who 
 have garnished it with all manner of unhistorical accretions: 
 but when stripped, under the searchlight of modern criticism, 
 of the many fables woven around it by popular fancy, it 
 appears very favorable to Garnet. If to this day his case is 
 still discussed in an unfriendly spirit by a few Protestant 
 writers, whose striking bias and prejudices undermine their 
 position, there are, on the other hand, several non-Catholic 
 writers, as well as many great Catholic theologians, who have 
 been outspoken in Garnet's defense, and among them Bellar- 
 mine and Suarez. 
 
 1. J. L. Flathe, Shakespeare in seiner Wirklichkeit, 2 apud Furness. 
 
152 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Some days before the arrest of the conspirators^ Garnet 
 first learned from Greenway of the Gunpowder plot in 
 sacramental confession, and conjured him to do all in his 
 power to stop Catesby's mad enterprise. After the arrest of 
 the conspirators the ministers persuaded themselves that the 
 Jesuits were deeply implicated in the conspiracy, and, wish- 
 ing to connect the Church with the plot as an excuse for 
 increasing the cruelty of their persecution, they subjected the 
 prisoners to every artifice that human ingenuity could devise : 
 promises, threats, and torture of the rack to extort some 
 avowal of guilt on the part of the Jesuits. But all in vain; 
 the prisoners under torture swore to the innocence of the mis- 
 sionaries. As Garnet was superior of the Jesuits, against him 
 the government directed all its efforts. He was arrested and 
 confined a solitary for many months in a deep and loathsome 
 dungeon. Though often subjected to the torture of the rack, 
 to spying, to eavesdropping, to forged papers, to counterfeit 
 correspondence, to lies of pretended friends, to falsehoods 
 forced upon him to draw confessions, and to continued cross- 
 examinations by the most eminent talent, his defense was 
 simple, honest, and convincing. His testimony could not be 
 shaken. "If in moments of supreme difficulties under such 
 circumstances. Garnet, wholly isolated and allowed no counsel 
 for defense, seemed at times lacking in worldly wisdom, "it 
 is hard to see," says Dr. Lingard, "where we can blame him, 
 considering the simplicity of his character and the continuous 
 
 1. The conspirators with Catesby, the originator of the plot, were young 
 hot-bloods who suffered much for religion and lost most of their property. 
 Though irritated against the government by reason of its code of "infamous 
 laws of persecution," they nurtured hopes of religious toleration with the 
 accession of the son of Mary Stuart ; but with Elizabethan ministers in office 
 the king was unable to give the Catholics the promised relief. In fact the 
 malice of the persecutors daily aggravated their burdens and the number of 
 martyrs was not far short of the Elizabethan average. Catesby in despair of 
 relief saw no remedy except in extremes and consequently resolved upon the 
 mad project of the Gunpowder Plot. Wlien Garnet heard In general terms 
 that trouble was intended, he inculcated upon Catesby the obligation of 
 leaving the redress of wrongs to the justice of heaven. Catesby indignantly 
 replied : "It is to you and such as you that we owe our present calamities. 
 This doctrine of non-resistance makes us slaves. No authority of priest or 
 pontiff can deprive man of his right to repel Injustice." Garnet fearing 
 results wrote to his superior in Rome : "Under persecution Catholics will 
 no longer be quiet. Jesuits can not hinder it. Let the Pope forbid all 
 Catholics to stir." (Morris, Condition of Catholics, p. 72.) In reply, a letter 
 from Rome reached Blackwell and Garnet, commanding them in mandato 
 papae to hinder by every possible means all conspiracies of Catholics. 
 (Record Office, London. Dom. Jac. XV. 13.) 
 
FATHER GARNET 153 
 
 frauds and deceptions practiced upon him. If 1 had been in 
 Garnet's place, I think I should have acted exactly as did 
 Garnet. ' ' ^ Surely, Garnet cannot be blamed for the use of 
 licit mental reservation to save his life, and the lives and for- 
 tunes of others, who had harbored him from a persecuting 
 government which, under cover of law, was conspiring by 
 falsehood and forgery to destroy them. The "notorious" 
 Chief Justice Coke^ had boasted that he would show him to 
 have been the author and adviser of the plot, but he failed : 
 "All that was proved against him after long and untiring 
 eiforts was that he had failed to betray to the government 
 a secret of Sacramental Confession," a secret which his 
 priestly duty obliged him to guard even at the cost of his life.^ 
 It is clear, therefore, that Malone blindly following the 
 blind, fell into the same pitfall as Warburton ; for it is evident 
 that Garnet's mental reservation was not equivocation, as 
 understood in the text, and as the world understands it — that 
 is, "a falsehood from which the liar thinks to excuse himself 
 by some double meaning in his own mind which is in no way 
 expressed by gesture, sign, or circumstances." When, how- 
 ever, a persecuting government, which assumed his guilt with- 
 out proof, and was intent upon his destruction, attempted by 
 every means fair or foul to ensnare him and his associates, 
 Garnet, in the consciousness of his innocence, was in his 
 perilous position surely justified in using wide mental reserva- 
 tion, which, as already explained, is essentially different from 
 equivocation as commonly understood, and which all moralists 
 allow under such circumstances. By such reservation alone 
 
 1. Lingards History o£ England, Vol. VII, Chap. 1, p. 30. 
 
 2. "In state's prosecutions he hunted down his victim with the eagerness 
 and the sagacity of the bloodhound. . sparing neither fraud nor falsehood to 
 secure a conviction." Cf. History of England. Lingard, Vol. VII, p. 145. 
 (Ed.'nburgh Edition, 1902.) 
 
 3. A similar case occurred in New York in 1812 and excited national 
 Interest. Father Kohlman, S. J., had been instrumental in having stolen goods 
 restored to the owner. The latter insisting on exposing and punishing the 
 culprit, attempted by legal process to compel the priest to break the secrecy 
 of confession. On refusal Father Kohlman was imprisoned for months and 
 from pulpits and the public press was subiected to much vilification. The 
 case in the meanwhile was appealed to a higher court where the priest was 
 acquitted by the decision of Pe Witt Clinton. The principle Involved led to 
 the enactment of a law in 1828, by which "no priest shall be allowed to dis- 
 close any confession made to him in his professional character." — Cf. Thomas 
 F. Meehan in Catholic Encyclopedia, 1913. 
 
154 A GKEAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 could he guard a sacred and sacramental secret, and save 
 innocent parties from unjust oppression. It enabled him to 
 escape the deadly snares which conspirators had deftly woven 
 about him, and strong in faith and conscientious duty to fight 
 his way to the martyr's crown. In the words of his bitter 
 persecutors, "if under these circumstances he was to suffer, 
 he would suffer, not for treason, but for the conscientious dis- 
 charge of his duty. ' ' ^ 
 
 THE EEAL EQUIVOCATOE 
 
 But why wander outside the text into odd paths for iden- 
 tification of the equivocator? The man, says Flathe, whom 
 the Porter imagines waiting for admission at the infernal 
 gate, is ".just such another as Banquo ; one who like him would 
 fain shelter his treachery behind the name of God taken in 
 vain. Banquo did that when in gross self-deception he 
 implored 'the merciful powers' to restrain his perfectly just 
 thoughts of Macbeth, which, he would fain persuade himself, 
 are ' cursed. ' " - But preferable, in all probability, is 
 Professor Dowden's judgment that the equivocator is 
 Macbeth himself. "The Porter," he says, "uses the word 
 equivocator as well as hell-gate with unconscious reference 
 to Macbeth, who even then had begun to find that he 'could 
 not equivocate to heaven.' The equivocator, who, the Porter 
 says, 'is here,' and whom he tells 'to come in,' is the same 
 Macbeth of whom Macduff says a few lines later on, 'here 
 he comes,' and who begins to equivocate forthwith."^ 
 
 To look upon the Porter's scene, however, as merely a 
 means to relieve the mental strain of the audience, is to miss 
 a grand lesson, which its irony insinuates. It is in fact a 
 rich mine, wherein a delver may unearth many nuggets of 
 golden thoughts. The Porter's speech, weird and intensely 
 ironical, strikes in dramatic relevancy a minor chord, which 
 vibrates in unison with the grand tragic harmony of the 
 
 1. Llngard, Ibidem, p. 78. Cf. Month, July and Sept., 1888. Bartoli, p. 
 546. More, 316. Butler's Momoires, II. 124. For list of most recent biblio- 
 graphla, cf. Catbolic Encyclopedia, 1913. 
 
 2. In loco citato. 
 
 3. Apud Variorum Shakespeare, p. 147. 
 
THE KEAL EQUIVOCATOR 155 
 
 drama. The previous sceue exposed subjectively the feel- 
 ings of the murderer. His conscience, lacerated by the 
 enormity of the crime, his soul, a moral wreck, storm-tossed 
 by the roaring breakers of fear and remorse, and his mental 
 agony, which compelled him to cry out in despair, that all 
 ocean's waters would not cleanse him of his guilt, indicate 
 the subjective hell aglow within his tortured soul. From 
 this, Shakespeare turns to another and objective hell, wherein 
 is portrayed with striking energy the "deep damnation" of 
 the crime. In dreams disturbed by clamor and loud knock- 
 ings, the tipsy Porter imagines the castle of Macbeth a hell 
 and himself a devil-porter at its gate; and his dream has, 
 indeed, from its tragic background an appearance of truth. 
 Macbeth is but a universal ty pe in illustration of i paany 
 mortals who, dominated by someruling passion^ jiurry on,:tP 
 evil, even to the abyss oi! helirTHiniei', says the devil-porter, 
 come thieves, s\iicides, equivocators, and crowds of all condi- 
 tions, who tread the "primrose path of dalliance,"^ 
 multitudes who walk "the flowery way that leads to the 
 broad gate and the great fire."' Hence, the overworked 
 Porter grumbles at the constant knocking. But what are 
 these common sinners in comparison with the bloody crim- 
 inal and equivocator, whose eastle-gate the devil-porter 
 guards ? In exchange for transient power and glory, Macbeth 
 has forfeited his eternal weal, and his wife, inflamed by like 
 ambition, has yielded herself unsexed to the power of evil 
 spirits. Both, in violating the law of the Almighty, have 
 joined the rebel hosts of hell. The Woody seal of Cain, 
 stamped upon their souls, transforms them to the images 
 of devils. The design of the spirits of darkness is complete : 
 both are the victims of the fiends of hell. Of this horrible 
 result of crime, Shakespeare makes us sensible by means of 
 the Porter's scene, wherein the criminal's castle is a moral 
 hell with a devil-porter at its gate, and "the other devil" 
 mentioned is none other than the murderous equivocator, 
 Macbeth himself (11. 1-27). 
 
 1. Hamlet. T. iii. 
 
 2. Airs Well That Ends Well, IV, v. 
 
156 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 THE ALABM 
 
 With the morning breaking rapidly, the pounding at the 
 gate and the loud voices admonish the guilty pair that the 
 crisis is at hand. Ready to join in the expected tumult, they 
 must maintain a perfect self-command, be loud in expressions 
 of feigned surprise and horror, and wear an assumed inno- 
 cence that will bear unflinching the searching eyes of the 
 questioning thanes. Hurrying upon the scene, Macbeth 
 calmly greets the first arrivals. As a man of action, he is 
 again in his element, perfectly at home. His imminent peril 
 has roused him to the necessity of dissimulating both in word 
 and action; but his keen alertness and anxiety lead him into 
 an occasional error in his part. First, a guilty conscience 
 clouds his judgment, when leading Macduff to Duncan's 
 chamber, he himself remains without in marked hesitation 
 instead of boldly knocking and summoning the king. Another 
 error is his unguarded modification of the reply to Lennox's 
 question, "Goes the king hence today?" 
 
 Concerning the Poet's reference to nature's sympathetic 
 mourning over the death of Duncan, Chambers remarks: 
 "Shakespeare uses freely what Ruskin regards as the device 
 of a second-rate poet, the pathetic fallacy — that is, he attrib- 
 utes to inanimate things of nature a sympathy with the 
 moods and passions of men. ' ' ^ The objection seems invalid, 
 since this pathetic fallacy has been employed by aU the 
 greatest poets, and is in fact a universal concept common to 
 the poetry of every land. To the graphic and detailed nar- 
 ration of the frightful storm and its reported preternatural 
 horrors, Macbeth can but reply, "it was a rough night"; 
 for while politely assuming an air of listening to Lennox's 
 story, his was the listless attention of a mind which is 
 anxiously engrossed with the expectation of hearing Macduff's 
 outcry of horror and alarm instantly resound within 
 Duncan's chamber. 
 
 Macbeth 's anxious expectations were instantly realized, 
 when Macduff, overcome with amazement and horror at the 
 
 1. E. K. Chambers, Macbeth, p, 25. 
 
THE ALARM 157 
 
 sight of the murdered king and the sleeping grooms smeared 
 with blood, rushed back shouting the murder in terror and 
 alarm. Macbeth plays well his part. In looks of surprise 
 and innocence, he listens to Macduff's loud and excited 
 declaration that destruction has done its masterwork by the 
 hand of the sacrilegious murderer, who broke open "the 
 anointed temple" of the Lord, and stole therefrom "the life 
 of the building." In this thought, non-Catholic critics 
 usually note a confusion of metaphors. With Delius they 
 affirm: "The temple can not be properly designated as 
 anointed, it is Duncan who is the Lord's anointed." The 
 confusion seems, however, to rest with the critics rather 
 than with Shakespeare, a confusion very natural to the minds 
 of non-Catholics, to whom an anointed temple is a thing 
 unknown. But to Shakespeare, as well as to eveiy Catholic, 
 the metaphor is in perfect harmony; since Catholic temples 
 are by prescribed religious rites anointed with holy unction. 
 This fact was as familiar to the Poet as to his audience. The 
 Catholic Faith and its sacramental rites and ceremonies were 
 well known in his day, when England was not yet Protestant- 
 ized, save by act of Parliament. Catholic temples, therefore, 
 Delius notwithstanding, "can be properly designated as 
 anointed," because they are so de facto. Not primarily 
 designed as meeting-houses, but as sacred edifices, wherein 
 sacrifices are offered with solemn rites to the Most High, and 
 wherein the Man-God, veiled under the Bucharistie elements, 
 dwells upon the altar, it is, indeed, proper that such temples 
 be blessed and consecrated with holy unction after the most 
 solemn manner. 
 
 Though Duncan at his coronation was, like every Catholic 
 king, anointed according to the Church's ritual, yet there is 
 another sense in which he may be properly termed "the 
 Lord's anointed," and this sense St. Paul indicated in words 
 addressed to the early Christians, "Ye are temples of the 
 living God. ' ' ^ The Apostle 's teaching, which has always 
 been accepted by Catholics, was also held by Protestants of 
 the Poet's day. With Catholic doctrines and ceremonies 
 
 1. 2 Cor. VI :16. 
 
158 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Shakespeare must have been most familiar; for, while in 
 catering to the anti-Catholic spirit of the times, contemporary 
 dramatists often misrepresent them, he never throughout 
 his numerous vs^orks falls into a single error. The Church 
 teaches that every baptized Christian, living in the state of 
 sanctifying grace, is in truth a living "temple of the living 
 God." In baptismal regeneration, man's material nature is 
 not only consecrated to God by the sacramental unction of 
 holy chrism, but his spiritual nature is also sanctified by 
 the sacred unction of divine grace, poured into his soul by 
 the Holy Spirit; and this unction of soul and body is again 
 renewed in sacramental confirmation with the result that the 
 Christian becomes in truth "the Lord's anointed temple," a 
 living "temple of the living God." Such a temple can be 
 desecrated by naught save the guilt of grievous sin. But 
 Duncan was undoubtedly a Christian of noble and virtuous 
 character, as Shakespeare more than once portrays him. If, 
 therefore, individually as a Christian, he became, as above 
 noted, by reason of sacramental unction, "the temple of the 
 living God," and, furthermore, if, as king, he was again 
 anointed as the representative of God in the material or civil 
 order, the Poet could surely with propriety call him "the 
 Lord's anointed temple," and affirm that the robbery of "the 
 life of the building" was an act, not only murderous, but 
 also sacrilegious. 
 
 After Macbeth and Lennox have hurried forth to see for 
 themselves, Macduff continues to sound the alarm and to 
 rouse the guests from sleep, the image of death, in order 
 that they may gaze upon death itself, and like ghosts from the 
 grave look upon the horrid deed. The tower-beU in rapid 
 strokes rings the alarm, and Lady Macbeth enters hurriedly 
 in apparent distress and dismay (11. 28-66). 
 
 ABSENCE OF LADY MACBETH 
 
 The reader will be naturally surprised, when noticing 
 that in most of the modern representations of the tragedy. 
 Lady Macbeth is excluded from the present scene. Though 
 the mutilation be prompted by convenience of the manager 
 
ABSENCE OP LADY MACBETH 159 
 
 or actress, it seems, nevertheless, unpardraaBle. The absence 
 of the heroine at this, the most critical moment, certainly 
 mars the highly artistic and tragical effect intended by the 
 Poet. Whatever be the extrinsic reasons for her absence, 
 for her presence there are many intrinsic to the drama itself. 
 She is mistress of the castle, and retaining perfect self- 
 control, perceives clearly that she must act her part in the 
 crisis, if she would attain what she most desires : the conceal- 
 ment of her own and her husband's guilt. When shouts of 
 murder and cries of horror re-echo through the castle; when 
 the rapid peals of the alarming tower-bell arouse the guests 
 in affright, and cause them, half -clad, to throng the stairs and 
 corridors; when, in fine, the whole mansion is astir in panic 
 and commotion, and all in fear and dread are distracted 
 by the wild cries of murder, surely the mistress of the castle 
 cannot, all heedless of the uproar, remain in hiding without 
 engendering suspicion in the minds of her excited guests. 
 Moreover, though her own anxiety concerning the discovery 
 is intense, still more so is her solicitude to countenance her 
 husband, who, lately so unmanned, must now undergo a 
 more severe trial, wherein shall be taxed all his powers of 
 self-possession, cunning, prudence, and dissimulation. The 
 issues involved are, therefore, too momentous to allow her 
 absence, and judging of her character, as portrayed in the 
 drama, the reader will seek her where Shakespeare has placed 
 her, intermingling amid the uproar and commotion with her 
 panic-stricken guests.^ 
 
 Lady Macbeth, therefore, appears most opportunely upon 
 the scene, and, as if, like her guests, roused from slumber by 
 the shouts and the clangorous tones of the great bell, she 
 hurries forward, and in well-feigned excitement and surprise, 
 demands "why such a hideous trumpet calls to parley the 
 sleepers of the house?" Macduff's reply, think certain 
 critics, suggests to her the ruse of fainting, which she exe- 
 cutes a few moments later. Though fully self-possessed and 
 alert to her danger, her anxiety to repel any probable suspi- 
 
 1. Cf. J. S. Knowleg, Lectures on Dramatic Literature, p. 57. G. 
 Fletcher, Studies of Shakespeare, p. 164. 
 
160 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 cion, causes her almost to betray herself. From her previous 
 knowledge of the crime, she manifests less horror than others 
 at the news of the dreadful murder and, dwelling upon a 
 mere circumstance as of more importance, exclaims, "What, 
 in our house?" If innocent, her first thoughts would have 
 been, not of herself, but of the king, whose murder would 
 have overpowered her as the rest with surprise and horror. 
 Her words, however, which seem the result of a studied 
 course of action, by which she hoped to avert suspicion, 
 startle Banquo, who, fixing his gaze upon her, exclaims in 
 sternness, "Too cruel anywhere." From his tone and rep- 
 rehensive words she at once perceives her incautious blunder. 
 
 THE FATAL ERROR 
 
 In the scene of discovery, Macbeth plays the innocent 
 more adroitly than liis guilty partner. Returning from the 
 death-chamber to the crowding, excited guests, he perceives 
 the need of instant action, the need of simulating unre- 
 strained grief at the murder of his royal guest. Always 
 himself in the field of action, his intellect and imagination, 
 though spurred to high activity, are kept under perfect 
 control, as with consummate art he pours forth rapid, brilliant 
 thoughts, which strike the naturally expected notes of grief 
 and anger, the grief of a loving subject and the anger of a 
 generous host. He declaims in nicely linked metaphors that 
 the murder has robbed our sky-vaulted earth of its renown 
 and grace, and left us in the kingly corpse the mere lees 
 after the wine of life has been drawn. His words of lament 
 are, however, an unconscious prophecy of his own fate; 
 murderous treachery has changed his "renown" into infamy, 
 and banished "grace" from his blood-stained soul. 
 
 Upon the entrance of the young princes, whom Macbeth 
 first informs of their father 's murder, he continues to display 
 with skill his simulated grief. All listen eagerly to Lennox, 
 as he briefly yet graphically describes what he and Macbeth 
 had discovered, when they rushed to the scene of the murder. 
 The grooms, the supposed murderers, he says, "Stared and 
 were distracted ; no man 's life was to be trusted with them. ' ' 
 
THE FATAL EREOR 161 
 
 When Lennox hurried forth from the dreadful scene, Macbeth 
 tarried for some moments and, as he gazed on the drugged 
 grooms, conflicting and bewildering thoughts held him in 
 terrible suspense. In the mental crisis, he felt that he must 
 act and act quickly; in another moment the sleeping grooms 
 aroused would tell their tale. Next flashed upon him the 
 thought that dead men tell no tales and, under a blind and 
 maddening impulse, he rushed forward to stab them with 
 their own bloody daggers. In mental disturbance, he did not 
 foresee that his deed A^■as a mortal blow at the well devised 
 plot of Lady Macbeth, and, furthermore, exposed him to 
 suspicion. Now, recognizing his error, he seeks cunningly 
 to cover it by openly professing repentance for the fury which 
 then overmastered him. Hitherto, he had, amid the general 
 confusion, escaped suspicion, but his blundering attempt to 
 excuse himself instantly attracts attention. Macduff, startled 
 by his words, voices the general rising suspicion by the cruel 
 accusing question, "Wherefore did you do so?" The act 
 was, indeed, questionable, and Macbeth perceives that he 
 must instantly extricate himself in the eyes of Macduff and 
 of the crowding inquiring guests. Alert and self-possessed, 
 even though under high mental pressure, he immediately in 
 the boldness of a soldier, breaks forth into heated questions: 
 "Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, loyal and 
 neutral in a moment?" Who, in presence of that bloody 
 scene, could restrain his heart's love, when he had the courage 
 to make that love known? Under the mental strain of 
 feigning grief and of dissimulating guilt, his strong imagin- 
 ation is aglow with fantastic images, and, in consequence, 
 his excuse is diffuse and overwrought with description. If 
 it be said that the speech in its forced metaphors and horrors, 
 is not the natural expression of unfeigned grief and regret, 
 but rather the artificial language of dissimulation, and such 
 as no innocent man would use under the circumstances, it 
 is well to recall with Dr. Johnson, that Shakespeare 's evident 
 purpose is to show, by Macbeth 's artifice and dissimulation, 
 the difference between the studied language of hypocrisy and 
 the natural outcries of sudden passion (11. 67-105). 
 
162 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 FALLS IN A SWOON 
 
 Macbeth 's speech is suddenly interrupted by his wife, 
 when with a cry for help she falls in a swoon. Whether her 
 fainting is real or assumed is a matter which the Poet has 
 left to the reader to decide. The acceptance of one opinion 
 or the other is of little import ; since, in either case the effect 
 is the same : the saving of Macbeth from the impending crisis 
 by at once diverting attention to herself. In the present, as 
 in other instances, Shakespeare seems to have yielded to his 
 fondness for piquing the curiosity of his auditors by leaving 
 them to guess his secret. If Macbeth exhibits no concern for 
 his stricken wife, his apparent indifference finds a ready 
 explanation in his intense excitement, extreme distraction, 
 and overwhelming sense of the crisis which he faces in the 
 presence of the crowding guests. It is, moreover, likely that, 
 judging by his own duplicity, he regards her swoon as 
 nothing more than a dextrous feint to rescue him from a 
 painful predicament. If the swoon were an artifice. Lady 
 Macbeth would evidently have employed it at the most oppor- 
 tune moment when, in presence of the nobles, the murder 
 of Duncan was first announced to her amid the uproar of 
 the guests. Her character, moreover, as portrayed in the 
 drama, discloses no natural trait of duplicity or cunning, 
 but rather a masculine boldness, which, at such a critical 
 moment, would have prompted her to stand by her husband 
 instead of deserting him. Common interests and a common 
 stake now in jeopardy demanded that, if able, she face the 
 ordeal with him, and by her presence aid at all hazards in 
 the crisis. Hers hitherto had been the master-spirit and the 
 master-hand in the fashioning and in the execution of the 
 plot; but, now in alarm, she observes that he had marred it 
 by wresting the mastery from her. If the new murders 
 overwhelm her with surprise and horror, it is because she 
 has neither anticipated them, nor steeled her iron will in a 
 resolve to accept them. She, furthermore, perceives that his 
 blunder in killing the grooms has attracted instead of divert- 
 ing suspicion; and, as she listens in amazement to his highly 
 
FALLS IN A SWOON 163 
 
 colored tei-ms of grief and horror, she trembles lest he cause 
 the guests to suspect the secret. His bloody revellings in 
 exaggerations and his painting in a living picture of hideous 
 colors the horror of their mutual crime, stir her moral nature 
 to a revulsion of feeling hitherto unfelt. In the reaction of 
 her overtaxed powers, she has held out to the end of her 
 husband's blundering speech; but, as in tremor and dismay, 
 she sees suspicion reflected from the faces of the thanes as 
 they look significantly at each other, she stands aghast in 
 guilty fear. An overpowering faintness saps her strength 
 and, yielding to the agitation which she had battled against 
 so long, she falls helpless in an overwhelming sense of 
 impending evil. 
 
 While Lady Macbeth is attended to, the young princes, 
 Malcolm and Donalbain, engage in an aside, in which they 
 agree tliat the arguments which Macbeth has adduced for his 
 swelling grief, appear stronger for their own affliction. Sus- 
 pic ious of foul plav and of the thane of Tlgwrlnr 'g, fpigTi(>rl 
 ^ief , they are mastered for the moment, more Ipy fear than 
 bv sorrowancL -iast ead oTjoining in the general lamentation, 
 c dTOHel '5ig hKjbbiy--knowI^;al--^^ 
 s ame mot i ve j^q use f h p. b l ade fi ffa,inst thf mselves. . 
 
 After Lady Macbeth is borne away, the nobles see the 
 reasonableness of Banquo's suggestion that inquiry into the 
 murder, which they all suspect, be deferred till a more fitting 
 moment. His proposal seems opportune, since all, at the 
 uproar and the sound of the alarm bell, had rushed forth 
 undressed and were now suffering from exposure. When 
 properly attired, they can gather to question further "this 
 most bloody piece of work." Banquo all too late complains 
 of his ' ' fears and scruples ' ' ; had he heeded them a few 
 hours earlier, he would have saved the king. With his 
 knowledge, a secret to himself and the thane of Cawdor, he 
 has, above all others, reasons to suspect the real murderer. 
 Acting on his strong suspicions, he professes before Macbeth 
 and all the nobles that, placing himself under the direction 
 of Divine Providence and trusting in His aid, he will battle 
 against the undiscovered purpose of the murderer's "treason- 
 
164 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 ous malice." His resolve firm and forcibly uttered is shared 
 by all. To Macbeth it is a menace, and there and then he 
 feek fear .and hatred^ Banqu o enge ndered_in his heart . 
 But, in cunning dissimulation he brusquely invites~thera all, 
 after putting on their armor, to assemble quickly for con- 
 sultation in the hall. All retire as agreed, save Malcolm and 
 Donalbain. These young princes, fearing treason, hold aloof. 
 They see "daggers in men's smiles," suspect the hoUowness 
 of the nobles' sorrow, and mutually express suspicion of 
 Macbeth 's murderous treason. He, their nearest kin, is also 
 likely their deadliest foe. They will "to horse" without 
 ceremony and adieus, and so avoid the bloody shaft of the 
 murderous usurper, which must pass through them before 
 it can reach the crown. The action of the princes was an 
 incident most fortunate for Macbeth; their failure to join 
 in the general grief over the murder of their father; their 
 strangely holding aloof from the nobles; and their unseemly 
 flight, are facts which enable Macbeth to draw suspicion from 
 himself, and to concentrate it upon themselves (11. 105-133). 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 THE CORONATION 
 
 As the present scene is incidental and in no way affects 
 the progress of events, it is often omitted in modern presen- 
 tations of the play. It is, however, of no small importance; 
 it affords a breathing spell in the hurried action of the drama, 
 and, furthermore, allows time, not only for Macbeth 's cor- 
 onation, but also for the Poet to portray the strange portents 
 thaj_a^c^m2anied the murder, and to show how it was viewed 
 by the outer world. Superstitious signs and omens are not 
 inconsistent with the weird atmosphere of a drama, whose 
 basic elements are uncanny and preternatural. As 
 Shakespeare's purpose in associating the appearance of the 
 Weird Sisters, the ministers of evil, with sudden storms of 
 thunder and lightning, is to indicate the relationship, or 
 affinity between material storms and spiritual tempests of 
 
THE CORONATION 165 
 
 the soul, so again, in the present scene, he dwells on the 
 storms, and the darkness, and omens as circumstances which 
 attended Duncan's murder. Strange and dreadful, they 
 surpassed anything remembered by an old man of more than 
 seventy years. The heavens in rebellion_atjthe„ murder threat- 
 ened dire consequences. The day in shame refused to look 
 upon It, ana black night triumphed in the deed of darkness. 
 These circumstances, as well as that of the mousing owl, 
 which pounced upon and killed the proudly soaring falcon, 
 and of the mad horses in wild rebellion against their masters, 
 both typifying Macbeth 's murderous treason against his king, 
 are all borrowed from the chronicles of Holinshed. Recording 
 them as occurring at the murder of King Duff by Dunwald, 
 he writes: "For the space of six months together after this 
 heinous murder thus committed, there appeared no sun by 
 day nor moon by night in any part of the realm, but still 
 was the sky covered with continual clouds, and sometimes 
 such outrageous winds arose with lightnings and tempests 
 that the people were in great fear of present destruction. 
 Monstrous sights also that were seen within the Scottish 
 kingdom that year were these, horses in Lothian, being of 
 singular beauty and swiftness, did eat their own flesh . . . 
 there was a sparrow hawk also strangled by an owl." 
 
 Ross and Macduff exemplify two different types of 
 noblemen ; some, like the former, unscrupulous and time-serv- 
 ing courtiers, acknowledge the kingship of Macbeth and 
 foUow his fortunes; others, like Macduff, candid, honorable, 
 and loyal, suspecting the double crime of treachery and 
 murder, hold aloof and refuse allegiance. The king's sons, 
 Malcolm and Donalbain, had by their untimely flight enabled 
 the usurper to throw suspicion on them. The theory that 
 on hearing of the slaughter of the grooms, whom they had 
 suborned, they suspected the discovery of their plot and 
 sought safety in secret and hurried flight, may have appeared 
 plausible enough to the popular mind; but to loyal nobles 
 like Macduff it seemed too unnatural, and they adhered to 
 their well-grounded suspicion of treachery. Supposing the 
 guilt of the king's sons, then Macbeth in the popular view, 
 
166 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 as Duncan's first cousin and the greatest warrior of the 
 people, might naturally claim the throne, and he was in fact 
 already on his way to Scone for coronation. Scone, an 
 ancient royal city, now in ruins, was situated on the left 
 bank of the Tay, about two miles from Perth. It was the 
 famed seat of a far-renowned abbey, which the new Protestant 
 sect destroyed by fire in the summer of 1559. In the abbey 
 was the stone of Scone, which, originally transported from 
 Ireland, was brought to Scone by Kenneth II. in the year 
 842. From that time the stone became the customary seat 
 of coronation, and on it was crowned a long series of Scottish 
 kings. Borne away to England by Edward I. in the year 
 1296, it has since been enclosed in the English coronation 
 chair in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 In the dialogue that follows, are again contrasted the 
 characters of Ross and Macduff. The former, a facile cour- 
 tier and fortune-hunter, readily announces himself an 
 unquestioning adherent of the new regime, Avhile TMaeduff, a 
 man of noble sentiments of honor and loyalty, refuses to 
 countenance by his presence the coronation of a suspected 
 usurper. His words of final parting to Ross express a fear 
 that their future fate shall be less propitious than their past. 
 The old man, less well informed and more optimistic, prays 
 God's blessing upon them and all who shall labor to turn evil 
 into good. 
 
 While Macbeth was hastening to Scone, "the body of 
 Duncan," writes Holinshed, "was removed and conveyed 
 unto Colmekill and there laid in a sepulchre among his 
 predecessors. Colmekill, the famous lona of the Western 
 Isles, now known as Icolmekill, was once the most important 
 of the A^'hole cluster of British Isles. Its celebrity was due to 
 St. Columba, who made it the seat, or center of his widespread 
 missionary labors. Born at Garten in Ireland, in 521, 
 Columba 's baptismal name was Colum, which, signifying a 
 dove, gave rise to the Latinized form Columba. In Scotland 
 the name again assumed another form in Colmekill, the suffix 
 meaning cell or chapel. Landing in lona, some thirty years 
 before Pope Gregory sent St. Augustine to convert the Anglo- 
 
THE CORONATION 167 
 
 Saxons, he began to plant the Catholic Faith, as well as 
 civilization in northern Scotland and the neighboring islands. 
 The monasteries that he and his twelve fellow-monks estab- 
 lished in lona, became famous over the whole world, and for 
 several centuries attracted many devotees of rank. The 
 island came to be considered holy ground, and monarchs 
 selected it for their burial place ; in fact, there all the kings 
 of Scotland from Kenneth III. to Macbeth inclusive were 
 entombed. Though the island was several times laid waste 
 by the Danes and pirates, its monasteries survived in high 
 reputation till the year 1560, when they were destroyed by 
 Reformers acting under orders of the "anti-Popish Synod of 
 Argyll." They burnt all the books and records they could 
 find, broke open the tombs, and carried away or threw into 
 the sea all but two of the three hundred and fifty sculptured 
 stone crosses. Among the ruined monuments in the cemetery 
 are seen today three rows of tombs, forty-eight in all, which 
 tradition says are those of Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian 
 kings. Among them are numbered the tombs of Duncan and 
 Macbeth. 
 
 The thane of Cawdor would uo doubt have joined the 
 funeral cortege on its way to Colmekill, and have studiously 
 surpassed other nobles in the manifestation of his grief at the 
 grave of his murdered cousin, but the evident suspicion of 
 the nobles having engendered fear of opposition, he foresaw 
 that he must act on the instant. Delay would allow hostile 
 elements to gather strength and thwart his ambition. Hence, 
 consigning the obsequies of Duncan to the care of royal 
 officials, he with his adherents hastened to Scone, where, 
 proclaimed king and crowned according to the laws of Scot- 
 land, he could at once gather about him a military force 
 sufScient to crush any insurrection against his newly acquired 
 kingship (11. 1-41). 
 
ACT THIRD 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 BANQUO'S SECRET HOPES 
 
 The progressive action in Macbeth, which of all 
 Shakespeare's dramas resembles most the classic tragedy, 
 attains its climax or crisis in the middle or third act, when 
 the hero, having reached the summit of unbroken success, 
 enters by unbroken failure upon a rapid course downward. 
 Having grasped the crown, Macbeth is not satisfied therewith, 
 and proceeds to remove without delay the one obstacle that, 
 in the person of Banquo and of Fleance, seems to threaten 
 his security upon the throne. He recognizes in his coronation 
 the verification of the Weird Sisters' prediction in his own 
 regard, and now takes steps to frustrate their promise to 
 Banquo, and by his fatuous action lays the foundation of 
 his own ruin. 
 
 The scene opens as Banquo enters engrossed in secret 
 thoughts, which find expression in an earnest soliloquy. From 
 the thought that Macbeth has "played most foully for" the 
 crown, he turns to consider the Weird Sisters' promise to 
 himself. Since their oracles are verified in Macbeth "with all 
 the lustre of conspicuous truth," why should not their' further 
 prophecy of his being the root and father of many kings 
 be accepted as true, and, as a consequence, strengthen his 
 growing hopes? The flow of his secret thoughts is quickly 
 checked by the sound of the sennet, which announces the 
 approach of the royal party. The soliloquy, though^ brief , 
 gives evidence of the moral changewhich has-been wrought \ 
 in Banquo since the first appearance of the Weird Sisters. 
 Then he scorned them and "neither begged nor feared their 
 favor nor their hate" ; then in moral wisdom, flashed in words 
 of shining truth, he cautioned the thane of Cawdor against 
 
 168 
 
BANQUO'S SECRET HOPES 169 
 
 the malignant design of his evil tempters. Though dom- 
 inated less by ambition than Macbeth, Banquo, by frequent 
 brooding over the Weird Sisters' promise of his greatness, 
 was led by degrees to wish it might prove true. As his 
 hopes could enjoy fruition only by Duncan's removal and 
 Macbeth 's succession to the throne, he .resolved to do nothing 
 that might interfere with the future greatness of his line, 
 either by aiding Duncan or opposing Macbeth. His inaction ( 
 and his secrecy concerning the prophecies of the Weird Sis- 
 ters were in accordance with their wish and aided their 
 project. They had slowly influenced his better nature for 
 the worse, as is evidenced, when on the night of the murder 
 he failed to save Duncan by at least some veiled hint of 
 suspected danger; and when in the present soliloquy he 
 frankly accepts the issue of the crime as beneficial to himself ; 
 and joins his lot with that of the strongly suspected murderer 
 and usurper (11. 1-10). 
 
 Banquo 's soliloquy is interrupted by formal notes of the 
 trumpet, which announce the approach of the newly crowned 
 king and queen with attendant lords and ladies. The royal 
 pair in turn extend to Banquo a formal and yet a flattering 
 welcome. He is specially urged to grace, as chief guest, the 
 high festival to be held that same night in honor of the 
 coronation. Banquo in reply expresses, regardless of suspi- 
 cions and scruples, his acceptance of Macbeth 's kingship, 
 and professes himself "forever knit" to him "by a most 
 indissoluble tie." The full force of his words are clear 
 only to Macbeth; he alone knows of the joint prophecy of the 
 Weird Sisters concerning his own and Banquo 's greatness. 
 The latter seeing one part verified in Macbeth, now fully 
 believes and hopes that the other will come true in relation 
 to himself, and accordingly professes his own fortunes to be 
 ' ' forever knit ' ' with Macbeth 's. Banquo 's hopes, however, are 
 not greater than Macbeth 's fears. The latter distrusts the 
 former's flattering words of loyalty. He remembers Banquo 's 
 unbroken reserve, his cold indifference to proffered honors, 
 his expressed determination to keep "his bosom franchised 
 and his allegiance clear," and, furthermore, his late hostile 
 
170 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 declaration, when before himself and the suspecting nobles, 
 he exclaimed in passionate words : 
 
 "Let us meet 
 And question this most bloody piece of work, 
 To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: 
 In the great hand of God I stand: and thence 
 Against the undivulged pretence I fight 
 Of treasonous malice. ' ' 
 
 These words, because of Banquo's secret knowledge, had 
 for Macbeth a deeper significance than the nobles could 
 divine; to him they clearly breathed a hostile spirit of men- 
 ace and defiance. He fears, moreover, that the promise made 
 by the Weird Sisters may stir him to imitate his own con- 
 spiracy against Duncan. Hence, deeming Banquo's words 
 of loyalty a mockery, he sees in his intended hurried ride 
 some connection with a plot against himself, and, in conse- 
 quence, eagerly inquires concerning its distance, term, and 
 purpose; and the more Banquo in a natural secretiveness 
 parries his questions, the more Macbeth feels his suspicions 
 confirmed. Unable to conceal the thought that ever plagues 
 his mind — his uncertain tenure of tbe crown — he next refers 
 to the "strange inventions" with which the "cruel parricides, 
 Malcolm and Donalbain, fill their hearers in England and 
 in Ireland. ' ' Interrupted in the dangerous topic by some one, 
 presumably his wife, he hurriedly bids Banquo adieu, and 
 dismissing court on the pretext that separation till eventide 
 will make their reunion at the banquet all the sweeter, he 
 artfully gains time to perfect his conspiracy with the mur- 
 derers of Banquo (11. 11-47). 
 
 CHALLENGES FATE 
 
 The court dismissed, Macbeth, again alone, is free to 
 soliloquize upon the causes of his mental agitation and 
 harassed feelings. Though crowned, he is filled with fear and 
 alarm. His evil tempters had iofg rnprl Tnisj r^rimi-Ti^i gynjij^inr. 
 sieturing the kingship as synonymous with power and 
 happines?rMt-i:D-iriy-aTOTn:Tse-a^ ^ Lhti. crown seATvnr 
 
CHALLENGES FATE 171 
 
 to have turned to nothing iu his grasp. Though his ruling 
 p assion has been gratified by t lie-_E^ession _ oi: his"~ one 
 s upreme ambition, he exp eriences naught butj unhap pines "s~ 
 i n th e fears and anxieties^ TEa? E '''pur~rancour in the 
 vessel" of his peace . Conscious of tTTe resentiiieht' and~'iJti31^- 
 nation that his crime must necessarily arouse, suspicion and 
 distrust continually torment him, destroy his confidence in 
 fellow-men, and place him beyond the pale of friendship. 
 To be king, he affirms, is nothing unless he can wear his 
 honors in peace and security. His fear and anxiety are cen- 
 tered most in Banquo, whose loyalty of heart and unswerving 
 rectitude of purpose he deems an endless menace to his peace. 
 Moreover, the superior courage of the man, which, guided 
 by wisdom, enables him to "dare much in safety," silently 
 overawes and rebukes his genius. The term genius usually 
 denotes in Shakespeare the higher rational element in man, 
 that is his spiritual and immortal soul, which rules and con- 
 trols his material or inferior nature, and which, by directing 
 his lower powers as instruments to its own purpose, deter- 
 mines man's character and fate. Th_e genius of Macbeth is 
 manifest in his aspir ing lawless_sjnrit_which drives liim' on 
 
 inflamed with an insatiable and guilty ajmhition. 
 
 In the text, the term Genius seems to bear, besides its 
 common meaning, another and objective sense. Modern poets 
 in imitation of the pagan, often employ the word as an 
 objective concept, which brings it in close relation with the 
 Greek demon or the Roman genius of mythology. According 
 to ancient popular belief, a genius was a higher power which 
 determined a man's character, tried to influence his destiny 
 for good, accompanied him through life as his tutelary spirit, 
 and lived on in the Lares after his death. Men swore by 
 their Genius as by their higher self. In addition to this 
 popular belief was another common to pagan philosophers: 
 that each man had two genii, a good and a bad one.^ The 
 idea may have been borrowed from divine revelation, as 
 learned from the Sacred Books of Jewish exiles or colonists 
 in pagan lands. The Bible commonly predicates a distinction 
 
 1. Cf. Classical Llteratiiro and Antiquities, Harpers, p. 720, 
 
172 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 between good and bad angels, as between two opposing prin- 
 ciples of good and evil. The conflict, however, which is 
 waged is not indeed between themselves, but between the 
 Kingdom of God and the kingdom of the evil one on earth. 
 This idea of two spiritual kingdoms is clearly established in 
 the New Testament. The devil is a fallen angel, who in his 
 fall has drawn multitudes iu his train. He is termed the 
 prince of this world as it ic opposed to God, and tempts the 
 human race with the view of involving it in his own fall and 
 ruin. This thought in mind, the Genius of the text is evi- 
 dently the evil spirit, or tempter that dominated Macbeth, 
 and whom in himself he feels rebuked by the honest loyalty 
 and moral rectitude of Banquo. In alliance with this evil 
 Genius are kindred evil spirits, and he recalls how Banquo 
 "chid" them when in the guise of the "Weird Sisters they 
 first hailed him king. 
 
 From the thought of Banquo 's hostility, Macbeth passes 
 to another, which arouses intense jealousy. The principle 
 of his torture is the reflection that Fate, while awarding him 
 a "fruitless crown and a barren scepter," has decreed 
 Banquo 's issue to succeed him in the kingdom. The thought 
 engenders an oppressive fear lest Banquo, inflamed by ambi- 
 tion like himself, may attempt to seize the crown by violence. 
 Jealousy, which rankles in his heart, enkindles fierce thoughts 
 and a sense of supreme irritation. His foolhardiness is before 
 him. Has he defiled himself by the murder of the "gracious 
 Duncan," filled his life with "rancours," and forfeited his 
 immortal soul to Satan, only to make "the seed of Banquo 
 kings ? ' ' No, it shall not be so ! Let Fate decree the throne 
 to Banquo, if she will; he will enter the lists against her; 
 challenge her to combat'; and fight to the last, no matter what 
 the consequences. His whole being is tortured by the glowing 
 fires of an intense jealousy, which, shutting out all thought 
 of despair, blindly impels him to war against Fate in the 
 foolish hope that by the destruction of his enemies he may 
 yet win security and happiness upon the throne. Aman of 
 old was happy in the enjoyment of supreme wealth and power 
 till a stranger crossing his path, wounded his pride and so 
 
A CONSPIRACY 173 
 
 embittered his life that he felt it no longer worth the living, 
 until he should have avenged himself on the luckless 
 Mordoehai. So it was with Macbeth. Having acquired the 
 coveted crown, he might have reigned in peace and happi- 
 ness had not fear and jealousy inspired him to murder 
 Banquo. That crime was the beginning of his own undoing 
 (11. 47-71) 
 
 A CONSPIRACY 
 
 The murderers in the present scene are supposed to be 
 no common villains or assassins, but soldiers whose fortunes 
 have been blighted by Macbeth. The injustice of which they 
 complain indicates that the thane of Cawdor had lapsed in 
 honesty and moral rectitude, even before the temptation of 
 the Weird Sisters. Recalling a former conference with the 
 soldiers, Macbeth reminds them that the conclusion then 
 established was that Banquo, and not he-, was the ruin of 
 their fortunes. This conclusion, he affirms, was based on 
 facts, which when exposed in detail, made it evident that 
 Banquo after rousing them to fair expectations, had con- 
 tinued to flatter and delude them with hopes and promises 
 which he had no intention of fulfilling. 
 
 Having forced upon the murderers the belief that Banquo, 
 in using them as mere tools to further his own selfish inter- 
 ests, had been guilty of dishonor and injustice, he next 
 proceeds with marked skill to play upon their feelings. An 
 appeal to manhood was always an argument most powerful 
 with himself, and he cunningly employs it to awaken and to 
 energize iu them the spirit of revenge. As men, their nature 
 should be aflame with resentmeiit- at their sense of wrongs; 
 but as Christians, they have perhaps schooled themselves to 
 patience, mindful of the preceptV-l'Love your enemies. Do 
 good to them that hate you; and pray for them that perse- 
 cute and calumniate you. ' ' ^ Must he believe that, nothwith- 
 standing their just feelings of revenge, they shall bow their 
 head to earth and pray for good Banquo, who has basely and 
 forever beggared them and theirs? Checking his glowing 
 
 1. Matth. 5 :44. 
 
174 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 words, he pauses, anxiously awaiting their effect, all the 
 while his questioning fiery eyes riveted updn them. They 
 divine his thoughts and wishes, and acquiesce, protesting 
 themselves merely men. To incite them further, he pretends 
 to doubt their claim. There are men and men ; all of what- 
 ever quality are catalogued alike, as are curs, thoroughbreds, 
 and mongrels of high and low degree. If, however, in the 
 valued file that distinguishes the noble from the base, they 
 are listed as of honorable manhood, and so dare do all that 
 may become a man, he will entrust them with an affair which, 
 while avenging their wrongs, will also bind them to himself 
 with bonds of love. They protest themselves such honorable 
 men, men, moreover, so wearied and incensed by the vile 
 blows and buffets of the world that they are ready to stake 
 their life on any chance that may bring either betterment or 
 forfeiture. 
 
 Macbeth 's anxiety to rid himself of Banquo clouds his 
 judgment and leads him imprudently to inform the mur- 
 derers in confidence of the reasons of his conduct, a confidence 
 they may easily betray. They learn why for weighty reasons 
 ' ' the business ' ' must be masked ' ' from the common eye, ' ' and 
 further that, throughout the whole affair, they must be 
 mindful of keeping him absolutely free from suspicion. As 
 the soldiers depart, resolved upon the crime at the appointed 
 time and place, Macbeth, rejoicing in his cunning, exclaims 
 in high exaltation of assured success, "Banquo, thy soul's 
 flight, if it find heaven, must find it out tonight." His 
 words, it is thought, contain an ironic and sneering allusion 
 to the honesty of the man whose honorable and loyal bearing 
 have been so strongly marked in contrast with his own. The 
 scene discloses the progress of Macbeth in the path of crime. 
 Projects of murder no longer stir him to a sense of compunc- 
 tion. Completely in the power of evil spirits — ^his tempters 
 — ^his conscience is now seared, and abandoned to unblushing 
 villainy (11. 72-144). 
 
SCENE SECOND 
 
 GLOOM AND MELANCHOLY 
 
 The last scene revealed Macbeth 's fear and jealousy of 
 Banquo ; the present, in turn discloses the effect of the crime 
 on Lady Macbeth. We see her enter in melancholy mien and 
 hear her sa d, solemn v oice, wh i"h ir nniriRpirtK? W "^y °gTiti- 
 ment of ,iOY_.itr- .SEr!5ratitled_ambiiiQn. Her new afBiction, 
 unforeseen as a consequence of'her"^irae, has broken down 
 her towering pride, sapped the vigor of her iron will, and 
 left her altogether dispirited. Having heard her husband '9, 
 eager inquiries concerning Banquo 's movements and observed | 
 his strange conduct, she fears lest he plan some covert guilej 
 against him. This suspicion augments her unhappiness and 
 unrest, and impels her to despatch a servant to summon her 
 husband for a brief interview. 
 
 At the servant's exit, she is free to vent the afflicting 
 thoughts and sentiments that rack her heart and soul. They 
 disclose her changed posit ion in the drama. "When before the 
 murder, Macbeth faltered from the dread of unforeseen, 
 fatal consequences, she was the principal and the force that 
 impelled his faltering footsteps onward ; but the murde rjmce 
 done, he disregard s her, an d seizing the mastery of affa ii^, 
 e]aieia--ffiJlluml__h.esitflJJ£!il__iiK on~ the ~perpetration~o fJn^\ 
 .«cimes. She, on the contrary, dazzled by the diademT'was 
 blind to the consequences of the. crime ; but after the bloody- 
 deed, an awakened conscience excited her imagination to 
 conjure up those unforeseen horrors which now desolate an^ 
 harrow her mind. 
 
 Her isolation in^re fiiaps hpr nnbappj^wyg Though her 
 brow be adorned with the "golden round," and her form be 
 enfolded in queenly robes, she feels herself immersed in 
 misery. The prize that sh , f coveted is i ndeed Jn her gragp. 
 but with it comes remorseless suffering^ In the midst of an 
 assumed gayety, she sighs in troubled spirit, and exclaims in 
 a settled melancholy, "Nought's had, all's spent." Her 
 words and sighs are confessions of her error. Like many a 
 mortal, she had been deceived into placing her supreme good 
 
 175 
 
176 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 in a false object, and having sacrificed her immortal soul for 
 its attainment, finds its possession productive of naught but 
 remorse and misery and despair. "The worm that never dies 
 is already gnawing at her heart"; and "the peace that sur- 
 passeth all understanding ' ' is lost to her forever. Her present 
 words indicate a mental anguish and unrest, which fed, day 
 after day, by images and thoughts that will not die, shall 
 culminate in the agony of those terrible sleep-walking nights. 
 As her husband enters. Lady Macbeth attempts to rally 
 her shattered forces, and with her former perfect self-control 
 to resume her accustomed fortitude. She desires above all 
 to conceal from him the ravages that the pitiless hand of 
 remorse has wrought upon her; but her plaintive words 
 unconsciously betray her a hapless prey to misery and to 
 pnelancholy. Her mournful words, uttered in tones so full 
 I of sadness, reveal her no longer the presumptuous, resolute 
 I woman, who before the murder defied in mock courage all 
 Ithe consequences of her crime. Her wretchedness is, fur- 
 thermore, deepened from the instinctive sense that she has 
 lost her influence as adviser and confidant, and plaintively 
 slie chides him for avoiding her society. More bitter, how- 
 ever, is the realization that her love for him and unselfish 
 devotion to his supreme ambition, which had prompted her 
 to urge him to the crime, have brought no fruit, save the 
 severance of their lives and endless wretchedness. Pitiful, 
 indeed, and pathetic is the scene, wherein she is pictured as 
 seeking -with unselfish affection to comfort him, all the while 
 hiding the bleeding wound of her own lacerated heart. 
 
 This sensibility, this tenderness and sympathy reveal, for 
 the first time, a new trait in her character, and disclose that 
 beneath her brazen bravado still slumbered a true feminine 
 nature. In her Inv g and mij erv^she yearns for his com- 
 panionship, even though it be^as'^se ragle'asj igijBggtt- She' 
 mvinesTfom'her own afflietiorf the "Wrture he is* suffering, and 
 if she can not alleviate it, she may at least share therein, and 
 in gratitude for his love commiserate and support him against 
 anxieties and fears. The remedy, however, which she sug- 
 gests for his overwrought and diseased mind, is hopeless 
 
GLOOM AND MELANCHOLY 177 
 
 and indicates her fatalistic tendencies. There is no thought 
 of sorrow, nor of repentance and reparation of the wrong; 
 no thought of religion and the balm that it alone can bring 
 to compunctious hearts. Having long rejected the moral 
 principles of religion, the sole solace that she seeks is the 
 barren philosophy of fatalism, which can only prompt the 
 despairing cry that their misery is ' ' without all remedy. ' ' 
 
 Tiady Macbeth mistakes the natur e of her husband^. 
 ■nioT|j;p1 gfnitntinn Tf her miscry is due to a remorseful con- 
 science, his arises from the same fears which caused him to 
 falter before the murder. His words indicate that he suffers! 
 solely from fears of the consequences of his crime, and not] 
 from pangs of conscience or sense of moral guilt. Having 
 already sacrificed his eternal interests for the crown, he is 
 now wholly concerned with the present life; hence, rejecting 
 all thought of guilt, he concentrates his mind on the fears 
 that haunt his waking hours by day, and afflict his restless 
 nights with terrible dreams of detection and retribution. The^ 
 inward fires of his guilt rouse his faculties to rebellion at 
 the thought that, after sacrificing his eternal weal for supreme 
 power, he can not possess it in this temporal life in peace 
 and happiness. His words kindling as they flow, and his^ 
 imagination lifting him to the heights of defiance, he is 
 ready, in an egotism clothed in fearful form, to dissolve the 
 whole fabric of creation and confound earth and heaven in 
 irremediable confusion, if only he may enjoy undisturbed 
 the fruit of his crimes. Passionate ambition has mad e him 
 the incarnate principle of selfishness, thou gh attection for 
 his wife seems a t tinie^s to _jjlavl)verJiis^gged^co un^ 
 as lig htning over a storm cloud. From the fears and anxie- 
 ties that torment him, lie- turns to compare his fate with that 
 of Duncan's. "Better be with the dead" than to lie upon 
 the rack of frenzied restlessness, tortured by those terrible 
 dreams that shake him nightly. Duncan sleeps peacefully in 
 his grave, while he is exposed on every side to steel, poison, 
 domestic malice, and foreign levies in array against his usur- 
 pation. Shakespeare's reference to Duncan's sleep is in 
 harmony with his Christian faith. The Materialist may believe 
 
178 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 that death annihilates man's soul and body, but the Poet 
 believed like all Christians that the human body is consigned 
 to earth, which from the early days of the Church has been 
 called cemetery, or sleeping ground, because there it shall 
 rest in peaceful slumber until God, in His own good time, 
 shall reunite it with its immortal spirit to enjoy an eternal 
 reward for a life well spent (11. 1-26). 
 
 A HAXJNTING TYRANT OF THE MIND 
 
 Lady Macbeth listened with sympathy to her husband's 
 complaint of fear and "terrible dreams that shake him 
 nightly. ' ' She still mistook the cause of his sufferings, deem- 
 ing them to be, like her own, from remorse of conscience. 
 Hence, instead of reproaching him as formerly with con- 
 temptuous taunts of moral cowardice, she tries to turn his 
 mind from those "sorriest fancies" to practical thoughts 
 concerning the approaching banquet. Though she counsels 
 him to smooth over his forbidding looks, and to assume a 
 "bright and jovial" air, her words and melancholic tones 
 indicate her own hollow cheerfulness. In reply, Macbeth 
 discloses Banquo to be the haunting tyrant of his mind. The 
 request that he be treated with the highest honors among all 
 the noble guests that night, appears somewhat puzzling; 
 since he was to be slain before the banquet. Macbeth 's words, 
 if not ironical, may have been prompted by a cautious fear 
 lest his design should fail, or again, perhaps, by the desire 
 of concealing not only the murderous plot from his wife, but 
 also his own share therein. His excuse for the flattering 
 honors to be shown to Banquo is the instability of their royal 
 honors. Their tenure, he affirms, shall not be secure as long 
 as they depend on honeyed lies of flattery, and on continuous 
 hypocrisy of thoughts and feelings. 
 
 This instability he charges to Banquo and his son, whom 
 the Fates have made the scorpions of his mind, and whose 
 painful scourge shall continue with their lives. His fears 
 and mental agitation Lady Macbeth attempts to allay by 
 reminding him that "in them nature's copy is not eterne." 
 
A HAUXTINU TYRANT OF THE MIND 179 
 
 Her woras have oeen sometimes understood to suggest 
 Banquo's murder, but the contrary appears from the text. 
 The words, it is true, as seen from Macbeth 's reply, "There 
 is comfort yet, they are assailable," were the occasion of 
 recalling to his mind the murderous plot. But as he boasts 
 of "the deed of dreadful note" to be done that very night, 
 his wife, not understanding the import of the hint, is bewil- 
 dered and asks in alarm, "What's to be done?" Macbeth, 
 however, declines to illumine her by further confidence. His 
 evasion of the question indicates not only that he wished 
 her to remain in ignorance of the contemplated crime, but, 
 furthermore, that he had not even understood her words to 
 suggest Banquo's murder. Observing her deeply depressed 
 spirits, he feels instinctively that she would oppose the second 
 murder. She had urged him on to the first, because it was 
 necessary for the attainment of the crown; but she might 
 decry his new project as foolhardy and unnecessary; since 
 the Fates had decreed the throne not to Banquo, but his 
 heirs, and Fleance was still a mere boy. Hence, his purpose 
 seems nothing more than to excite suspicion of his project. 
 While the full knowledge of the intended murder might 
 further deepen her melancholy, a mere suspicion would tend 
 to lessen the consequent shock. Moreover, he has no need 
 of her assistance. Having obtained the crown by blood, 
 he has firmly resolved to maintain it by further blood, and 
 now exulting, as a man of action, in the very thought of the 
 murder, he assumes she will applaud the deed when done. 
 In glowing fancy he rises on the wings of poesy to apostro- 
 phize the night. He summons her to come and to blindfold 
 the sight of pitying day. With unseen and bloody hand let 
 her sunder the bond by which destiny has joined his fate 
 with the house of Banquo and his heirs. Gloating over 
 approaching darkness which shall lull to sleep all good of day, 
 and rouse from their lair the wicked agents that prowl under 
 cover of the blackness of the night, he feels an exaltation of 
 mind inspired by a fevered imagination, and boastingly 
 exclaims: "You marvel at my words, but wait, things bad 
 begun make strong themselves by ill." The thickening twi- 
 
180 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 light is the setting in of thick darkness upon his human 
 soul (11. 26-56). 
 
 SCENE THIRD 
 BANQUO'S TEMPTATION AND PALL 
 
 The Poet designs us to witness the murder of Banquo, 
 so as to prepare us for the appearance of his ghost in the 
 scene immediately following. To the first and second mur- 
 derer we have been already introduced, but the identity of 
 the third is left entirely to conjecture. Some critics think 
 that Macbeth, distrustful of common soldiers or assassins in 
 a project so important, sent Ross, his chief confident, to 
 superintend the bloody work. Others say that the third 
 murderer is Macbeth himself; but against this opinion is 
 his surprise at the escape of Fleance, as expressed in the 
 following scene, as well as his words addressed to Banquo 's 
 ghost, "Thou canst not say I did it." More probable seems 
 the opinion that the third murderer was a confidential ser- 
 vant of Macbeth. He is not recognized by the other assassins, 
 who are retainers of Banquo, and unlike them, he is well 
 acquainted with all the surroundings of the palace (11. 1-22). 
 
 Banquo falls from lack of foresight and want of action 
 in a field full of dangers. To him, certain critics are accus- 
 tomed to attribute such honesty of purpose as withstood the 
 infernal suggestions to which Macbeth succumbed. A careful 
 study will, however, disclose that his honesty, which, indeed, 
 is evident at his meeting with the Weird Sisters, slowly 
 weakens with the progress of the drama, until, like Macbeth, 
 though in a less degree, he falls a victim to the wiles of the 
 evil tempters. Though suspecting the Weirfl Si stprg tn fip 
 the visi blfi.Joi:ms-a£-^w-iebe d opi - rita. he .vleldij ^ercTtri oaity and — 
 challenges them to prophesy his destiny. To their oracles, 
 which link his fate with Macbeth 's, ms natural honesty gives 
 little heed; but noting from the thane's strange action how 
 he had fallen under their evil spell, his sole thought is to 
 warn him against their evil purpose. Later at the verification 
 of the first prediction, he wonders that the devil can speak 
 
BAN QUO 'S TEMPTATION AND FALL 181 
 
 truth. From that moment, maintaining strict secrecy, he 
 daily broods over the prophecies and, as he sees them one 
 after another verified in relation to Macbeth, his faith in 
 the truthfulness of the oracle concerning himself also 
 increased, until he comes to desire and even to expect its 
 fulfilment. For this, secrecy was absolutely necessary; to 
 disclose the prophecies was to frustrate their verification. 
 Their very nature, it was clear, called for silence, and, in 
 consequence, no formal injunction was needed, either in the 
 case of Macbeth or in that of Banquo. The oracle concerning 
 the latter was so linked with that of the former that the veri- 
 fication of the one depended, as a consequence, upon the ver- 
 ification of the other. Action was not called for. The policy 
 implicitly enjoined was to say nothing, to do nothing, but only 
 to await developments. Having come to believe in the oracles 
 of the "Weird Sisters, Banquo concluded that Macbeth must 
 first attain the kingship before the promise which was made 
 to him could be verified in the succession of his children to 
 the crown. Hence, he faithfu lly maintained silence, as Jthe 
 Weird Sisters - had_im plicit]y^TiT]6ined. and by this^silence 
 enabled the evil tempters to bring destruction upon himself 
 and Macbeth. Such method of temptation is common to 
 wfcked spirits, as has been noted by St. Ignatius of Loyola 
 in his rules for the discernment of spirits : ' ' One of his wiles 
 is when like some Seducer he (Satan) attacks us covertly 
 plotting our ruin. It is thus that an evil-disposed lover tries 
 to allure the victim of his passion from the home of a good 
 father, or a wife from her husband, binding her to secrecy 
 and silence regarding his plans, for fear lest his design be 
 defeated. In like manner, the devil tries to dissuade and 
 prevent us from betraying his wicked and malicious deceits 
 to our confessor or director knowing that otherwise he is 
 sure to be frustrated in his object." 
 
 The te mptation of Banquo reached~its crisis on the nig ht 
 of Duncan[s_mux(ie*^ The "-terrible suspicions which then 
 roused him from troubled dreams and left him on waking 
 a prey to bloody thoughts, were surely heightened when, 
 after all had retired, he met the thane prowling about myste- 
 
182 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 riously in darkness, and noted his wild looks and intense 
 and unnatural agitation. In that mental conflict, his sense 
 of duty was pitted against a continuance of his policy of 
 silent inactivity. It was contrary to the obligations which 
 bound him as an honest man, a loyal subject, and an honorable 
 nobleman; and these obligations in their combined force 
 urged him in the face of such overpowering suspicions and 
 in a crisis so momentous, to awaken the aged and confiding 
 Duncan from treacherous security. Little, indeed, was 
 required to save the king from the treachery suspected. 
 There was no need of revealing the secret oracles. No need 
 of incriminating Macbeth in person; but merely of awak- 
 ening Duncan, and of warning him of strong suspicions in 
 a general way; or failing in this, to loiter near the chamber 
 till the danger had passed. But, strange to say, notwith- 
 standing the sense of duty and of obligations which conscience 
 urges upon him. Banauo does nothing by wo rdo r^ act^-to 
 ■|;)^yraTt tlif> f^iif^p pcted pprposc of iVlacbeth. Un the contrary, 
 repressing the impulses of his better nature, he seeks reasons 
 in support of his inaction and his innocence; for, laboring 
 to persuade himself of all absence of danger and of the rash- 
 ness of the foul suspicions which are overmastering his mind, 
 he ceaselessly and earnestly attempts to banish them as 
 "cursed thoughts," and even prays to heaven against them. 
 Thus influenced more by the prophetic promise than by recti- 
 tude of conscience, he falls in the struggle and, ensnared by 
 the evil tempters, resolves to remain silent and inactive, just 
 as the "Weird Sisters had hoped and desired. That Banquo 
 had flnally fallen beneath the spell of evil spirits is further 
 manifested by rapid downward steps after the crime. When 
 Macdufl' and other nobles had discovered Duncan's murder 
 and stood aghast in horror and bewilderment, Banquo felt 
 impelled to exclaim in vehemence of spirit : 
 
 ' ' Let us meet 
 And question this most bloody piece of work, 
 To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: 
 In the great hand of God I stand, and thence 
 
BANQUO'S TEMPTATION AND FALL 183 
 
 Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight / 
 Of treasonous malice. ' ' | 
 
 These words inspired, per haps, _bj[_ the stings of con- 
 science and the Hpgirp fvF~prn(^1aimino; his ^own^innocence, 
 remained— h owe yer, vain -and irnitfegsjjg^^^^' fears and scru- 
 ples" concerning "treasonous malice" had not swayed him 
 to action before the "bloody piece of work," so neither do 
 they after, notwithstanding his solemn oath to heaven. 
 Moreover, a few hours later, in mind exalted by glowing 
 hopes, he voices his inmost secret thoughts in a heated solilo- 
 quy : Now that Macbeth is ' ' king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, ' ' why 
 should not he himself fondly cherish expectations based on 
 the same "verities"? 
 
 ' ' Thou liast it now : king, Cawdor, Glamis, all. 
 As the weird women promis'd, and, I fear, 
 Thou play'dst most foully for 't: yet it was said 
 It should not stand in thy posterity. 
 But that myself should be the root and father 
 Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
 As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine. 
 Why, by the verities on thee made good. 
 May they not be my oracles as well. 
 And set me up in hope ? But hush ! No more. ' ' 
 
 This soliloquy discloses Banquo's well-founded opinion 
 that Macbeth "played most foully for" the crown, and, 
 moreover, his own anxious readiness to profit by the usurper 's 
 crime. Furthermore, a few moments later he publicly pro- 
 fesses before the court his allegiance to the crowned criminal : 
 
 Banquo. "Let your highness 
 
 Command upon me ; to the which my duties 
 Are with a most indissoluble tie 
 Forever knit. ' ' 
 
 That "indissoluble tie" is the prophetic promise which, 
 having overmastered his thoughts and affections, had robbed 
 him of his former righteousness. His hopes are indissolubly 
 
184 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 bound up with Macbeth 's, and to further them he neither 
 hesitates to profit by the murder, nor to commit an act of 
 treason by recognizing the crowned but bloody interloper 
 "and openly espousing his cause. Thus Banquo, once an honest 
 and honorable man, was by degrees enmeshed in the snare 
 of the Weird Sisters and, guilty of silent connivance at trea- 
 son, fell a victim to the wiles and hypocrisy of the criminal 
 with whom he aligned himself against the dictates of 
 conscience. 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 AN UNWELCOME GUEST 
 
 Before us opens a great hall, wherein a banquet is pre- 
 pared in honor of the coronation. With a blare of trumpets, 
 Macbeth and lady, followed by a large retinue of lords and 
 ladies, enter, arrayed in aU the insignia of royalty. Inviting 
 all to seat themselves according to their rank, he tenders 
 them from first to last a hearty welcome. Lady Macbeth in 
 her wonted self-control assumes at once her place of state; 
 but her husband, in expectation of momentary news of 
 Banquo 's murder, labors with difficulty to conceal his mental 
 strain by moving restlessly about among his guests. Pro- 
 fessing to play "the humble host," he exhorts all to "be large 
 in mirth" and, as he proposes to drink a measure to "the 
 table round," he catches a glimpse of the First Murderer 
 standing at the door. The sight stays his purpose, and he 
 suddenly withdraws to dismiss the intruder before pledging 
 the measure to his guests. At the curtained door, all unseen 
 by the banqueters, he greets in excited words the glad tidings 
 of the mysterious visitor and, noting his bloody countenance, 
 exclaims nervously that it is better for him to be without 
 the banquet hall than for Banquo to be within as a guest. His 
 sense of joy is, however, blighted by the news of Fleance's 
 escape. He destroyed, his kingship would be clear as flawless 
 marble, and as firm as a basic rock; but Fleance alive, he 
 feels himself a prisoner enchained and tortured by relentless 
 doubts and fears. Though the grown serpent lies dead, his 
 
AN UNWELCOME GUEST 185 
 
 progeny, now young, will in time breed a venom that will 
 poison his otherwise assured hopes. Dismissing the murderer 
 till another meeting on the morrow, Macbeth hastens back 
 to his guests (11. 1-37). 
 
 On hastening back to the banqueters, Macbeth is chided 
 by his wife. His strange absence spoils the banquet; his 
 faUure to cheer and welcome the guests in person robs it of 
 its worth. As he begins to reply with the words, "Sweet 
 remembrancer," his evil tempters present the specter of 
 Banquo, which, invisble to the guests, sits in the thane's 
 vacant place. That the apparitionjs_jifiaignfid.. by the Poet 
 t o be real, and n ot imagmaryTis evident from the stage 
 direction and the fact that from Shakespeare '& time it was 
 tfie unv^^^g^custom for the specter to enter with gory head 
 
 affdTgazing at Macbeth, to indicate by gesture his gashed and 
 bleeding: throat. ■ 
 
 This long-honored custom was deviated from in the course 
 of time by an innovation which, though partly prompted by 
 the ambition of famous actors, was in the main due to the 
 growth and spread of materialistic tendencies. Ambitious 
 tragedians, in the presumption of extraordinary histrionic 
 powers, hoped in banishing the specter, to be able so to work 
 upon the imagination of the audience as to create the requi- 
 site illusion, as well as that terrible situation which the actual 
 appearance of the apparition would naturally produce. In 
 Shakespeare's day, when the Christian religion, which teaches 
 the existence of the preternatural and of spirits both good 
 and evil, was widespread among the masses, the advent of 
 ghosts upon the stage was considered a matter of course; 
 but at the close of the eighteenth century, when Materialism, 
 which denies the existence of the preternatural and of all 
 spiritual or immaterial beings, was beginning to exercise a 
 contrary influence, Kemble was the first to introduce the 
 innovation of making the specter imaginary instead of real. 
 That his example should have been followed by Edwin Booth 
 and by Irving in their later years is not surprising, when 
 we reflect that Materialism is more widespread in our times 
 and that the theater, too often degenerated and commercial- 
 
186 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 ized, is dominated by managers and promoters whose spirit, 
 as shown by their plays, is, to say the least, not impressively 
 Christian. Against Kemble's innovation, Edwin Forrest, 
 Edmund Kean, Edward Davenport, Barry SuUivan, George 
 Vanderhoff, and many others have protested. Emulating a 
 long line of tragedians, they have by a faithful and per- 
 sistent adherence to the ancient custom, declared against any 
 departure from Shakespeare's purpose and direction. 
 
 That theirs is the saner practice needs little argument. 
 Whatever be the idiosyncrasy of a manager, or the ambition 
 of a tragedian, neither should be allowed to mar the work 
 of a master dramatist. Christianity, moreover, still predom- 
 inates and should not be ignored in the representation of the 
 plays of an artist whose mind was strongly imbued with its 
 principles. The departure from the ancient custom is, 
 affirms Campbell,' a pernicious practice. No rational motive 
 can be adduced for depriving spectators of a sight of 
 Banquo's ghost. The company at the banquet, it is true, are 
 not supposed to see the apparition, nor do they yet know of 
 Banquo's murder; but the spectator knows it, and he is no 
 more a member of that company than he is of the scene 
 shifters. On the contrary, he is the Poet's invited guest, 
 invited to see Macbeth as he portrays him, and to see what 
 he sees, and to feel what he feels. The fact that the g host 
 is invisi ble to the banque te rs is surely no r_eason why~ Iie~ 
 should also be. invisible to t he audience: for there is a uni - 
 versal belief tliat _specters are privileged to make the mselves 
 visible"To''"tTiose onl v to whom they will. _ Moreover, as 
 Banquo's name is not mentioned, there is a pressing need 
 for the presence of his ghost ; without it, the audience is left 
 in doubt whether it is Duncan 's or Banquo 's spirit ; without 
 it, the spectator can not at once understand the meaning of 
 Avhat he sees and hears; without it, he can not comprehend 
 the full significance of Macbeth 's terrified and bewildered 
 words and action. Hence, Banquo's ghost, by Shakespeare's 
 own direction, was not the mental fiction of a guilty con- 
 science, but, like the spectral dagger, objective and the pre- 
 
 1. Life of Mrs. Slddons. 
 
SELP-BBTRAYAL 187 
 
 ternatural work of evil spirits, who, to betray Macbeth and 
 to confirm growing suspicions, present the specter of his 
 victim. Later, by other apparitions, tliey shall lure him on to 
 further crime. 
 
 SELF-BETRAYAL 
 
 Macbeth 's restlessness and manifest excitement when 
 again in the midst of his guests, prompt Lennox to urge him 
 to take his appointed seat at tlie banquet. A sense of guilt, 
 however, together with a desire to conceal his latest crime, 
 masters his thoughts and impels him to hide his emotions 
 behind hypocritical utterances. While professing to regref" 
 the absence of-his most honored guest, he prefers to ascribe it 
 to unkindness rather than to some mischance or accident. 
 The iro ny o f his words is heightened to the full by the actiial' 
 _pre sence of~5an auo^specte£.. yet unobserved by Macbeth. 
 ■ After a second pres^ng invitation, he turns to take his seat, 
 but is amazed to find it filled. He gazes wildly about to the 
 surprise of all, who see but an empty chair. Recognizing at 
 a second glance the bloody specter, he is seized with sudden 
 horror, and recoils in terror, exclaiming the while, in his role 
 of hypocrisy, "Which of you have done this?-" Though a 
 master of dissimulation, he, nevertheless, breaks down under 
 the strain of the unexpected and terrible situation. 
 
 As Shakespeare wrote his tragedies for action, it is dif- 
 ficult in the mere reading to appreciate the supreme horror 
 under which Macbeth struggles at the sight of Banquo's 
 apparition in that hall, imperfectly illuminated by the fitful 
 flare of torches. If he had thought himself, at length, secure 
 upon the throne, the accusing specter of his bleeding victim 
 now undeceives him and overwhelms him with astonishment 
 and terror. He could reason away the air-drawn dagger, 
 but in the agitation and terror which unman him, he feels 
 enthralled by the uncontrolled horror of the culprit who 
 faces unexpectedly the actual ghost of the man he had 
 secretly murdered. Blanched and trembling from fear, and 
 assuming that all like himself see the ghost, he points at 
 the dreadful specter, as in a low broken voice he protests his 
 
188 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 innocence. "Thou canst not say I did it: never shake thy 
 gory locks at me." His astounding words and action throw 
 the whole assembly in disorder ; and aU rise in dismay, as Ross 
 offers illness as the cause of Macbeth 's surprising conduct. 
 
 Lady Macbeth sat in silence through the scene, intently 
 observing her husband's mental agitation. She can not see 
 the specter, and ignorant of Banquo's murder, she naturally 
 assumes that the invisible object which Macbeth addresses 
 is Duncan's ghost. No less dismayed than the nobles at her 
 husband's wild disorder, she rises hastily from her stately 
 seat, and anxious to allay suspicion, mingles among the 
 guests, calming them, and insisting that they continue the 
 banquet regardless of her husband, whose affliction is only 
 the result of a momentary fit. From the guests, she turns to* 
 her husband and in stippressed anguish, lest he further 
 betray his guilt, she draws him aside and struggles to encour- 
 age and sustain him. To break the spell of appalling terrors 
 in which an overwrought imagination holds him she seeks, 
 as on former occasions, to steel his spirits by her own. 
 Approaching and taking him by the hand, she appeals to him 
 in a suppressed contemptuous voice, "Are you a man?" 
 Her own overmastering influence has, however, waned, and 
 I^r challenge of his valorous manhood is met only with 
 MaKEthZS- aSii uasion of dread and hor ror. 
 
 Her words prove ineffectual. i5'uL L'A&y Macbeth, though 
 highly irritated, retains her characteristic self-control and, 
 in the full mastery of her faculties, continues the battle to 
 maintain appearances, both in her own and her husband's 
 regard. Now changing tactics and seeking by stinging words 
 of ridicule and contempt to shame him into self-command, 
 she insists in angry but suppressed voice that his wild words 
 are absolute nonsense. His mad gaping in fear and horror 
 at an empty stool, and his sudden outbursts of passion at 
 imaginary fears that are mere "impostures" like the air- 
 drawn dagger, are a shame and disgrace to reason and to 
 manhood. 
 
 She finds her strenuous rebukes unavailing. Her old- 
 time resources would, no doubt, have been effectual had 
 
A SECOND VISIT 189 
 
 Macbeth 's frenzied action been the mere result of a disordered 
 imagination; but so convinced is he of the reality of the 
 specter, of the actual presence of the accusing ghost of his 
 murdered victim, that her efforts to calm him and to allay 
 his fears by charging his agitation to an excited fancy, only 
 rouse him the more to protest the reality of the ghost; and 
 turning to his wife, while pointing at the specter, he exclaims 
 in continued terror and excitement, "Prithee, see there! 
 look ! how say you 1 ' ' Can you deny its presence ? With the 
 disappearance of the ghost, ilacbeth, still excited, gives 
 utterance to damaging allusions. He emphasizes the strange- 
 ness of the fact that in olden times murder was the end of 
 men, but now, even though they bear "twenty mortal mur- 
 ders on their crowns," they return from the grave to 
 plague us. 
 
 Lady Macbeth, still laboring to pacify her husband, and 
 seeing the inutility of her former methods, resorts to a new 
 expedient. Hitherto, she had addressed him only aside and 
 in whispered accents, but now, assuming a calm and ordinary 
 tone of voice, she speaks aloud to him and the whole assembly. 
 Her words at once recall Macbeth to himself, and awaken him 
 to a sense of the dangerous situation. Catching their meaning, 
 he turns to the dazed and gaping nobles, and attempts to dis- 
 arm their suspicions by an artifice that had perhaps been 
 previously agreed upon ; namely, of assigning his distraction 
 and wild agitation to a strange but passing malady, well 
 known to his familiars (11. 37-88). 
 
 A SECOND VISIT 
 
 Alarmed at the confusion of his guests and their suspicious 
 whisperings, Macbeth hastens to explain away his fears and 
 terrors, and as a further aid he calls for wine, and in mock 
 mirth drinks to the common joy of all his guests. Oppressed, 
 however, by the sense of guilt, and eager to thwart suspicions, 
 he exhorts all to good cheer, regrets the absence of "his dear 
 friend Banquo, ' ' whose presence he sorely misses ; for to him, 
 as to all, he wishes every good and longs to drinjr his health. 
 In response, the nobles rise with goblets in hand to pledge 
 
190 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 their sentiments of loyalty and duty. Macbeth 's hypocritical 
 wish is at once answered ; for his evil tempters again present 
 Banquo's specter in response to his expressed longing for the 
 presence of his dear, absent friend. 
 
 Though the ghost that appears first in the present scene is, 
 beyond. doubt, that of Banquo, the second is thought by cer- 
 tain critics to be Duncan's. Such an opinion, says Collier, 
 "seems one of those conjectures in which original minds in- 
 dulge, rather than a criticism founded upon a correct inter- 
 pretation of the text." It is evident that Macbeth, solely 
 preoccupied with Banquo 's murder, only thinks and speaks of 
 him, and hence, it is dramatically proper that, when in a 
 spirit of bravado he seeks to ward off suspicion by compli- 
 menting his dear, absent friend and bj' anxiously desiring his 
 presence, the ghost should reappear in response to his earnest 
 wish. Moreover, his address to the ghost, "Dare me to the 
 desex-t with thy sword," while inappropriate to the meek and 
 venerable Duncan, is proper to the ghost of a fellow-soldier. 
 Furthermore, since Shakespeare's stage directions were for 
 the guidance of the actors, it is clear that when he wrote, 
 ' ' reenter the ghost, ' ' he meant the ghost of Banquo. Had he 
 intended the specter of the murdered king to enter, he would 
 have so stated ; since Duncan 's form and. not Banquo 's was 
 then to be presented. All doubt on the subject seems banished 
 by Dr. Porman, who, as an eye-witness of the tragedy as 
 enacted in Shakespeare's day, in his own theater, and under 
 his personal direction, has left the following description in his 
 Diary: "Being at supper with his noble men, whom he had 
 bid to a feast, to which also Banquo should have come, he 
 began to speak of Noble Banquo, and to wish that lie were 
 there. And as he thus did, standing iip to drink a carouse 
 to him, the ghost of Banquo came and sat down in his chair 
 behind him. And he, turning about to sit down again, saw 
 the ghost of Banquo, which fronted him so that he fell into a 
 great passion of fear and fury." 
 
 In the fitful glare of the torches, Macbeth beholds the 
 ghastly eyes of the bleeding specter, staring fixedly and ter- 
 ribly upon him. Staggering back in surprise and dread from 
 
A SECOND VISIT 191 
 
 an almost personal contact, he quails more than ever, and, in 
 mind and senses overpowered, cr^.es out in guilty fear and 
 horror, "Avaunt! and quit my sight!" Let the grave cover 
 thee ! Thy form is lifeless ! thou hast no intellectual vision in 
 those eyes with which thou dost glare upon me ! The sensible 
 horror and mental terror, which overmaster him, are irre- 
 sistibly reflected upon his countenance, exposed by the tremor 
 of his body, and reechoed in his every quavering word. In 
 the meanwhile, Lady Macbeth, having returned to her royal 
 seat, was attempting in fearful misgivings to maintain her 
 composure. When, however, at the reappearance of the ghost, 
 Macbeth in a nev/ and greater agitation suddenly shrinks back 
 from an empty stool, and, pointing in affright and horror at 
 some invisible object, addresses it in appalling words of terror, 
 she is almost overcome with fear and anxiety. Observing in 
 dismay the disorder and troubled mien of the guests, she 
 overtaxes her strained energies as with artful smiles and arti- 
 ficial graciousness she seeks to distract attention from her 
 husband to herself. Though afflicted in soul and roused to 
 an ^er by his self-betraving ind iscreetness. she feels her mabir 
 it v to quiet his ovex wJloxigM. imaginatjonj_and, repressing^her 
 im patience, as well as herjaatural impulse to chastise him with 
 tier tongue, she turns her A\ ^hole attention to minimizing^the 
 coimpromlsing effect^ oJLhisjegQrdg-an.d. action upon the guests. 
 As a means, she assures them that his astounding condiretls 
 a "thing of custom," the consequence of "a strange infirm- 
 ity." Macbeth, however, still overawed and in tremulous 
 apprehension, is actually oblivious of all save the torturing 
 gaze of his victim. In excuse and palliation of the irresistible 
 horror and trepidation, which unman him, he appeals to his 
 well-tried valor and boasts his fearlessness to face the specter 
 under any other form, whether that of "the rugged Russian 
 bear," or the "armed rhinoceros," or "the Hyrcan tiger," 
 or if in trembling fear he fail to meet him returned to life 
 again, let men protest him a babyish girl. 
 
 His frenzied challenge, uttered, not in the full voice of 
 mad passion growing in climax of sound, but in trembling 
 tones that gradually melt away into whispered gutturals, 
 
^ 
 
 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 discloses his futile struggle to assert self-control while over- 
 come by fear and mental terror. His address, to the ghost, 
 nevertheless, closes with a final flash of courage. Summoning 
 all his physical and mental energies, he waves away the horrid 
 specter with wild repelling gesture, while exclaiming in height- 
 ened tragic tones, ' ' Hence, horrible shadow ! Unreal mockery, 
 hence ! " As the ghost vanishes, Macbeth in wild stare gazes 
 searchingly about the hall. Assured of its absence, he utters 
 a few long, heavy sighs of relief, and with outstretched arms 
 and painfully heaving chest, as one awaking from a horrid 
 nightmare, bewildered and surprised, he aspirates in troubled 
 and half-choking gasps, "Why, so: being gone, I am a man 
 again." 
 
 I Sufficiently recovered from fright and terror, he becomes 
 again sensible of the presence of the nobles, who had all 
 
 V-zisen in alarm at his new outbreak. Noting their painful 
 surprise, suspicious mien, and questioning stare, he motions 
 them with assuring tones to resume their seats at the banquet 
 board. 
 
 PANIC-STRICKEN 
 
 The guests, overawed and filled with wonder, immediately 
 obey his command. When in anxiety and dismay they 
 beheld him recoiling in fear and terror from an empty chair, 
 and addressing some unseen object in words proper only 
 to a disembodied spirit; when they heard him in affright 
 and terror defy that "horrible shadow,',' and even chal- 
 lenge it to come back to life and face him in mortal com- 
 bat, all, though facile courtiers, of loyal looks and cordial 
 manners, were overawed and perplexed, and in apprehension 
 gazed upon him overpowered by appalling dread and terror. 
 Conflicting were their various thoughts. In ignorance of 
 Banquo's murder, they naturally suspected that the appari- 
 tion, if real and not imaginary, was the ghost of Duncan, and, 
 in consequence, exchanged looks of anxiety and perplexing 
 doubts. All the while Lady Macbeth, despairing of waking 
 her husband from his horrid dream, trembled in agonizing 
 mind, and sat fearing the effect of his tragic words and 
 
PANIC-STRICKEN 193 
 
 action upon the astounded guests. As she sees suspicion/ 
 reflected on their faces, she yields to anger and, in smothered 
 terror. and domineering indignation, reproaches him in scorn- 
 ful tones for disrupting the banquet by such monstrous 
 disorder. 
 
 Macbeth, still dazed and puzzled, addresses his reply to all 
 the guests. Great is his amazement that the sight of the 
 bloody specter should affect them no more than a summer's 
 passing cloud. Imagining all to have seen the ghost, he can 
 not understand why, like himself, they should not quake with 
 terror and be blanched with fear. The puzzling fact leads 
 him to doubt his hitherto acknowledged natural bravery and 
 to fancy himself a coward, since on trial he is overcome by 
 those "horrid sights" on which they can gaze unmoved with 
 fearless fortitude. In the interim, Lady Macbeth, writhing 
 iu internal agony and casting ever and anon restless and 
 terrifying glances toward Macbeth, labored with exaggerated 
 courtesies to distract and entertain the guests. When, how^ 
 ever, his admissions led Ross, his closest adherent, to question 
 him, she rushes from the dais in alarm, lest under question 
 he make other damaging confessions. "Waving and, in fact,-* 
 thrusting Macbeth aside, she confronts the assembly and, in 
 voice almost choked with fear and anxiety, reproves the 
 curiosity of the nobles, and forbids further questions; they 
 will only enrage him and bring a return of his malady. Wliile'i 
 Macbeth, depressed in spirits, stands speechless, lost in j 
 thoughts of Banquo's ghost, of his guilt, and of the public i 
 exhibition of his recent terror. Lady Macbeth, panic-stricken,/ 
 bids the guests good night and, urging the^"r hasty departiii-ej 
 almost drives them away in disorder and dismay (11. 89-121). 
 
 The situation in which , after t he hurried and brusque 
 dism^'ssal of"tHe~nobles, the" King and - WjAieMT^irffiS^ummk 
 of t heir ambH' on ard guiltv triumph, are lefF aT onFTri secret ^ 
 wih 0Y£r.pfuci5g_ misery. IS- mrl'pp(T^pT."p_iTl''n'r'ng. terriMej 
 and pathetic — a scene per haps unsurpassed in trage dy. Lady 
 Macbeth was capable ot immense exertion whiie^tfre crisis 
 lasted. Her attempts to break her husband's grm spells of 
 horror displayed her characteristic resolution, self-possession, 
 
194 A GEEAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 domineering disposition, and richness of resources ; but when, 
 instantly the guests are gone, we expect to hear her chide 
 Macbeth in old-time fashion, she sinks exhausted in a sudden 
 reaction and, dispirited, utters no taunting or reproachful 
 words of anger. The sight of her husband, utterly crushed 
 under mental and physical sufferings, only augments her own 
 silent emotions of misery and remorse; and, though well 
 aware of the real cause of Macduff's absence, she dares not 
 even hint it. Formerly, in strength of will she could ignore 
 and even scoff at fearful consequences, and rail at her hus- 
 band 's horrible imaginings ; but, now broken in spirit, she is 
 no longer the stern, dominating, self-wiUed woman, the harpy 
 that, taunting as cowardice her husband's rational fears of 
 foreseen consequences, urged him on to bloody deeds of 
 violence. Gone is her controlling influence, and in a sense 
 ^ of helplessness, she can only bid him forget his fears in sleep 
 — "the balm of hurt minds." The irony of her words shall 
 be clear when she appears again, only a restless wreck, storm- 
 tossed by evil memories that make her own sleep a torturing 
 mockery. 
 
 Macbeth, on the contrary, is stirred bv growing fears to 
 resolution and to actio n. Still haunted in imagination by 
 Banquo's ghost, he is disturbed by the fearful thought that 
 "it will have blood." "Whosoever sheds man's blood, his 
 blood shall be shed : for man was made to the image of God. ' ' ^ 
 Agitated by dread of detection, he ruminates in fevered mind 
 upon the universally accepted truth that, notwithstanding 
 most artful schemes of concealment, "murder will out"; in 
 consequence he fears the unmasking of his secret guilt by 
 some strange or unexpected means. In confirmation of his 
 fears he alludes to stones which, covering a corpse, preternat- 
 urally moved away, and exposed a secret murder; men 
 moreover, changed into trees, were known to speak and 
 disclose their murderers ; ° unknown or invisible connections 
 between effects and their cause, have by divinations been made 
 so clear as to expose unsuspecting criminals; and jackdaws 
 
 1. Gen. 9 :6. 
 
 2. A reference, perhaps, to Polydorus in Virgil's Aeneid III, 22. The 
 same idea Is found in Dante s Inferno, Canto XIII. 
 
THE FIRST STEP 195 
 
 have by their chatterings revealed the most "secreted" mur- 
 derer. Fr om anxious fears his thoug hts tui'n to suspiciaa_of 
 Macdufl. His refusal to attend the coronal festivities was 
 tantamount to a public denial of allegiance to himself. .In 
 his fears he finds on e solace in the Jact that he has pjaced _a_ 
 trusted spy in the household „of . every tIiaSk-_ Guilty con- 
 science, engenHering suspicion and mistrust of his fellow-men, 
 impelled him to resort to treachery, as well as to deeds of 
 blood. 
 
 THE FIRST STEP 
 
 The murder of Banquo was the first step in Macbeth 's 
 downward course. Had he been satisfied with the crown after 
 Duncan's murder, all might have been well with him. The 
 peaceful possession of the crown was not, however, the prime 
 object of the Weird Sisters' plot. As the visible embodiment 
 of evil spirits, their main purpose was to lead him voluntarily 
 to moral ruin. Hence, h avinof roused his mas ter-pass ion of 
 ambition, and by craftv predicti flns induced him to^^ejze the 
 crown by one murder, they next^lead luBi to hope ^hat by 
 a n nt h PT ""~h p~ pniy|rl "'h n1 d "it, .jn-lsecuritv ■ The sccond murder 
 done,"ftey further proceed to shatter his dream by presenting 
 Banquo 's specter, and withdrawing it only after he has suf- 
 ficiently betrayed himself and confirmed suspicions of his 
 guilt. The vanished specter left him overpowered with fear 
 and terror, and agitated by a sense of new dangers and 
 difSeulties. The fact that the thanes, hurrying forth from the 
 banquet, had given to winged winds the rumor that he was 
 haunted by Duncan 's ghost ; the fact that Macduff and other 
 nobles had deserted him, and were likely to lead an armed 
 force in rebellion against him, filled him with anxieties and 
 fears. While in this trepidation of mind, he accepts the 
 suggestion of his evil tempters to rid himself of fears and 
 dangers, regardless of every sentiment of pity and remorse, 
 and for this end to seek their further giiidance. Having for 
 the coveted crown, given his eternal jewel to the common 
 enemy of man, he had voluntarily surrendered himself to the 
 power of his demon-tempters; and, now a willing captive, 
 
196 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 blind to their nefarious wiles and evil purposes, and trusting 
 in their preternatural foresight and guidance, he finds their 
 suggestion most acceptable and reassuring. 
 
 Certain conclusions have been reached by psychological 
 moralists, which are based on long experience and observation. 
 In tempting man, the demon adapts himself to each one's 
 peculiarity of character, to favorite inclinations or passions, 
 and clothes himself, as it were, in our very selves. In those 
 who are making progress in virtue, good and evil spirits act 
 in different ways. The good angel enters into good hearts 
 gently and sweetly, without violence or noise, like drops of 
 water entering a sponge; whereas, the evil spirit enters 
 roughly aud violently with a kind of noise, like drops of rain 
 that fall pattering upon a rock. But the very contrary hap- 
 pens in those who are going from good to bad or from bad 
 to worse: and the reason of this difference lies in the very 
 disposition of the soul which harmonizes either with the good 
 or bad angel. If either spirit finds the soul discordant, he 
 meets with resistance, and has to force an entrance; but if 
 he find the soul accordant, he enters quietly, as into his own 
 house. Why should a spirit that is master and at home in 
 the soul enter with violence ? No one knocks at his own open 
 door. 
 
 To the grievous sinner, the demon usually presents allure- 
 ments of the ruling passion, and, if the culprit be resolved 
 to go on from evil to evil, he encourages him by presenting 
 temporal enjoyments in the hope of keeping and confirming 
 him in his habitual sinful disposition. If the sinner desires 
 to turn from evil, the malignant spirit strives to retard him 
 by suggesting feelings of sadness and molestation, by'rousing 
 fears of difficulties and impediments, by harassing and per- 
 plexing with sophistical reasonings, and by darkening and 
 disquieting the mind in order to move the sinner to mistrust 
 his ability to change for the better, or even to drive him in 
 despondency to the verge of despair and distrust of God's 
 mercy.^ These wiles of the evil spirit are all remarkably 
 
 ]. Cf. Spiritual Exercises by St. Ignatius Loyola; Discernment of Spirits, 
 First Treatise. 
 
THE FIRST STEP 197 
 
 exemplified iu the action of Macbeth. His. own affinity for 
 evil had establ ished a -»utSSijreMjonshi£^jDet^^ himseH 
 and these same powers of evil. They recognize it, andr~come 
 SCogo at will, as a master entering his own house. Their 
 relationship is in turn accepted by Macbeth ; he sees in them, 
 preternatural agents of his fate, who, by their superhuman 
 knowledge and power, shall aid him to retain in -peace that 
 which they had so truthfully promised him. On the morrow 
 he will consult them, and learn the best ways and means to 
 battle against his fears and dangers. ' He is determined to 
 know the worst before him, and to meet it with the worst or 
 most bloody means. Having sacr ificed his eternal salY_atioij 
 for the crown, tT;i,e fruitinn. a E Tiis"am hitiou is the sole good, 
 left him in the pr esent or in aftf^r life. _ .Whv. then, in its 
 dFtense shouldhe regard sentiments of pity or remorse ? For 
 the peaceful possession of his one sole good, "all causes shall 
 give way," and if need be, his hand shall be against every 
 man. The voice of conscience shall be ignored or stifled. 
 Too repellent is the thought of repentance, of public confes- 
 sion of his horrid crimes, and of restoring the crown to the 
 rightful heir. Having already waded so far in blood, to 
 return is more difficult than to move forward against the one 
 enemy whom he fears in the brave but rebellious Macduff. 
 Like the murderous Richard III., he feels that one sin impels 
 him on to another : 
 
 "I am in 
 
 So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin." 
 
 Abandoned to the powers of evil and influenced by their foul 
 suggestions, he boasts of contemplated bloody deeds of such 
 a horrid nature that they must first be done before they may 
 be weighed or examined. Brooding over them might over- 
 power or paralyze his will; yet "young in deeds" of blood, 
 he fears the rebellion of conscience which, unhardened in 
 crime, is still susceptible of pangs of remorse (11. 122-144) . 
 
SCENE FIFTH 
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS CHABACTER 
 
 The present scene which, save for the first and last line, 
 consists wholly of Hecate's speech, is commonly considered 
 an interpolation. Clearly the work of an inferior artist, it 
 was inserted by another hand than Shakespeare's, and in all 
 probability by Middleton's. He was, it seems, after the 
 Poet's retirement from the stage, engaged by managers to 
 insert certain lyrical "passages, which would bring the play 
 into harmony with the growing melodramatic taste of the 
 times. The scene introduces, in the person of Hecate, a new 
 and wholly superfluous character, who takes no real part in 
 the action of the drama. Her long speech is, moreover, 
 couched in iambic metre, while Shakespeare's preternatural 
 beings regularly speak in trochaic measure. Furthermore, 
 the light lyrical element is strikingly, inharmonious with the 
 preceeding concept of those awful beings who meet Macbeth in 
 a storm of thunder and lightning on the lonely blasted heath 
 near Forres. One can hardly imagine them singing and 
 dancing in mirth like elves and fairies. Inconsistent again 
 with the tenor of the play, say certain critics, is Hecate's 
 fault-finding with what the witches have done, or with the 
 manner in which they have led on Macbeth to crime. She 
 herself surely could not have managed better. This no doubt 
 is verj' true. The criticism seems, however, to ignore Hecate's 
 motive for reproof. She herself, more malignant of nature, 
 certainly approves their evil work, and rejoices in their suc- 
 cess; but in jealousy she chides them because, animated by 
 an intense love of evil, she, their mistress and arch-contriver 
 of all harm, can not help regretting that she had no share in 
 their successful fiendish work. 
 
 Another discordant note is Hecate 's reference to love. The 
 Poet's character-sketch of the Weird Sisters excludes such 
 a passion as incongruous either on the part of those uncanny, 
 preternatural creatures, or of Macbeth. It is, however, com- 
 mon in Middleton's play, called The Witch, wherein gaining 
 the love of mortal men, is the main object of thought and 
 
 198 
 
TRADE AND TRAFFIC 199 
 
 purpose on the part of the witches/ In fine, the Weird Sis- 
 ters of Shakespeare differ essentially from the witches of 
 Middleton. The former are serious beings whose presence is 
 exclusive of all mirth. The latter are associated with ludi- 
 crous incidents and odd ceremonies, common to old hags of 
 popular superstition. The former, in hellish purpose, seek to 
 inflame human passions, and to entangle human souls in 
 moral evil; the latter, spiteful and revengeful, attempt to 
 injure the body only. The former, from the moment that they 
 first meet Macbeth, throw their fiendish spell about him, and 
 sway his destiny by means of a fascination from which he 
 too late awakens; the latter are creatures to whom a man or 
 woman, plotting some dire mischief, might resort for aid or 
 consultation. The witches of Middleton have names, and 
 Hecate, a son, a low buffoon ; those of Shakespeare are name- 
 less, and have neither children of their own, nor seem 
 descended from human ancestry ; but as foul anomalies with- 
 out human passions and human relations, they come in sudden 
 storms of lightning and thunder, and vanish as suddenly into 
 nothingness.^ Notwithstanding these exceptions, the main 
 import of Hecate is in perfect accord with that of the Weird 
 Sisters. 
 
 THE TRADE AND TRAFFIC 
 
 The scene opens with three witches greeting Hecate in 
 gloomj' darkness amid lurid flashes and crashing peals of 
 thunder. Hecate is an infernal deity of classic myth and 
 the queen of every form of diablerie. The murky storm is 
 a fit external setting to the witches' dark and fiendish plot. 
 Hecate's first words are a complaint that her wicked sisters 
 have dared without her aid 
 
 "To trade and traffic with Macbeth 
 In riddles and affairs of death." 
 
 "These words," says a critic, "are absurdly out of keeping 
 with the context. They seem to imply a bargain between 
 
 1. Cf. Kolfe's Macbetti, p. 290, and Chambers', p. 164. 
 
 2. Cf. Lamb's Dramatic Poets in loco apud Variorum Shakespeare. 
 
200 A GEEAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Macbeth and the witches, but there has been no mention of 
 such. What were the gains in which they were to share? 
 Macbeth has offered the witches no bribe, nor have they 
 intimated that they desire or expect one." The objection 
 indicates an ignoring of the fundamental notion upon which 
 the tragedy is constriicted, and that notion is the temptation 
 of Macbeth, in which, by means of his ruling, or master- 
 passion, evil spirits visibly embodied in the Weird Sisters, 
 induce him to forfeit eternal happiness for the sake of the 
 crown. True, there is no formal or explicit compact. 
 Shakespeare did not deem one necessary; since, from his 
 manifest portrayal of reciprc3al interaction, his audience 
 would readily understand how the Weird Sisters traded and 
 trafficked in riddles with Macbeth in the expectation that, by 
 hold-ng out the crown to him, he would voluntarily seize it 
 at the price of his soul's damnation. Instances of compacts, 
 often explicit, were in the form of popular legends current 
 among all peoples of Europe in the Poet's day. An example, 
 the most widely known, was the story of Dr. Paustus, which 
 Marlowe, a contemporary of Shakespeare, dramatized six 
 years before the appearance of Macbeth, and which Goethe 
 and Gounod have, perhaps, immortalized in modified form.^ 
 Such stories, so popular and widely spread, indicate not only 
 a common belief in their possibility, but also the acceptance 
 
 1. "Dr. Faustus, a celebrated necromancer, flourished Jn the sixteenth 
 century, ilis fti-st printed biograpny appeared in 15«7 at Frankfort. By 
 meaiis of tlie ItiacK Art, ne conjured up the devil, and wltu ulm made a 
 contract accordii.g to wnicn featau was to grant him all his desires for full 
 tweuty-four years, after which the soul of Faustus was to be delivered to 
 eteri.al damnation, batan assigned him an attendant evil spirit named 
 Mep.iistopueles, a devil who 'lites to live among men.* Faustus revelled to 
 satiety in all manner of enjoyments till after midnight of the twenty-fourth 
 year, when an unearthly noise was heard from I'austus' room, the howling of 
 a storm which shook tne house to its foundation, demoniacal laughter, cries 
 of pain and anguish, a piercing, heart-rending call for help, followed by tue 
 stillness of deatl . Next morning they found Faustus' room empty, but on the 
 floor and walls, evidence of a violent struggle, pools of blood and shattered 
 brains ; the corpse, mangled in a horrible manner, was found upon a dung- 
 hill." 
 
 Some have doubted whether such an individual as Faustus ever existed; 
 but it is now generally believed that there \\as a basis of fact upon which 
 tradition has constructed the legend. His existence has, however, been as- 
 serted in the most direct manner by writers who profess to have conversed 
 with him. Philip Melancthon — the man of all the "Reformers" whose word 
 in regard to a matter of fact would most readily be trusted^says that he 
 had himself conversed with Dr. JFaustus. Conrad of Gesner (1561) Is equally 
 positive. Cf. Peter^s Die Litteratur der Faustsage. Also the International 
 and the American Cyclopaedia. 
 
TEADE AND TRAFFIC 201 
 
 of Christian truths of divine revelation, which gives them the 
 color of probability, and this was all-suf6cient for Shakespeare 
 and his audience. From the context, it is manifest that 
 Macbeth was well aware of the evil nature of the "Weird 
 Sisters, as well as of their wicked purpose; that, after they 
 had fanned the fires of his ambition, he avowed his readiness 
 "upon this bank and shoal of time" to barter his eternal 
 weal for the throne ; and that later, when the crown adorned 
 his brow, he complained in bitterness that he had gained it 
 at the price of his soul's damnation. Therefore, it is clear 
 that the witches' 
 
 "Trade and traffic with Macbeth 7 
 In riddles and ailairs of death^ 
 
 resulted in a gain for both sides : Macbeth gained the crown 
 in this temporal life, and evil spirits, in the form of the Weird 
 Sisters, gained his immortal soul in the eternal life to come. 
 
 As the witches in the present scene are sorceresses of th^e— 
 popular type, they have no knowledge of the future, but 
 must obtain it of their demon-masters. Hence, Middleton in 
 consistency pictures Hecate of the infernal regions as inform- 
 ing them of Macbeth 's resolve to visit them on the morrow at 
 the pit of Acheron. His purpose is, by means of their diab- 
 leries, to learn his destiny from the evil spirits who had 
 accosted him on the heath at Forres. By her orders the three 
 witches are to meet her at the cavern in the morning, and in 
 the interval prepare potent charms, which by their "illusion" 
 shall draw him on to his ' ' confusion. ' ' Acheron was originally 
 the name of a river in Greece, which, according to a popular 
 myth, was a passage-way to the lower world. The name was 
 ascribed by poets to a river in hell, and, in consequence, 
 became synonymous with hell, or the infernal regions. No 
 name was, therefore, more appropriate for the dark cavern 
 near the gloomy pool in the neighborhood of Macbeth 's castle. 
 It was a fitting rendezvous for these agents of hell who were 
 to meet there in diabolical plot to lure on the usurper to other 
 horrid deeds of blood. 
 
 Evidently, the tempting fiends look with concern upon the 
 
202 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 visit of Macbeth. Though already in their toils, he might, 
 now when greatly roused by new fears, anxieties, and feelings 
 of remorse, yet elude their evil grasp. They, therefore, deem 
 it necessary to deepen their spell upon him. They must buoy 
 up his spirits, win his confidence, and by equivocations delude 
 him with counterfeit pledges of security. With persons 
 addicted to evil, the action of good and bad spirits tends to 
 opposite effects. The good angel strives to stir up in the 
 sinner great remorse of conscience and disturbance of mind 
 in the hope of turning him from his sinful ways. How far 
 Macbeth 's mental disturbance and horror at the thought of 
 Duncan 's murder, his fears of fatal consequences, his scruples 
 of conscience, his reasonings in soliloquy against the crime, 
 and his long vacillation between duty and ambition, may have 
 resulted from the action of the good angel, is indeed, on 
 account of our complex nature, no easy matter to determine. 
 Even now, though a blood-stained criminal, and accounted 
 a deserter to the enemies of God, he is not wholly abandoned 
 to the power of his evil tempters; in this life God's grace is 
 never wanting, and His mercy always leaves the door open 
 to the returning repentant sinner. Macbeth 's evil angels have 
 reason, therefore, to fear that his remorse of conscience, now 
 heightened by the haunting ghost of Banquo, his dread of 
 detection and just retribution, and the threatened rebellion 
 of powerful nobles, which so sorely distract his mind, may 
 frighten him from the course of crime upon which they have 
 determined to urge him on, even, unto final despair. They 
 must, therefore, by opposing action, thwart any probable 
 effect of the good angel. Hence, resorting to accustomed 
 wiles,^ they inspire his resolve to visit them in his troubles. 
 In that fatal interview, they shall instil in him a firm belief 
 and confidence in their prophetic spirit and preternatural 
 powers, and engender a false feeling of security in a promised 
 peaceful enjoyment of the crown. Thus may they hope to 
 retain their grasp upon him, confirm him in evil, and surely 
 lead him on to final destruction. 
 
 Such is the evil purpose of which Hecate boasts to the 
 
 1. Cf. Clare's Science o( Spiritual Life, Discernment of Spirits, Rule 1. 
 
DISCLOSURES 203 
 
 witches. By their diabolical arts, they are on the morrow to 
 conjure up before Macbeth 's astonished gaze false apparitions, 
 counterfeit souls of the dead, whose equivocal predictions 
 shall inspiie him with an assurance of safety. In consequence, 
 he shall blindly spurn the term of allotted life, defy death, 
 and live on fearlessly in hopes that are in contradiction to the 
 dictates of human prudence and divine revelation. Hecate 
 bases her certainty of success upon the truth well known and 
 attested by experience, that "security is mortals' chief est 
 enemy. "^ No weapon of the tempting spirits of hell has 
 proved more powerful against man 's salvation than the sense- 
 less security with which they inspire him amid the distractions 
 and enjoyments of a sinful life. The scene closes with a 
 song which is found in The Witch of Middleton (11. 1-37).^ 
 
 SCENE SIXTH 
 
 DISCLOSURES 
 
 Though in modern representation, this, the last scene of 
 the Third Act, is usually omitted for the sake of brevity, it 
 is, nevertheless, of no small importance. Its purpose is to 
 expose certain circumstances of which the audience should 
 be apprised before passing on to the Fourth Act. It resembles 
 in import and in action the last scene of the Second Act: 
 both are couched in the form of simple dialogue, and both 
 have the same purpose of enlightening the audience upon the 
 outer world's opinion of Macbeth. They forcibly recall the 
 Chorus of the old Grecian drama. In pauses which usually 
 occurred between acts, the Chorus sang or recited verses in 
 reference to the subject presented, often hinting in prophetic 
 words of the catastrophe to follow, which, while preparing 
 the audience for coming events, also increased the impression 
 already produced. Similar in the present scene is the role 
 assigned to Lennox and another lord, probably Angus or Ross. 
 If the audience has hitherto been limited to happenings 
 
 1. Discernment of Spirits, in loco citato. 
 
 2. The same song of tlie witches is found with some modifications in the 
 D'Avenant Quarto of Mac'beth. 
 
204 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 within Macbeth 's court, the two lords in dialogue now dis- 
 close suspicions which are prevalent in the outer world, and 
 which connect the murder of Duncan, of the grooms, and of 
 Banquo, with the usurper's accession to the throne. Further- 
 more, possessed of secret information, they expose certain 
 events concerning which the Poet had not yet illumined his 
 audience, and hint at the avenging forces which, at home and 
 abroad, are gathering against the ' ' tyrant. ' ' 
 
 Lennox in a conversation previously begun, affirms that 
 their like thoughts confirm like suspicions. His words breathe 
 a deep-felt irony. Did not Fleanee kill his father ; since, like 
 the sons of Duncan, he too has fled? But who can think the 
 monstrous thought that Malcolm and Donalbain slew their 
 gracious father? How the "damned" murder overpowered 
 Macbeth with grief? Lennox had witnessed the slaying of 
 the grooms, and notes the thane of Cawdor's wisdom in 
 silencing their tongues forever, lest they should confess their 
 innocence. So far, the usurper has done "all things well," 
 and had he Duncan's sons and Fleanee in his power, he 
 would surely^ach them what it is to kill a father. Ceasing 
 his ironical words, he now speaks in low confidential tones 
 of Macduff's living in disgrace, because of outspoken, unre- 
 strained words, and refusal to honor the festival of the 
 "tyrant's" coronation. 
 
 Lennox learns, in turn, that the rightful heir has fled to 
 the English court, where he has been received with all the 
 marks of princely dignity. Macduff too had fled to Edward, 
 ' ' the pious king, ' ' to seek the aid of Siward, Earl of Northum- 
 berland that, by their help and that of God above, he may 
 free their feasts and banquets from bloody knives, and effect 
 that, for faithful homage, men may bear honors without 
 servitude. Allusion is made, thinks Rowe, to the savage 
 custom anciently observed in the Highlands of sticking their 
 dirks into the table when they sat down to dine with a mixed 
 company. The same was the practice in our western wilds 
 when, owing to the unsettled condition of the social and moral 
 order, men sat down at table with weapons at hand beside 
 them. We further learn that Macbeth, in exasperation at 
 
DISCLOSURES 205 
 
 rumors from the English court, is also preparing for war. 
 In dramatic action, follows a. minute description of Macduff 's 
 uncivil answer to Macbeth 's messenger. As the former had 
 not received a formal invitation to the coronation, it is com- 
 monly supposed that the surly words were spoken later, when 
 questioned on his absence by Macbeth 's paid spy. 
 
 In approval of Macduff's wisdom and caution the scene 
 concludes with a prayer that God's holy angels may fly before 
 him, and stir the mind of the "pious king" to receive his 
 petition favorably, and send him back a messenger of hopeful 
 blessings to a country suffering under a hand accursed. Of 
 the present scene, Flathe ^ is perhaps the only critic to remark, 
 and wisely so, that Shakespeare's frequent mention of prayer, 
 of "the pious king," St. Edward the Confessor, of the help 
 of holy angels, and of God, is not without special purpose of 
 significance. Such mention is meant to remind us of man's 
 dependence upon a Higher Power, of an all-ruling Providence, 
 and of the irresistible moral force always present in the world, 
 ready to come forth victorious in proper time and place. 
 Prosperity too often turns men from God, adversity leads 
 them back to Him (11. 1-49). 
 
 1. F. G. Flathe ; Shakespeare in seiner Wirklichltelt. 
 
ACT FOURTH 
 SCENE FIRST 
 
 A QUESTION OF IDENTITY 
 
 The "Weird Sisters at their first appearance began the 
 temptation of Macbeth, and, in the present scene, continue by 
 false promises to lead him on in crime. The witches and their 
 horrid incantations, as all critics admit, are peculiarly 
 Shakespearean. Though they are commonly represented on 
 the public stage as identical with the Weird Sisters who 
 accosted Macbeth and Banquo on the blasted heath, com- 
 mentators are divided on the question, whether the Poet 
 intended them to be the same. It seems highly improbable that 
 so excellent an artist would without a sufficient and compelling 
 reason, debase those preternatural beings, the "Pates," or 
 Weird Sisters, to the low level of witches of the common 
 type. Such a degradation is uncalled for, since the action 
 requires nothing beyond the sorcery of popular belief. That 
 they are of a higher type, differing in nature, form, and 
 characteristics, from the witches of the present scene, is 
 maintained by Fleay, an eminent critic, and in support of 
 his position, he offers several proofs which may be readily 
 supplemented by others based on the text. 
 
 Shakespeare drew his materials from the Chronicles of 
 Holinshed, and therein, the Weird Sisters are said to "resem- 
 ble creatures of the elder world, goddesses of destiny, endowed 
 with the knowledge of prophecy." Dr. Forman, who wit- 
 nessed the enactment of Macbeth by Shakespeare's own 
 company, records them in his Diary as "women Fairies and 
 nymphs." They have no fixed abode, but mingle with the 
 wild elements of nature, and come in a sudden storm, gliding 
 in like ghosts from a thundercloud. Nameless, foul anomalies, 
 
 206 
 
A QUESTION OP IDENTITY 207 
 
 descended from no human ancesti-y, they "look not like the 
 inhabitants of earth"; and though seemingly corporeal, they 
 instantly melt into air. They resort to no magic rites or 
 incantations to discover the future, but personally gifted with 
 "more than human knowledge, they look into the seeds of 
 time and tell which grain will grow and which will not." 
 They mystify and affect Macbeth and Banquo with awe and 
 astonishment, and unsubmissive, refuse to obey the former's 
 repeated command. Thev are considered bv Macbeth as the 
 ' ' Fates." or mysterious, preternatural b eings of "more tham 
 mortal knnwipdg'p. ' - 
 
 Turning to the witches of the present scene, all is found 
 to the contrary. In Holinshed they are sorceresses or wizards, 
 clearly distinct from the Weird Sisters. They have a fixed 
 and known place, the pit of Acheron, where, like the Scriptural 
 witch of Endor, they practise in secret their sorceries in behalf 
 of clients, and thither Macbeth in troubled mind resorts like 
 Saul to learn his destiny. They have the common form of 
 the old hag witches of popular belief, like Middleton's, but 
 by the touch of a greater artist their ritual is much more dia- 
 bolical. Without prophetic knowledge themselves, they must 
 obtain it from their demon-masters, whom, either "of high 
 or low degree," they conjure up by hellish rites of incan- 
 tation. They do not overawe Macbeth, but though loathed 
 and scorned as "filthy hags, as secret, black, and midnight 
 hags," they are submissive to the "great king." In after 
 reference to the scene, Macbeth alludes only to the demons 
 whom the witches conjure up, first as the "spirits that know 
 all mortal consequences," and later as "fiends that lie like 
 truth." Further light is thrown upon the subject by 
 Middleton's interpolation. As a contemporary of the Poet, 
 he often saw the tragedy enacted, and later, when introducing 
 a new witch scene in the Third Act, he was careful as a 
 skilled dramatist to make it harmonize with Shakespeare's 
 work. But his witches are sorceresses of the common type, 
 and he identifies them with those of the present scene ; they 
 are to meet on the morrow at the pit of Acheron, where by 
 magic rites they shall conjure up evil spirits that shall deceive 
 
208 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Macbeth by delusive promises ; and this is precisely what the 
 witches do in the scene before us. 
 
 Whether they be considered identical with the Weird 
 Sisters, or merely the accredited agents of evil spirits, affects 
 in no manner the action of the drama ; in either case Macbeth 
 is deluded and driven on to destruction. Considering the fact, 
 however, as already noted, that witchcraft was prevalent in 
 Shakespeare's day, and that King James, as weU as his 
 parliament, firmly believed in its reality, and enacted criminal 
 laws of repression, what was more natural than that the 
 manager of the Gloie should utilize the popular craze? A 
 presentation of actual diablerie upon the stage would not 
 only keenly interest and entertain the Poet's audience, but 
 also be a further compliment to the sovereign in whose honor 
 he dramatized Macbeth. As a playwright, therefore, cater- 
 ing to the popular taste for the weird, for masks, and for 
 pageants, Shakespeare pictures the witches of common belief, 
 as conjuring up evil spirits and visions before the eyes of 
 Macbeth. Their magic rites he portrays in conformity with 
 practices, which from time immemorial have been observed 
 by all sorcerers in league with demons. His presentation, 
 however, is that of a master artist. His is a Satanic ritual, 
 which rising above the charms and incantations of the com- 
 mon witch, and compressed and intensified to the highest 
 degree of impressiveness, appears outlandish, repulsive, and 
 horrible. Full with the foul and malignant love for evil 
 that is characteristic of demons, it bears the unmistakable 
 stamp of a monstrous diabolism. 
 
 AN INSPIRED VISIT 
 
 The weird scene opens upon a deep and dark cavern. 
 Howling winds and roar of pealing thunder, indicative of an 
 approaching storm, fitly prefigure the moral storm which 
 these agents of Satan shall arouse in the soul of Macbeth. 
 Without the cavern, as sentinels, are stationed the "familiars" 
 of the witches to watch for the approach of the expected 
 royal visitor, "Familiars" were evil spirits that, under the 
 
AN INSPIRED VISIT 209 
 
 form of some animal, were assigned to attend or wait upon 
 witches. The "familiar" of the first witch is a black streaked 
 graymalkin. From its treacherous traits and nightly prowl- 
 ings, the cat has always been, even from pagan times, the 
 favorite agent of witches. It figures in direful prominence 
 in all records of demonology, and its impish wickedness is 
 told in stories common throughout Europe. The "familiar" 
 of the second witch is the urchin, or hedgehog, an animal, 
 ugly in appearance, solitary, nocturnal in habits, and weird 
 in its movements. "When the cry of the Harpy, the name of 
 the third witch's "familiar," gives warning of Macbeth 's 
 approach, the three witches in excitement gather at once 
 about a boiling caldron to brew the loathsome, fiendish charm 
 that shall add fresh fuel to the sin-inflamed soul of their 
 victim. Each in turn adds her share of horrible ingredients, 
 of which some have greater potency, because "digged in the 
 dark" or "in the moon's eclipse." A reference, no doubt, 
 to the love of darkness, which characterizes diabolical agents; 
 "they love darkness rather than light: for their works are 
 evil." ^ Concerning their fiendish incantations, Dr. Johnson 
 remarks: "On this great occasion which involved the fate of 
 a kirg, Shakespeare multiplies all the circumstances of horror. 
 The babe whose finger is used must be strangled at its birth ; 
 the grease must not only be human, but must have dropped 
 from the g'bbet of a murderer ; and even the sow whose blood 
 is used must have offended nature by devouring her own 
 farrow. These are touches of judgment and genius." As 
 soon as "the charm is firm and good," and cooled "with a 
 baboon's blood," Hecate enters upon the scene. The part 
 assigned her, many commentators agree, is clearly the work 
 of M'ddleton. The speech, which is marked by a change from 
 trochaic to iambic rhyming lines, is evidently inferior, and 
 does not well accord with the serious business of the scene. 
 She enters only after the witches have completed their Satanic 
 charms, and solely, it seems, for the purpose of introducing the 
 song, "Black Spirits," which is found entire in Middleton's 
 own drama. The Witch (11. 1-43). 
 
 1. St. John 3 :19. 
 
210 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Macbeth now feels that he has reached the supreme crisis 
 of his life. Amid the fears and dangers which beset him, he 
 ■turns in feverish mental agitation to the trusted guides who 
 had decreed him the crown. They, perhaps, will also aid 
 him to retain his hold upon it, against all opposition. Hence, 
 he resolves : 
 
 ... "I will to-morrow. 
 
 And betimes I will, to the weird sisters ; 
 
 More shall they speak : for now I am bent to know, 
 
 By the worst means, the worst." 
 
 But where shall he look for those preternatural beings, those 
 anomalies of nature, whose forms seemed so unlike human- 
 kind? In his quandary his thoughts turn to the witches, 
 whose rendezvous, he knows, is at the pit of Acheron. By 
 their sorceries they can surely put him in communication 
 with the "spirits that know all mortal consequences." 
 Thither he hastens in buoyant hope, determined "to know 
 by the worst means, the worst. ' ' Before he enters, ' ' the witches 
 scent their approaching prey and one, upturning her nostrUs 
 wide into the murky air," sagacious of her quarry, exclaims: 
 
 "By the pricking of my thumbs, 
 Something wicked this way comes: 
 Open, locks, whoever knocks ! ' ' 
 
 These significant words reveal the malignant spirit of these 
 horrid creatures. In league Avith demons, they feel a mag- 
 netic sensitiveness to wickedness, and a desire to open to 
 every one who bears a like affinity with themselves. His evil 
 tempters sought Macbeth first; but now grown obtuse of 
 conscience in the progress of his crimes, he eagerly seeks them 
 and their guidance. Macbeth 's course is vividly illustrated 
 by that of another monarch ; it runs parallel with that of Saul 
 of Israel. King Saul was a brave, daring, and resolute 
 captain; but in spite of great achievements, there was a pre- 
 sage of misfortune, which from the first hung over him, 
 gathered in storm and tempest, and at length overwhelmed 
 him. A fear of God, a reverence for His law, and a desire 
 
THE WITCHES' RENDEZVOUS 211 
 
 to obey Him is the duty of every man. Saul, however, seems 
 never to have had the belief of God in his heart; never to 
 have felt the abiding influence of religion; nor even to have 
 had any deep-seated religious principle at all. Hence he made 
 light of disobeying a positive command of God and, moreover, 
 heard with surprise the prophet's words of condemnation: 
 "It is like the sin of witchcraft to rebel, and like the crime 
 of idolatry to refuse to obey the Lord. As thou hast rejected 
 the word of the Lord, so has He rejected thee." Prom that 
 hour Saul was troubled by an evil spirit.^ In consequent 
 misfortunes, his natural virtues wore away, because not deep- 
 ened by religious principles, and he became proud, haughty, 
 gloomy, resentful, capricious, and criiel. Rejected by the Lord 
 and obsessed by evil spirits, Saul is sorely troubled at the 
 approaching hordes of Philistines, and in desperation seeks 
 to learn the issue of the battle from a professed sorceress, 
 the witch of Endor. At his command, she conjures up a 
 demon; but instead, and to the terror of the sorceress, the 
 soul of the Prophet Samuel appears by divine ordination to 
 declare God's wrath upon him. In the battle on the morrow 
 Saul was numbered among the slain. ( Of. Cardinal Newman, 
 Character Sketches of Saul, passim.) 
 
 THE WITCHES' RENDEZVOUS 
 
 As Macbeth enters the cavern, the sight of the horrid 
 hags, as well as revulsion of feeling at the necessity of con- 
 sulting such fiendish agents, impels him to address them in 
 contemptuous words of scorn. Conjuring them by virtue of 
 their diabolical sorcery to discover his fate, even though it 
 throw the order of nature into chaos, he expresses a readiness 
 to accept the worst, but determines that for his "own good 
 all causes shall give way." Having "in blood stepped in 
 so far" as to sacrifice for the throne all other interests of 
 time and eternity, he decides to wade further to retain it. In 
 an insurrection of mind and heart against the moral laws of 
 nature, he is buoyed up by the delusive hope of overbearing 
 
 1. 1 Kings 1.- :23 and 16:14. 
 
212 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 them by the force of his lawless savage will, and cares naught 
 if mankind cower and sicken at the sight of his deeds of 
 blood and destruction. 
 
 The witches intent upon impressing Macbeth with the 
 show of their preternatural powers, prefer him to hear the 
 oracles of his fate from the lips of their "masters" — evil 
 spirits, rather than from themselves. Hence, by new and 
 hideous incantations they invoke a demon, either of "high or 
 low degree," to appear visibly, and fittingly to perform the 
 task assigned him. His evil tempters, in furtherance of their 
 malign purpose, have now determined to overawe him by 
 exhibits of preternatural phenomena, which, because indica- 
 tive of their power and prescience, wiU impel him to accept 
 their equivocal predictions as absolutely truthful. Macbeth, 
 amazed and in dread, gazes upon the specter of an armed 
 head, which, amid reverberating sounds of rolling thunder, 
 rises before his astonished eyes. As soon as his haughty 
 words of command are halted, he catches the solemn sepulchral 
 tones of the ghostly warning to beware Macduff. He does not, 
 however, comprehend the real meaning hidden under the 
 symbol of the spectral armed head — his own — severed from 
 his body, and born to Malcolm by Macduff (11. 48-74) . 
 
 Macbeth, after expressing his appreciation of the caution 
 given against Macduff, feels impelled by curiosity to question 
 the disappearing specter for further information. His impe- 
 rious demand is, however, met hy the First "Witch's instant 
 warning that the spirit will not be commanded. Shakespeare 
 follows the popular belief that spirits, conjured up by incan- 
 tations, were reluctant to be questioned. The belief was 
 supported by several works on witchcraft current in his day. 
 Again, with the sound of thunder the second specter in the 
 form of a bloody child, appears before Macbeth. Mystified 
 and gazing in fear and wonder, he hears his attention chal- 
 lenged in emphatic tones. He is exhorted to boldness, resolu- 
 tion, and bloody deeds ; he may disregard and even scorn all 
 opposition ; for no son of man shall prevail against him. The 
 bloody child symbolizes Macduff, who, in his own words, was 
 "from his mother's womb untimely ripped." The second 
 
THE "WITCHES' RENDEZVOUS 213 
 
 specter is, as the demon informs him, more potent than the 
 first: Macduff is more powerful than Macbeth. The latter, 
 in ignorance of the import of the symbols, and of the true 
 force of the equivocal prediction, feels himself at once inspired 
 by new courage. Though he need no longer fear Macduff, 
 yet to make the bond of fate . irrevocable, he will slay him, 
 so that in "assurance double sure," he may give "false- 
 hearted fear" the lie, and "sleep in spite of thunder (11. 
 74-86). " 
 
 Macbeth 's words are suddenly cut short by the flash of 
 crashing thunder. While its rattling roar re-echoes through 
 the deep cavern, the demon presents the third apparition. 
 Its sight startles him more than before, and filling him with 
 mingled sentiments of surprise, fear, and bewilderment, 
 prompts him to face the witches, and in suspicion and excite- 
 ment to demand the meaning of the specter, the meaning of 
 the child crowned with the golden round, the symbol of 
 supreme power and majesty. His curiosity again reproved, 
 he intently listens to the demon's oracular prediction. It is 
 again equivocal : Macbeth shall be vanquished only when the 
 impossible occurs; only when the great woods of Birnam 
 hill shall come to Dunsinane against him. Hence, in assured 
 safety let him be proud, lion-hearted, and indifferent to rebels 
 and conspirators. The apparition symbolizes the royal 
 Malcolm, who with his soldiers on their march to Dunsinane 
 shall carry before them boughs hewn from the trees of 
 Birnam 's wooded hill. Animated by full faith in the oracle, 
 Macbeth feels inspired with fearless courage. The condition 
 imposed is an impossibility ; no mortal man can command the 
 trees of the great Birnam woods to unfix their earth-bound 
 roots and come in array against him. The thought of the 
 armed head, which cautioned him to beware Macduff, recurs 
 and, in a newly inspired fearlessness and valor, he defies his 
 rebellious efforts. Let him, and Malcolm, and the faithless 
 nobles conspire and gather warlike forces at home and abroad ; 
 theii" labors shall be futile till Birnam wood rise against him. 
 In his assurance of safety, he gloats upon the thought that 
 King Macbeth shall live his lease of life unharmed, and die. 
 
214 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 iu fiue, a natural death only because of the divine universal 
 law:^ "it is appointed unto all men once to die" (11. 86-100). 
 
 RESEMBLANCE AND CONTRAST 
 
 When at the close of their incantations, the witches had in 
 unison invoked a demon by the words : 
 
 ' ' Come, high or low 
 Thyself and office deftly show, ' ' 
 
 their prayer was instantly answered. The demon's present- 
 ment of specters and utterances of deceitful oracles, "deftly 
 show," not only the perverse nature of the demon addicted 
 to falsehood, but also his ' ' office, ' ' which is, by cunning fraud 
 and specious promises, to win the sinner's confidence, in 
 order to keep him more securely in evil ways, and even 
 immerse him deeper in the quagmire of sin. The whole scene 
 is an ingenious picture in illustration of some of the methods 
 employed by evil spirits in the temptation of mankind.. It 
 is in harmony with the teachings of divine revelation, as 
 recorded in Sacred Scripture. Though instances are multi- 
 plied throughout sacred and profane history, we pause on that 
 experienced by St. Ignatius Loyola in the cavern at Manresa ; 
 because his temptation there presents several striking con- 
 trasts and resemblances to that of Macbeth.^ Ambition 
 was his master-passion, and it inflamed an unquenchable 
 thirst for military glory and renown. When stretched 
 upon a bed of sickness, and yet spellbound by visions of 
 human glory, his soul was illumined by rays of divine grace, 
 whose effulgence enabled him to perceive the vanity of human 
 fame, its transient nature, and its emptiness. Before his mind 
 arose a new celestial vision, which caused him to transform, 
 ennoble, and supernaturalize his ambitious aspirations. He 
 
 1. Heb. 9 :27. 
 
 2. "Tlin single study of tbe young Hidalgo had been chivalrous romance ; 
 and his existence had been one gorgeous day-dream of princesses rescued and 
 Infldels subdued. He had chosen a Dulcinca, no countess, no duchess" — these 
 are his words — "but one of far higher station ; and he flattered himself with 
 the hope of laying at her feet the keys of Moorish castles and the jeweled 
 turbans of Asiatic kings"^Macaulay, Ranle'g History of the Popex. 
 
EESEMBLANCE AND CONTRAST 215 
 
 swore to serve henceforth no mortal king, a man like himself, 
 but to consecrate his life and energies to the nobler service 
 of the supreme and immortal King of glory. His heart aflame 
 with the desire to achieve great things for God's glory, he 
 now aspired, as a true spiritual knight, to do and to suffer, 
 in proof of his loyalty and love, all and more than any saint 
 had done.^ In preparation for the conflict he felt inspired 
 to repair to the near cavern of Manresa, where alone with 
 God he passed a year in vigils, prayer, fastings, and corporal 
 austerities. In his solitude he was not, however, left unmo- 
 lested by the common enemy of man. Satan, no doubt, in the 
 acumen of his superhuman mind, divined Loyola's capacity 
 for good as a valiant captain in the army of the Lord, and, 
 in consequence, assailed him uninterruptedly with terrible 
 trials and temptations. "Loyola's experience in this soli- 
 tude," says Francis Thompson, "was an epitome of the 
 psychology of the saints; and it smote him all the more 
 hardly and came home to him the more intimately, because 
 he was utterly without knowledge of the spiritual life, and 
 fought out his fight alone like the first Fathers of the 
 Desert. " = 
 
 Loyola's experience in the cave at Manresa is aptly 
 recalled by that of Macbeth in the pit of Acheron. That pit, 
 forbidding in its gloom and suggestive of the infernal regions, 
 was in the midst of a dreary blasted waste, while the deep, 
 dark cavern of Manresa with its entrance concealed by briars 
 and bushes of thick entanglement, was situated in a beautiful 
 valley, which on account of its admirable scenery, was known 
 as the vale of Paradise. Macbeth, as the Weird Sisters pre- 
 dicted, sought the witches' cave in furtherance of his evil 
 ambition ; Loyola sought the solitude of the cavern to 
 strengthen his resolve to reject worldh' ambition and to pre- 
 pare for entrance upon a nobler life. Both, for opposite 
 
 1. "He would still be a soldier — he would still be a knigbt-errant : but 
 the soldier and knight-errant of the spouse of Christ. He would smite the 
 Great Red Dragon. He would be champion of tlio Woman clothed with the 
 Sun. He would break the charm under which false prophets held t'le souls 
 of men in bondage. . . . Such was the celebrated Ignatius Loyola who 
 in the great Catholic reaction bore the same share which Luther bore in the 
 great Protestant movement." — Macaulay, ibidem. 
 
 2.- Life of St. Ignatius by Francis Thompson, p. 20. • 
 
216 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 reasons, attracted "spirits that tend on mortal thouglits, 
 murdering ministers that tend on nature's mischief." 
 Macbeth bent on evil is in harmony with them; but Loyola 
 bent on good is in hostility to them. Hence, these fallen 
 spirits that, from the perversity of a blasted nature, make 
 evil their good and good their evil, strive to confirm the one 
 in his murderous course, and to bar the other from entrance 
 upon a higher and nobler life. Both they tempt by the same, 
 common means of cunning, fraud, deceit, and falsehood. All 
 this the Poet, in the case of Macbeth, has clearly expressed 
 by visible and external forms in the persons of the Weird 
 Sisters. 
 
 The temptation of Loyola has, however, been recorded 
 by his biographers. The first attempt of the demon was to 
 thwart his high resolve by continuous whisperings: "You 
 are in the wrong place;. once more at court or in the army 
 your example would reform every one about you; heaven 
 called you, not to hide yourself in penitential solitude, but 
 to be a holy and illustrious knight; greater glory would 
 accrue to God and more sublime would be your virtue, if you 
 lived a saint in the midst of courts rather than a hidden 
 penitent; should you have more at heart your own sanctity 
 than God's glory and the salvation of many souls? Heaven, 
 surely, did not change your heart that you might bury your 
 talents in the gloom of a cavern, where by repulsive austeri- 
 ties you are bringing odium upon your sanctity. ' ' Failing in 
 his efforts, the demon changed tactics, and seconding Loyola's 
 extreme vigils ai:d penances, daily urged him on to greater 
 zecl. "When at length the Knight's constitution was broken, 
 and his natural strength gone, his evil tempter persistently 
 suggested that he was still young, and dare not think of suf- 
 fering for fifty years or more a penitential life so ruinous to 
 his health. This snare again proving futile, the "prince of 
 daikness" once more changed his method of temptation. Now 
 that Ignatius had by imprudent austerities, sapped his phys- 
 ical strength, ar.d in a severe fever lay at death's door, the 
 d:mon labored to inflame his mind with pride and presump- 
 tion. By an inward voice he whispered by day and by night : 
 
GOOD AND BAD SPIRITS 217 
 
 "Why should you reject death? Do you not die a saint ? In 
 your exalted degree of sanctity you should fear neither the 
 temptation of the devil nor the judgment of Almighty God. ' ' 
 To strengthen the temptation, the demon resorted to preter- 
 natural phantoms of illusion, which seemed so vivid and real- 
 istic that Ignatius could scarcely put them away. Before 
 his wondering eyes the dark and dismal cavern is transformed 
 into a beauteous scene, which seems suffused with the sheen 
 of heavenly glory. In senses enchanted and heart overflowing 
 with joy and happiness, Loyola gazes upon heaven opening 
 in vision before him. Around its open portals crowd bright 
 angels, who with beaming smiles extend toward him the 
 martyr's palm and the victor's crown, and invite him to enter 
 into the eternal bliss of the saints. Though the illusion was 
 discovered, Satan did not desist from his purpose. Pursuing 
 now another course of temptation, he labored for months in 
 a final attack to overcome the knight by torturing his con- 
 science on the rack of doubts and scruples-. His mind dark- 
 ened, perplexed, and tormented with harrowing thoughts and 
 fears; his heart withered, and his dejected spirit immersed 
 in sadness, even to the lowest depths of woe and desolation: 
 he felt himself, amid the violence of the grief that engulfed 
 him in the gloom and misery of hell, urged incessantly to 
 despair of salvation. Thus tortured in mind and body, he 
 heard by interior whisperings the tempter's ceaseless sugges- 
 tion of suicide, as the sole means of ending his intolerable 
 sufferings.^ 
 
 GOOD AND BAD SPIRITS 
 
 Ignatius' fidelity to his newly chosen King was amply 
 rewarded by heaven. From later reflection upon his own 
 experience at Manresa, he was enabled to pen certain rules 
 which might aid Christians in temptation to distinguish 
 between the activities of good and bad spirits. Of these rules, 
 two are especially pertinent to the present scene of the drama. 
 One states that the cause of consolation can proceed from an 
 evil as well as from a good spirit. Each aims, however, at 
 
 1. Cf. Life of St. Ignatius, Stewart Rose, C. IV ; Parsons, C. Ill ; BartoU, 
 C. III. 
 
218 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 a coutrary purpose ; the good spirit seeks to advance the soul 
 further in virtue, and the bad to seduce it to sin and damna- 
 tion. The other rule notes that the angel of darkness, aware 
 of the soul's desires and inclinations, will at first follow up 
 and encourage them with the intent of gradually drawing 
 about it the secret noose of his deceits and perverse intention. 
 These two wiles of Satan and his fallen angels are commonly 
 exemplified in modern Spiritism. "When we consider the 
 action of these spirits more closely," writes a French author, 
 "one discovers with no small surprise that they are Catholics 
 amongst Catholics, Protestants among Protestants, Jews 
 among Jews, and even Materialists among Materialists. In 
 Buda-Pesth they teach reincarnation; in England and 
 America they deny it ; to Swedenborg they confirm the ortho- 
 dox heaven and hell; to S taint on Moses they refine away the 
 doctrines of a distinctive Christianity. "^ In further confirma- 
 tion of the Ignatian rules is the testimony of another author, 
 himself long a Spiritist, and later a member of the Society 
 of Psychical Research. "There are," he says, "instances of 
 personally observed cases, in which the spirit after conveying 
 the most exalted teachings respecting human duties and 
 responsibilities, and after habitually introducing itself by 
 prayerful aspirations of the most elevating kind, and com- 
 pletely transforming the mental and moral life of the persons 
 concerned, was in the end discovered to be a masquerading 
 spirit, and on its OAvn confession keenly intent upon working 
 the moral and physical ruin of its victims. The ingenuity 
 displayed in attaining this end, the tricks and subtleties 
 resorted to in order to escape detection and to continue in 
 'possession,' were in one or two instances of a kind passing 
 all human comprehension and imagination."^ 
 
 Macbeth like Banquo was a Christian and, therefore, knew 
 that the "Weird Sisters were but the embodiment of malignant 
 spirits, whose purpose in dealing with man is to lead him to 
 vice and irreligion. He knew like Banquo that the "father 
 of lies, " " the devil, can speak truth " as a means to attain his 
 
 1. Anatole Bartlie apiid Tbe Daiigi r-> of Spiritism, p. 136. 
 
 2. .J. Godfrey Ra"upert ; Modern Spiritism, Second Edition, p. 1,59. 
 
GOOD AND BAD SPIRITS 219 
 
 evil end. He may not have known in particular the scriptural 
 command of Almighty God : ' ' Let there not be found any one 
 that consulteth spirits, for the Lord abhorreth all these 
 things. " ^ " The soul that goeth aside after magicians and 
 soothsayers, I will destroy out of the midst of its people."^ 
 He must, however, have known at least in a general way that 
 his religion debarred the practice of witchcraft, sorcery, and 
 dealings with evil spirits. Yet. contrHiv to tVip vnip o f<f onn. 
 scienc e, he welcomed the tpniptj^tinn of the Weird Sisters . 
 They knew that he had long nurtured in secret _the. .EIosj)ect 
 of royalty^^andjii a± it Jiad become the one su preme desire of 
 his heart. This passion they follow up, and encourage, and 
 iiTtEr guise of the Weird Sisters, fan into flame by flattering 
 predictions. When Macbeth finally strikes the blow that 
 wins the crown, he also murders his moral nature. By that 
 blow he forfeits heaven's favor. Henceforth, like King Saul 
 after sinning, he becomes obsessed by evil spirits. Their 
 purpose is not his peaceful enjoyment of roj^al honors, but 
 to entangle him irretrievably in their snares. Hence, they 
 pursue him further, harass him by fears and anxieties, and 
 haunt him by Banquo's specter, in order to drive him to dis- 
 traction in the hope that in mad desperation he will seek 
 their aid and guidance. They know that the danger of losing 
 the crown for which he has sacrificed all, both here and 
 hereafter, will drive him to resolve upon desperate means to 
 retain its possession ; that as a bloody criminal, abandoned by 
 God and mistrusting every man, he will look to them as his 
 only hope; that under pressure of distress and discourage- 
 ment, he will neither heed the Almighty's command against 
 consulting occult powers or evil spirits, nor regard the penalty 
 inflicted for a like offense upon Saul and King Ochozias.^ 
 Aware that by truthful predictions they had won his confi- 
 dence and belief in their preternatural powers and knowledge 
 
 1. Deut. 18 :11. 
 
 2. Lev. 20 :0. 
 
 .3. Ochozias, a king of Israel, sent to inquire of Beelzebub, the god of 
 .\ecarou, whether he should recoyer from his sickness. The prophet Elias met 
 the messengers and said to them : "Go and return to the king that sent you 
 and say to him ; thus saith the Lord, is it because t'^ere was no God in Israel 
 that thou sendest to Beelzebub? Therefore thou shalt not come down from 
 thy bed, but thou shalt surely die." — --i Kingsl. 
 
220 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 of the future, they, on the strength of that confidence, inspire 
 him to come and conjure them to reveal his fate. He wills 
 to know the worst that awaits him and to prepare against 
 it. They in turn, true to their perverse nature and malicious 
 "office," "deftly" strengthen his trust by artful promises 
 that assure him safe enjoyment of the fruit of his crime, and 
 immunity from a violent death and defeat in battle. His 
 confidence now strengthened anew, they inspire him to "be 
 bloody, bold and resolute," and to "laugh to scorn the power 
 of man." His absolute belief in their oracular promises 
 impels him blindly and boldly to enter upon a course which 
 shall not only verify their equivocal predictions, but also 
 accomplish inevitably his own physical and moral ruin. 
 
 DIABOLICAL SIGHTS 
 
 Though Macbeth 's distracting fears and anxieties yield to 
 buoyancy of spirits, when he is assured of his own personal 
 safety and security upon the throne, his mind is, nevertheless, 
 troubled by the jealous thought that the crown is, according 
 to the "Weird Sisters' prophecy, to pass in succession to 
 "Banquo's issue." His "heart throbs" at the hateful 
 thought and, in anxious curiosity, he questions the demon con- 
 cerning the fateful promise. His tempters, aware that the 
 unfolding of the truth will deeply wound his jealous heart, 
 and becloud the present sunshine of his spirits, counsel him 
 to "seek to know no more." But his imperious nature can 
 brook no denial and, heedless of the caution, he thunders forth 
 in angry disappointment a terrible curse against evasion. 
 The curse is scarcely uttered, when the caldron begins to 
 sink before his wondering eyes, and upon his ears resound 
 strange mysterious noises. In modern representation, these 
 noises are strident shrieks and clamors heard amid roars of 
 thunder — the clamor of fiends shrieking in anticipated 
 triumph over the lost soul of their victim, now hopelessly 
 ensnared. 
 
 While Macbeth stands amazed and perplexed at the sight 
 and sounds, the witches command the demon to grant his 
 wish. In compliance the evil spirit exhibits another proof 
 
DIABOLICAL SIGHTS 221 
 
 of diabolical power by causing to pass in single file before 
 him eight crowned, spectral kings, followed by Banqno's 
 ghost. As in surprise and dread he gazes upon the silent, 
 solemn shades, the witches point in gleeful mood at their 
 victim, whose eyeballs they have seared. The spectral kings 
 are commonly supposed to represent Robert II., Robert III., 
 and the six James's, and those in the mirror, James's succes- 
 sors. The "twofold balls," or globes are the two islands and 
 the "treble scepters," the kingdoms of England, Scotland and 
 Ireland, which in James I. were united in one kingdom. 
 
 The tragedy of Macbeth was written and enacted shortly 
 after the accession of James I., and that a marked compli- 
 ment to him was intended in the present passage is univer- 
 sally admitted. The compliment was, no doubt, prompted 
 by several causes. The narrow and selfish policy of 
 Elizabeth, says Lingard,^ had left the succession to the 
 crown in suspense and uncertainty. When, therefore, the 
 accession of the Scottish king was proclaimed, it was met 
 with national rejoicing by all parties, and especially by the 
 long-persecuted Catholics. Among the leaders of the party 
 that agitated for religious liberty was a nobleman, who, incar- 
 cerated by Elizabeth, was pining away a prisoner in the tower 
 awaiting execution. James, on arriving in the capital, invited 
 him to court, and paid him special honor. This nobleman 
 was none other than the Earl of Southampton, the Poet's 
 greatest patron, devoted friend, and benefactor. Hence, it 
 was but natural that while at Elizabeth's death, Shakespeare 
 alone of all contemporary poets failed to sing her praise, the 
 new monarch's manifest regard for his devoted friend and 
 patron restored his Muse's voice to sing in marked compli- 
 ment his appreciation of the favor. 
 
 The preternatural show of the spectral kings harrowed 
 Macbeth 's feelings, and roused him to alarm and apprehen- 
 sion. As one ghostly king after another passes before him, 
 his mental disturbance increases, and his trepidation finds 
 voice in more impassioned words. The first apparition seems 
 too like Banquo's fearful image he had lately seen. At the 
 
 1. History of England, Vol. VII, c. 1. Edinburgh Edition, 1902. 
 
222 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 .sight of its crown he feels his eyeballs burning, and with an 
 imperious gesture commands the abhorrent thing to depart. 
 The second specter, followed by a third, appears, each with 
 a "gold-bound brow," and with a marked sameness in the 
 color of the hair, from which he concludes a relationship 
 between them. In anger he turns to denounce the "filthy 
 hags," but, as the fourth ghostly king stalks before him, he 
 grows even more excited, and in panic questions whether 
 the royal "line will stretch out" to the end of time, or the 
 general day of judgment. "While he speaks, a sixth king 
 appears, followed by a seventh and an eighth, who holds a 
 mirror, in which Macbeth sees reflected many more, of whom 
 some bear a double globe and triple scepter. Dismayed by 
 the "horrid sight," fear and dread next seize him, as 
 Banquo's ghost appears, disfigured by telltale "mortal 
 gashes" and hair matted by coagulated blood. Pointing at 
 the line of kings in passing, and claiming them for his, 
 Banquo smiles upon the criminal who in mad folly attempted 
 to frustrate the decree of fate. 
 
 EXULTING MOCKEEY 
 
 The disappearance of the ghost leaves Macbeth a prey to 
 anguish of mind. Overpowered by fear and apprehension, 
 he turns in terrible anger to the witches, and demands 
 whether all that he has seen is true. They express surprise 
 at his amazement and alarm. Had they not, -yyhen promising 
 him the crown, also promised the same to "Banquo's issue"? 
 The mad riotous feelings which torture Macbeth 's soul at 
 this moment are difficult of description. Formerly, the mere 
 thought or suspicion that his crime paved the way for the 
 reign of "Banquo's issue" lashed him into such a fury 
 that he madly challenged Fate herself to enter the lists 
 against him. If it be that 
 
 ' ' For Banquo 's issue I have fil 'd my mind ; 
 For them the gracious Duncan I have murdered; 
 Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
 Only for them; and mine eternal jewel 
 
EXULTING MOCKERY 223 
 
 Given to the common enemy of man, 
 To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings ! 
 Eather than so, come, fate, into the list, 
 And champion me to the utterance ! ' ' 
 
 If such was the criminal's hoi'ror, anguish of mind, and' 
 remorse at the mere suspicion of his folly, how much more 
 intensely is he tortured in mind and heart, when now he 
 realizes that his horrible suspicion has become a certainty? 
 As he stands dazed, dumbfounded, and harassed by 56n- 
 flicting passions, the witches notice his revulsion of feelings, 
 and attempt to cheer up his crushed and afflicted spirits. 
 At their charm the air resounds with preternatural mvisic, 
 to which the three circle round in a grotesque dance, and 
 pointing in hellish glee to their victim, utter the sarcastic 
 words : 
 
 "That this great king may kindly say 
 Our duties did his welcome pay." 
 
 These words of exulting mockery reveal tlie diabolical spirit 
 of the witches and fitly close a preternatural scene, in which 
 his trusted mentors reward the presumption of their victim, 
 who in insolence had challenged them to declare his fate. 
 The words, moreover, express the relationship between evil 
 spirits and Macbeth. He first welcomed them — affinities of 
 evil — to his bosom, and they in turn maliciously repay his 
 welcome. Originating nothing, they had only harped on the 
 one desire of his heart and, by fanning the latent embers of 
 an unholy passion, had stimulated it into fiery action. In 
 this their last appearance, they confirm him in his bloody 
 course, by inspiring an unwavering faith in their equivocal 
 predictions. They know he will cling to them even to the 
 bitter, end, though one by one they prove a false reliance, 
 and he drops, in fine, into the abvss vawning to receive 
 him (11. 100-132). 
 
 Too agitated and engrossed by repulsive thoughts and 
 feelings, which were prompted by the terrible sight of 
 Banquo 's ghost and the spectral kings, Macbeth stood speech- 
 less and dazed, all regardless of the witches' brief dance. 
 
224 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 But the music suddenly ceasing, roused his distracted senses, 
 and hurriedly gazing about in nervous searching glances, he 
 discovers that the witches have departed. Surprised, per- 
 plexed, and angered, he invokes a curse upon the "pernicious 
 hour" that has afflicted him with information so repugnant. 
 The curse scarcely spoken, Lennox enters, but receives no 
 welcome. Macbeth 's mind is still preoccupied and troubled 
 by the sudden disappearance of the witches, or weyard 
 sisters.^ In anger he imprecates the vengeance of heaven 
 on "all those that trust them," and wishes that "the air 
 whereon they ride be infected." It was a popular belief that 
 witches in league with evil spirits were accustomed by their 
 aid to ride by night on the winds to distant poiiits of gather- 
 ing. This belief is embodied in a work on Demonology by 
 James I. (1616). Therein he speaks of witches as "Carried 
 by the force of the spirit which is their conductor, either 
 over earth or sea, swiftly to the place where they are to 
 meet." The same idea is found in Milton: 
 
 ' ' Nor uglier follow the night-hag, ivhen called 
 In secret, riding through the air ahe comes. ' ' 
 
 [Parad. Lost, II.] 
 
 The news that Macduff has fled to England further dis- 
 turbs him, and in soliloquy he muses upon the fact that the 
 timely flight of his arch-enemy has frustrated his "dread 
 exploit"; in consequence, he resolves that the deed shall 
 henceforth keep pace with his purpose. No longer "boasting 
 like a fool," he shall proceed at once to give the wife and 
 babes of Macduff "to the edge of the sword." His fearless 
 resolve to do such bloody work is grounded upon a fatuous 
 belief in the fiend's ironical promises, and this firm belief 
 begets an equally firm reliance — a reliance which is the very 
 means of driving him on to fulfill them in their real mean- 
 ing. In__2^_E£fi ^essness born of assured safetv. Tip crnpllv 
 
 1. Weyard (proDounoed wej'rd as In weight) Is found in the original 
 Folios, and there is no just reason, says Hunter, for supplanting it by weird, 
 the Hutlior having written weyard. Spalding sliows several instances of the 
 use of weyard sisters as applied to witches. Cf. Bhalsespeare's Variorum In 
 loco. 
 
LADY MACDUFF'S PLIGHT 225 
 
 devotes to needless slaughter the wife and -duldr-Pri ol,t^ip 
 manJJ^notjof ,M)jriaJi. bornyi^ and -thereby J^ousea to iiatcad-And 
 to ve ngeance the one ^man_jgainst whom he was cautioned, 
 the_o?ie man iat^d to.^destroy him. — — — . 
 
 His mind is still oppressed by persistent thoughts of the 
 diabolical sights, or visions that he had seen in the cavern, 
 and he attempts to banish them by the firm resolve to have 
 no further dealings with those infernal hags, and at once 
 turns his attention to the lords and messengers awaiting 
 him (11. 133-156). 
 
 SCENE SECOND 
 LADY MACDUFF'S PLIGHT 
 
 The following scene, which portrays the murder of 
 Macduff's wife and son, is usually omitted on our modern 
 stage, but with doubtful propriety. The Poet, it is clear, did 
 not deem a bare and brief mention in an after scene all-suf- 
 ficient to enable his audience to comprehend the full force 
 of Macduff's cry of agony on hearing of the massacre, and 
 of Lady Macbeth 's overpowering remorse of conscience, when, 
 in the sleep-walking scene, she whispers the crime in heart- 
 piercing words. The scene pictures the further evolution of 
 Macbeth 's tyrannous and bloody character, by exposing how 
 he has reached such wanton barbarity as to massacre even 
 innocent women and children. Moreover, it brings into prom- 
 inence the one man against whom the Weird Sisters had 
 cautioned him, and whom, by needless cruelty, he makes the 
 fateful avenger of his crimes. Hence, the omission of the 
 scene mars the spirit and moral of the play; without it, 
 Macbeth appears less monstrous and odious than the Poet 
 designed, and, in consequence, is apt to retain, in violation 
 of the sense of poetic justice, too large a sympathy of the 
 audience. 
 
 The scene brings welcomed relief to the mind, stretched 
 to the highest tension by the late weird and preternatural 
 happenings in the witches' cavern. Though in one part. 
 
226 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 replete with horror and in others affecting us to pity and to 
 tears, it, nevertheless, adds variety and soothes the feelings 
 by recalling us to scenes of domestic life. We are introduced 
 to the affectionate family; we hear "the timid lady's eloquent 
 complaining to her cousin of her husband's deserting them 
 in danger; we listen to the graceful prattle with her boy, in. 
 which she seeks relief from her melancholy forebodings"; 
 and when all, so replete with pathos, stirs our hearts to deep 
 sentiments of sympathy and pity, then it is that Macbeth 's 
 murderous ruffians enter to crown his revolting character 
 with supreme horror. The scene, in portraying the character 
 and fortunes of Macduff and lady, depicts in strongest colors 
 two opposing forces: the one representing honor, loyalty, 
 humanity, and domestic virtues; and the other, hypocrisy, 
 treachery, selfish ambition, and remorseless cruelty. The 
 slaughter of helpless and unoffending innocents clearly 
 exposes the depths of moral degradation into which Macbeth 's 
 sinful passion has cast him. His former crimes were 
 prompted bv lawless ambition, but his last is purposeless, ana ~ 
 simply lays bare the barbaric cruelty ot a man once humane 
 and'^norab le, whose conscience has been_ seared. ^nH wVingp 
 moral depravity !has become so com pleteand hideous as to 
 another any sentiment of pity wnich might still lurk in the 
 miiidFof his a udience. ' 
 
 The scene is wholly laid within Macduff's castle. His 
 wife has just heard from Ross of her husband's flight, and, as 
 the curtain rises, she expresses her surprise and irritation 
 in questioning words of remonstrance. "His flight was 
 madness, ' ' she exclaims in painful apprehension. For similar 
 action, the sons of Duncan were charged with treason and 
 murder, and she dreads lest her husband's flight may, in like 
 manner, be ascribed to guilty fear. To allay her anxiety, 
 Ross suggests that she should rather attribute it to wisdom 
 and prudence. She can not, however, from her own viewr 
 point, understand how her husband could under any circum- 
 stances abandon wife, babes, and castle to the same fears, from 
 which he himself has fled. Were his love true, it would have 
 inspired him to remain and battle bravely against aU odds. 
 
LADY MACDUFF'S PLIGHT 227 
 
 Where fear outruns love, flight can not be ascribed to wisdom 
 and to reason. 
 
 Exceptions must be taken to the animadversions of 
 Leighton upon the complaints of Lady Macduff. He writes: 
 
 "It has always appeared to me that the character of Macduff suffers 
 seriously by the accusation of his wife and that such effect mars the 
 play, in as much as he, being principally opposed to Macbeth, should be 
 presented generous, chivalrous, and good; in contrast with the usurper 
 of Duncan's throne, who is selfish, treacherous, and wicked. To enlist 
 our sympathies to the fullest extent, and to make the moral of the play 
 most effective, the spirit of ill, represented by Macbeth, should be opposed 
 by a spotless champion of good and right, and not by one suffering in 
 reputation under such accusations as his wife makes against the fugitive 
 thane." Robinson's Epitome of Literature, April 15, 1879. 
 
 Such criticism appears just only on the condition that, for- 
 getful of the Poet's sketch of the noble character of Macduff, 
 we concentrate our thoughts upon the accusations of his 
 wife, while ignoring the fact that they were uttered in an 
 agitation of mind and feelings bordering on hysteria. Under 
 such stress of circumstances, her accusations are indeed 
 excusable. Macduff, it is true, might have saved his wife 
 from fear and anxiety by informing her of the purpose of 
 his flight, or brief absence on an important mission to the 
 English court; but secrecy was absolutely necessary for 
 success. Hence, while commissioning her cousin Ross to 
 break the news of his departure, he could not disclose its 
 purpose, nor could he foresee that his mere "flight," since 
 its purpose was secret, would entail the destruction of his 
 family. On the other hand, he was positive that, if Macbeth 
 knew of his secret design, he would frustrate it, or failing in 
 that, take vengeance upon his family. The safety of his wife 
 and children lay, therefore, in absolute secrecy of the pur- 
 pose of his "flight." His brief absence was prompted by 
 • affection for his family, as well as by purest patriotism ; its 
 object was to overthrow a bloody tyrant, and thereby bring 
 at once safety to his own and peace to his country. 
 
 rWfnl tn guard fhp. character of Macduff agairist asppr- 
 
228 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 sion, Shakespe are_jQot_ nnlv pictures him thro ughout the 
 drama as "generous, chivalrous, and good," in contrast with 
 tHe ' '^]tigH7freacEeroui7 and -wicked usurper. '^ but also maiies 
 him lie' spotlm^'Toyal "champioji. of virtue and justice in" 
 hehalf of his su ffering countr y. Even in the present instance, 
 he causes ■"KOss to challenge' Laciy Macduff's accusations, to 
 defend her husband, and to reprehend her words as prompted 
 by fears and overwrought feelings. Macduff, he pleads, is 
 "noble, wise, judicious, and best knows the fits of the season," 
 or M'hat befits the critical juncture of the times. Under a 
 cruel tyrant, all men are traitors and, though unconscious 
 of any crime, yet from fear, so credit every rumor of danger 
 as to be tossed about on a wild and violent sea of uncertainty. 
 Still, there is hope that the very excesses of the bloody 
 usurper shall rouse a reaction from which shall spring the 
 peace and happiness of the state. Eoss, after blessing the 
 little boy, takes his leave, fearing lest the manifest distress 
 and suffering of his cousin might stir him to tears, which, 
 while disgracing his sturdy manhood, would only heighten 
 the "discomfort" of her present affliction. 
 
 A PRECOCIOUS CHILD 
 
 Alone with her son, Lady Macduff in maternal tender- 
 ness turns her thoughts from her own sense of grief and 
 abandonment to the future of her child. As question after 
 question, uttered in motherly solicitude, is met by her 
 precocious boy's surprising wit, the scene advances to deeper 
 pathos. His naivete and brilliant replies naturally recall a 
 similar creation in Prince Arthur of King John. The stage- 
 children of Shakespeare are all marked by preeociousness. 
 This characteristic did not, however, seem incongruous to 
 theater-goers of his day, who were wont to attend the fre- 
 quent performances of the Choir-boys of St. Paul's and 
 the Westminster School. Organized into companies, and 
 invading the public stage in competition with adult actors, 
 even of Shakespeare's own company, these striplings met-ivith 
 acclaim, and long held high popular approval. In plays that 
 were replete with pleasantries, facetious banterings, quips, 
 
A PRECOCIOUS CHILD 229 
 
 conceits, and witticisms, these youthful actors, in the full 
 enjoyment of a freedom denied their elders, were accustomed 
 to indulge in satire, ridicule, and irony, and to caricature 
 noted characters of the social and political world to the great 
 admiration and applause of their audience. Of these Choir- 
 boys the Poet says : 
 
 "There is, sir, an aerie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the 
 top of the question, and are most tyrannically clapped for 't: these are 
 now the fashion ; and so berattle the common stages, — so they call them, 
 — that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce 
 come thither." (Hamlet, Act II, sc. ii.) 
 
 "We know not how far Lady Macduff, a Christian mother, 
 instructed her child in Scriptural lore; but, when in painful 
 solicitude she questions her fatherless son how he will now 
 live, his ready reply, says Lamartine, is sublime and candid, 
 and surpasses that of Joas in Racine's Athalie, "Aux petits 
 des oiseaux il donne pature." A Christian mind instantly 
 perceives in the reply of the precocious boy an allusion to 
 the Sacred Text; for it aptly recalls Our Savior's warning 
 against too great a solicitude for temporal things : ^ " Behold 
 the birds of the air, for they neither sow, nor do they reap, 
 nor gather into barns: and your heavenly Father feedeth 
 them. Are not you of much more value than they ? " (11. 1-62. ) 
 
 Lady Macduff's conversation with her child is rudely 
 interrupted by the hurried entrance of a stranger. He is 
 commonly identified as one of the murderers, whom Macbeth 
 has commissioned to exterminate the family of Macduff. The 
 thought of the inhuman deed has overcome him on the way, 
 and yielding to sentiments of pity and to stings of con- 
 science, he hurries on before his companions in order to warn 
 Lady Macduff of approaching danger. Some critics suppose 
 that Lady Macbeth, having learned of her husband's cruel 
 order, bribed one of the murderous band to hasten on in 
 advance and give timely warning. The messenger all breath- 
 less and excited rushes into the apartment and, to allay Lady 
 Macduff's fears and to secure credence, assures her that his 
 
 1. Matth. 6:26. 
 
230 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 presence, prompted by no guilty design, is due to an honor- 
 able and upright purpose. Though a stranger he is loyal 
 to her house and desires her safety. Let her, therefore, take 
 a rude, homely man's advice, and with her little ones fly 
 from impending danger. He knows it is cruel to affright her 
 thus, but his cruelty would be greater if, failing to warn 
 her and her children, he allowed them to be overtaken ia 
 surprise by approaching danger. After a parting prayer 
 that Heaven preserve her, his exit is as hasty as his entrance. 
 The words of the messenger, inexplicit as to the nature 
 of the danger, did not awaken Lady Macduif to the imminence 
 of her peril and to the necessity of instant flight. Uncon- 
 scious of evil-doing and unsuspicious of danger that arises 
 from her husband's known hostility to Macbeth, she tarries, 
 and in soliloquy questions any reason for flight. Soon turning 
 her thoughts from self to objective conditions, she "remem- 
 bers" that "in this earthly world" justice is at the mercy of 
 the minions of power; that cunning wickedness is oftener 
 lauded, while real virtue unesteemed is ' ' accounted dangerous 
 folly." As, in consequence, she concludes that conscious 
 innocence is no shield against oppression, the murderers 
 rudely rush in, and in scowling anger gaze about in quest of 
 her husband. The forced entrance of these hired assassins, 
 whose very looks proclaim them arrant villains, semi-bar- 
 barous men of the lowest, vilest type, excites her to horror, 
 and prompts a reply worthy of noble Macduff's wife. As they 
 hurl back in hissing sound the insulting epithet of traitor, the 
 term so inflames to rage the little heart of the precocious boy 
 that his blood, tingling with the valor of a knightly race, he 
 is all forgetful of his youthful years, and in defiance gives, in 
 brave retort, the lie direct to the shaggy-haired villains. In 
 return, he receives his death-blow, and falling, dies uttering 
 in shrill, childish voice his last love-prompted words of warn- 
 ing: "Mother, run away, I pray you (11. 63-84) !" 
 
SCENE THIRD 
 MALCOLM'S SUSPICIONS 
 
 The present scene transports us from Macduff's castle to 
 a room in King Edward's palace, where the fugitives, Malcolm 
 and Maeduff, meet. If their dialogue, the longest in the play, 
 seems tedious to certain critics, it, nevertheless, produces 
 strong dramatic effects. These result from strained relations 
 which arise from Malcolm's manifest suspicions of Macduff 
 and his artifice to discover his purpose at the English court. 
 The scene allows intervening time in which the war-clouds 
 may gather. It discloses the growing fury of the tyrant, the 
 increasing horror in which all Scotland holds him, and the 
 mustering of hostile forces at home and abroad, and so gradu- 
 ally prepares us for the denouement in the vindication of 
 justice. 
 
 The scene has, moreover, another purpose. Hitherto, 
 mainly occupied with the usurper's rise on the swelling tide 
 of success, we have seen little of the youthful Malcolm, the 
 rightful heir and, in consequence, know not whether he is 
 strong or weak, ignoble or honorable of character. But now 
 that Macbeth 's good fortune begins to decline and Malcolm' s 
 i n turn to rise, the young prin cfi..appears more P£2Si££5^Z 
 b efore us. revealinghis true nature, rich in noble qualities 
 that win o ur fullest sympathy . " The dialogu^TET contrasting 
 the youthful crown-prince with Macduff, his faithful subject, 
 illuminates the character of both; and while exposing the 
 admirable unselfishness of the former, emphasizes the loyalty 
 and patriotism of the warrior whom the Pates have made the 
 avenger of the murdered king. 
 
 The prince is overcome by grief at the sorrowful news of 
 his country's sufferings, and seeing no hope of the overthrow 
 of the tyrant, voices his feelings of desolation and despair. 
 Macduff, on the contrary, a man inured to arms, speaks for 
 open war. Rather than despair, they should as patriots stand 
 over the prostrate form of their bleeding country and defend 
 her with "the mortal sword." Even the heavens, re-echoing 
 
 231 
 
232 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 the wail of widows and orphans, cry aloud for vengeance 
 in unison with suffering Scotland. Malcolm's reply fills 
 Macduff with disappointment and chagrin. After all his risks 
 to confer with the prince at the English court, and arrange 
 for the overthrow of the despot, he finds his patriotic counsel 
 disregarded, and himself suspected of treacherous purpose. 
 Malcolm, after his father's murder by a perfidious kinsman, 
 found his faith in human nature rudely shaken. Aware that 
 his own existence is an impediment to the usurper's safe and 
 lasting tenure of the crown, he fears lest Macduff, in spite of 
 his loud profession of loyalty and patriotism, may be but 
 another of Macbeth 's emissaries who daily beset his path at 
 Edward's court. The thane of Fife, he says, once loved the 
 usurper well, and has not yet been injured. As a man of 
 experience, he may learn the tyrant's cruel character from 
 his conduct toward himself, and consider it a stroke of worldly 
 wisdom "to appease an angry god" by sacrificing to his 
 fury a helpless and innocent lamb. 
 
 Surprised and irritated, Macduffj__^ m__tG;MS ^of_Jnjured 
 Jeehngs, is quick to feperthe insinuated_charge. o f treacherou s 
 purpose . Malcolm replies in appeasing words: "You may 
 not he treacherous, but Macbeth is. Men naturally good and 
 virtuous have been known to belie their character at the 
 imperious command of a tyrant who had power to reward or 
 punish. You must pardon suspicion in a man who is beset 
 on all sides by Scottish spies. If you are truly honest, sus- 
 picion will not make you treacherous : though treason against 
 Heaven's king robbed Lucifer, the brightest of angelic hosts, 
 of grace and glory, faithful angels still are radiant; though 
 vile things often mask in the garb of virtue, virtue herself 
 still wears her grace and loveliness." Macduff replies in 
 despondent words : "I have lost my hopes, ' ' hopes of meeting 
 with the full confidence of the prince, and of arranging for 
 the tyrant's overthrow. Malcolm misunderstands him and 
 expresses suspicion that Macduff's lost hope is none other than 
 that of betraying him, and in this frustrated hope, he sees 
 perchance a confirmation of his fears. He does not fathom 
 the thane of Fife's deep sense of honor, justice, and patriot- 
 
A TEST OF LOYALTY 233 
 
 ism ; and, therefore, can not comprehend how, A\'ithout a secret 
 understanding, he could abandon his wife and children — 
 "those strong knots of love" — ^unprotected against the fury 
 of the bloody usurper. 
 
 At Macduff's manifest indignation, the prince pauses and 
 cautiously digresses to apologize for his half-felt suspicions: 
 "Let not prudent fears — the gviardians of his safety — be to 
 the dishonor of the thane, who, notwithstanding, may be truly 
 just and loyal." Convinced of the prince's firm-set suspi- 
 cions and the consequent failure of his mission, Macduff 
 despairs of Scotland's rescue, and overcome by passionate 
 grief, apostrophizes his poor bleeding country. Tyranny has 
 laid deep her foundations, and may enjoy securely the fruits 
 of her cruelty and oppression; since the rightful monarch's 
 refusal to maintain his right to the crown, leaves it confirmed 
 to the criminal usurper. Utterly dispirited and afiiicted in 
 mind and heart, he bids the prince farewell, and in parting 
 words protests with vigor that to gain the whole realm, now 
 in the tjTant's grasp, and in addition, all the fabulous riches 
 of the East, he would not be the villain that Malcolm suspects 
 (11.1-37). 
 
 A TEST OF LOYALTY 
 
 Though Macduff's passionate words have broken the 
 prince 's ' ' absolute fear ' ' of treachery, he desires more assur- 
 ance of his countryman's loyalty. Hence, to test him further, 
 he proceeds to accuse himself of all crimes imaginable, with 
 the view of convincing him of his own unfitness for the 
 throne. If with the "goodly thousands" offered him by 
 "gracious Edward," he should crush the tyrant, yet his own 
 many vices would bring his "poor country" more sufferings 
 than it had before. Once possessed of the supreme power 
 and free to indulge pernicious inclinations, which are strong 
 in a nature perverted by the engraftment of every vice, "black 
 Macbeth" would appear to all Scotland as white as snow, and 
 a lamb most innocent in comparison with his own boundless 
 wickedness. Macduff in reply, rejects the comparison; in his 
 opinion, no demon of hell's many legions can surpass 
 Macbeth 's damnation for evil. 
 
234 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 ^talgolHi-^rants that the tyrant, '-'slacks of every sin," 
 and recounts seven of them. Thfiy.^ai:fi _the seven c apital, or 
 dpiarllY fjinf f'-^m whifll; fif from a fountain source, flow 
 numberless other sins. From pride flow ambition, va inglory, 
 presumption, and hypocrisy; from covetousness, fraud, injus- 
 tice, perjury, treachery, and hardness of heart; from lust, 
 blindness of the intellect, irreligion and a seared conscience; 
 from anger, strife, hatred, murder, and blasphemies; from 
 gluttony, scurrility, sensuality, and darkness of the mind; 
 from envy, hatred, calumny, detraction, and treachery; from 
 sloth, aversion to duty, inconstancy, impurity, and despair. 
 These seven capital vices are probably symbolized by the seven 
 evil spirits of which our divine Saviour spoke in reference to 
 the unclean man : ' ' Then he goeth and taketh with him seven 
 other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and 
 dwell there; and the last state of that man is made worse 
 than the first. ' ' ^ Malcolm maintains that he is less fit to 
 reign than Macbeth, since he himself is infected with these 
 seven deadly sins. His voluptuousness is, moreover, fathom- 
 less, his intemperance boundless, and his avarice insatiable. 
 
 Macduff, in reply, admits that intemperance, or unre- 
 strained passion is the very source, or origin of tyranny ; for 
 in the moral world, 
 
 . . . "The state of man, 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 The nature of an insurrection." (Julius Caesar, II, i, 67.) 
 
 Again, in the political world, rebellion against restraints of 
 reason and the moral law has caused "the untimely fall of 
 many kings." 
 
 Malcolm, in charging himself with avarice, dilates upon 
 it, as a vice which would, in his evil-compounded nature, 
 were he king, so batten on insatiable appetite as, by red- 
 handed robbery and oppression, tx> inflame the realm to riot 
 and rebellion. 
 
 Macduff readily concedes that "the desire of riches is 
 the root of all evil. "- The vice more deeply rooted than sum- 
 
 1. Matth. 12 :45. 
 
 2. 1 Tim. 6:10. 
 
A TEST OF LOYALTY 235 
 
 mer-passing lust grows in appetite by feeding, and only dies 
 in the grave of corruption. Though this monster-vice has 
 been the sword that has slain many kings, yet Malcolm should 
 not hesitate to claim the throne; since such a vice will seem 
 sufferable in presence of countervailing virtues. 
 
 ' ' But I have none, ' ' is the emphatic retort of the prince ; 
 and it quickly shatters the hopes of Macduff. Protesting that 
 his are none of the "king-becoming" virtues, he recounts them 
 — the twelve gifts of the Holy Spirit — as enumerated in the 
 Catholic catechism. The classification is borrowed from St. 
 Paul's letter to the Galatians.^ Malcolm, no doubt, derived 
 his perfect knowledge of these distinctive virtues, or "king- 
 becoming graces," from his devout Christian parents, of 
 whom the Poet says : 
 
 . . . ' ' Thy royal father 
 
 Was a most sainted king; the queen that bore thee, 
 
 Oftener npon her knees than on her feet. 
 
 Died (spiritually) every day she lived." 
 
 Such a pious mother was, we must suppose, most anxious 
 to fulfill her obligations to instruct her son, the crown-prince, 
 even from his tender years, in the truths of that religion 
 which she knew to be the foundation of the moral order, and 
 of the virtues that should grace the reign of a Christian king. 
 The contrast which Macduff draws between Malcolm's sad 
 picture of himself and his pious mother, is not found in 
 Holinshed, but is the Poet's own creation. Having exposed 
 the vices that disgrace monarchs, and the virtues, or "king- 
 becoming graces ' ' that should adorn rulers of men, he holds 
 before Malcolm his virtuous mother for imitation. The import 
 of the lines, some think, is to present to King James for 
 emulation his own mother, the virtuous Queen of Scots. The 
 deviation from Holinshed suggests, moreover, a striking paral- 
 lelism: as Duncan and Macbeth were cousins, so were Mary 
 Stuart and Elizabeth ; as Lady Macbeth instigated the murder 
 of Duncan to gain the crown, so Elizabeth accomplished the 
 death of James' mother to secure her hold upon it; as 
 Malcolm ascended the throne on the death of the tyrant, so 
 
 1. Gal. 5:22, 23. 
 
236 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 did James I. on the death of the cruel Elizabeth. Again, at 
 the close of the tragedy, the Poet refers to the last of the 
 Tudor dynasty, when he pictures the king, 
 
 "As calling home our exiled friends abroad 
 That fled the snares of watchful tyranny. ' ' 
 
 In testing the siaeerity of Macduff's loyalty, the prince 
 not only positively disclaims all the virtues mentioned as 
 "king-becoming graces," but verily insists that he is tainted 
 by each of the opposite vices. Nay, had he the power, he 
 would, he affirms, throw sweet concord into hell's confusion, 
 and confound universal peace with riotous commotion. "If 
 such a one, ' ' asks Malcolm, "be fit to govern, speak. ' ' 
 
 All the while, Macduff had listened in mingled sentiments 
 of amazement and horror to the earnest self -confession of the 
 prince; but, startled by the question, he could only exclaim 
 in feelings of pity and hopeless despair: "0 Scotland, 
 Scotland!" His noble soul, stirred to lofty patriotism, 
 bewails the miseries which prophetic vision discloses in store 
 for her. His people must continue to groan under the bloody 
 scepter of the usurping tyrant; since, in defamation of his 
 royal lineage, Malcolm stands self-debarred and self-accused. 
 His father was known a saintly king, and the queen, devoted 
 to prayer, daily mortified her body that she might live spirit- 
 ually. The phrase seems suggested by the Apostle's words, 
 "I die daily" by the chastisement of the flesh.^ Macduff, 
 now afflicted in mind, sore of heart, and depressed in spirits 
 by the hopelessness of righting his country's wrongs, assures 
 the prince that the vices of which he is self-accused have in 
 profound sadness banished him from Scotland. 
 
 That Macduff should seek the concurrence of the rightful 
 heir in the project of overthrowing the usurper, was but 
 natural and even necessary. This singular scene, however, 
 presents thus far the strange spectacle of a prince, whose 
 highest interest was the destruction of the tyrant, resorting 
 to subterfuge to dissuade from the task the one man who 
 
 1. 1 Cor. 15 :31. 
 
A VIRTUOUS AND WICKED KING 237 
 
 could harm Macbeth, and so laboring all unwittingly to 
 nullify the decree of fate. 
 
 Accepting the manifest sincerity of Macduff's grief and 
 despair as proofs of tnie loyalty and patriotism, the prince 
 admits that they have banished all fears and suspicions of 
 his integrity. After excusing his artifice on the plea of 
 prudence and wisdom, which dictated caution against "dev- 
 ilish Macbeth," who was continually seeking to ensnare and 
 bring him within his power, he proceeds to unspeak, in the 
 name of God, his own false self-accusation. It was the first 
 falsehood of his life. Such as he is, he devotes to Macduff 
 and his poor country's good. Even now, at King Edward's 
 command, his old uncle Siward, the Earl of Northumberland, 
 with ten thousand men completely armed and prepared for 
 war, are ready to march into Scotland. "We shall now join 
 them, says the prince, and may the lot which divine Provi- 
 dence has in store for us be equal to the justice of our cause. 
 
 Macduff, amazed and puzzled, stands brooding in moody^ 
 silence over conflicting thoughts, until aroused by the prince 's J 
 questioning words. The latter having dropped the subterfuge I 
 of villainy, fails, however, to regain at once his friend 's full J 
 confidence. Hence, the thane replies, such contradictions I 
 between welcome and unwelcome words are bewildering, and | 
 seem hard to reconcile (11. 37-139). ' 
 
 A VIRTUOUS AND WICKED KING CONTRASTED 
 
 The high dramatic effect of the following episode arises 
 from the contrast between a virtuous and a wicked king. The 
 "gracious" Edward is pictured a benefactor of his people, 
 "about whose throne hang sundry blessings that speak him 
 full of grace"; while Macbeth 's cruelties and tyranny bring 
 afflictions upon his subjects and disorders to the realm. 
 Shakespeare is fond of considering the state of man as a little 
 kingdom whose well being depends upon his physical or moral 
 life. Though fortified against moral evil "with all the 
 strength and armor of the mind, ' ' man 's little kingdom when 
 swayed, not by reason, but by uncontrolled passion, "suffers 
 the nature of an insurrection." What is true of man's little 
 
238 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 kingdom, the Poet often sees verified in the state, or larger 
 kingdom, wherein "the lives of many depend and rest upon" 
 the weal of the ruler; a monarch's fall affects not himself 
 alone, "but like a gulf doth draw what's near it with it: he 
 is a massy wheel, ' ' 
 
 ' ' Fix 'd on the summit of the highest mount. 
 To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
 Are mortised and adjoined; which when it falls 
 Each small annexment, petty consequence, 
 Attends the boisterous ruin." (Hamlet, III, iii.) 
 
 The metaphor of the great royal wheel, which was common 
 among peoples of the Middle Ages is, no doubt, in the modern 
 world embodied in the notion of the wheel of Fortune. Of 
 it Dante speaks : 
 
 "Master," I said to him, "Now tell me also 
 What is this Fortune which thou speakest of, 
 That has the world's goods so within its clutches? 
 That she might change at times the empty treasures 
 From race to race, from one blood to another, 
 Beyond resistance of all human wisdom. 
 Therefore one people triumphs, and another 
 Languishes in pursuance of her judgment, 
 Which hidden is, as in the grass a serpent. 
 And this is she who is so crucified 
 Even by those who ought to give her praise, 
 Giving her blame amiss, and bad repute. 
 But she is blissful, and she hears it not; 
 Among the other primal creatures, gladsome 
 She turns her sphere, and blissful she rejoices. ' ' i 
 
 Shakespeare as a monarchist and zealous tory had little 
 faith in the rule of democracies. His was the current popular 
 view of the divine right of kings, a view which received its 
 first mortal blow only forty years later, when the spirit of 
 revolution reached its acme in the execution of Charles I. 
 Obliged to portray the cruelties and disorders wrought by the 
 
 1. Inferno VII, 67-96. — Longfellow's translation. 
 
A VIRTUOUS AND WICKED KING 239 
 
 Scottish king, the Poet is pleased to counterbalance the effect 
 by the contrast of true sovereignty in the good and beneficent 
 king, whose sanctity gives him such heavenly power that by 
 mere touch he heals his afflicted subjects. 
 
 Such portrayal was, moreover, gratifying to an audience 
 which, estimating Edward's character by the test of popular 
 affection, ranked him first among English kings. ' ' The good- 
 ness of his heart was adored by his subjects, who lamented 
 his death with tears of undissembled grief, and bequeathed 
 his memory as an object of veneration to their posterity. The 
 blessings of his reign are the constant theme of early English 
 writers. He exhibited the interesting spectacle of a king 
 totally devoted to the welfare of his people. By his labors 
 he restored the dominion of the laws; by his vigilance he 
 warded off foreign aggression ; and by his constant solicitude 
 he appeased the feuds of his powerful nobles. Pious, kind, and 
 compassionate, he was the father of the poor and the protector 
 of the weak, more willing to give than to receive and better 
 pleased to pardon than to punish.^ To him the principle that 
 the king can do no wrong was literally applied by the grati- 
 tude of the people, and whenever under subsequent despotisms 
 they could express their wishes, their constant call was for 
 'the laws and customs of the good King Edward.' "^ The 
 description of his miraculous power is in strict conformity 
 with historic evidence. Even during the years of exile in 
 Normandy, before his accession to the throne at the age of 
 forty, his high virtue was attested by the supernatural power 
 of healing diseases.^ His personal holiness thus approved by 
 
 1. "On a certain occasion the lords of the liingdom, understanding that 
 the king's exchequer had been exhausted by his excessive alms, raised upon 
 their vassals a large sura unknown to him, and on Christmas begged his 
 majesty to accept that free present of his grateful subjects, to clothe his 
 soldiers and to defray other public expenses. Edward, surnrised to see such 
 a heap of money gathered into his exchequer, returned his thanks to his 
 affectionate subjects, but expressed a great abhorrence ef what be called a 
 pillaging of the poor, and commanded that it should be returned every 
 farthing to those that had given it." (Alban Butler, Biography of St. 
 Edward the Confessor, p. 152.) 
 
 2. Lingard's History of Ergland, Vol. 1, p. 357. 
 
 a. "nnring his exile in Normandy, Edward vowed a pilgrimage to St. 
 Peter's tomb In Rome, if God should put an end to the misfortunes of his 
 family, .\fter his coronation, he was however on certain conditions dis- 
 pensed from the vow by Leo IX, on account of the difficulty of leaving Eng- 
 land without subjecting it to grievous dangers. The conditions were that he 
 spend on the poor the money he would have spent on his pilgrimage, and 
 
240 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 miracles during life, and again by many others wrought after 
 death at his tomb, led Alexander III. to honor him by 
 solemn canonization under the title o f Saint Edward the_ 
 Confessor.^ 
 ' ' A DELICATE COMPLIMENT 
 
 With a court performance in view, the Poet was no doubt 
 led to pay an evident yet delicate compliment to the new 
 sovereign. As the latter 's fondness of touching for the 
 "king's evil" was already notorious, Shakespeare readily 
 divined that any reference to his healing power, as inherited 
 from the Saintly Edward, would prove most pleasing to so 
 vain and ostentatious a monarch.^ Careful, however, not to 
 affirm its actual possession, he bases the supposition upon 
 "it hath been said," as found in the Chronicles of Holinshed. 
 The Poet, as appears from his writings, was sufficiently versed 
 in Catholic teaching to know that a miracle is a supernatural 
 work done by Almighty God in testimony of his servant's 
 holiness of life or mission ; and, therefore, as a testimonial 
 of individual spiritual worth or character, being purely 
 personal and intransmissible, ceases with the life of the 
 favored individual. That this was true of St. Edward's 
 miraculous power was strongly maintained by "William of 
 Malmesbury, who wrote nearly half a century after Edward's 
 demise, and who, says Sir H. Saville, "was the best historian 
 of our nation. ' ' ' 
 
 The contrary opinion probably arose from the credulity 
 of the masses, who failing to distinguish between the saintly 
 character of King Edward and his royal office, naturally 
 supposed that the same supernatural power descended to his 
 
 moreover, construct a monastery in honor ot St. Peter. Edward, in accord- 
 ance, raised the first structure of Westminster Abbey and gave its Abbey 
 Church, the appropriate name of St. Peter, in honor of the Apostle whose 
 tomb he had vowed to visit." (Alban Butler, lliidem, p. 160.) 
 
 1. "In the second year after his canonization and the ninety-seventh 
 after his demise, the body of St. Edward was found still incorrupt, with 
 limbs flexible as in life, and was transferred on the 13th of October td a 
 grander shrine by St. Thomas of Canterbury in presence of King Henry II 
 and many persons of distinction; in consequence, his festival is now kept on 
 that day." (Ibidem.) 
 
 2. Cf. Lingard's History of England; Character of James I, Vol. VII, 
 p. 277. (Edinburgh Edition.) 
 
 a. Biography of St. Edward the Confessor. Alban Butler, Vol. IV. 
 Oct. 13. 
 
A DELICATE COMPLIMENT 24.1 
 
 successors, especially as they too received at their coronation 
 the same sacred unction of Holy Church. This supposition 
 was for political reasons encouraged by successive monarchs 
 during the centuries in which the divine right of kings passed 
 unquestioned. Against it stands the formidable historic fact 
 that St. Edward's miraculous power was never common to 
 anointed kings. Nevertheless, Chambers affirms that in 
 Shakespeare's day^ was still prevalent "the superstitious 
 belief that the touch of an anointed king was the only remedy 
 for scrofula," a disease which, in consequence of this belief, 
 became in time known as the "king's evil." 
 
 This belief, though often attacked and discredited,^ was, 
 on the other hand, abetted by the crown, and zealously 
 defended by courtiers and royal officials, who saw in its 
 denial an affront to the king. Andre Laurent, a contemporary 
 of James and an eminent physician, attendant on Henry IV 
 of France, wrote against it, charging the English sovereign 
 with hypocrisy. "James," says Clarendon, "fancied himself 
 endowed with Edward the Confessor's power," and "always 
 superstitious was," affirms Chambers,^ "specially proud of 
 exercising it." Though burdened with the cares of three 
 kingdoms, he turned, as head of the state church and defender 
 of the Faith, to theological pursuits as of higher importance, 
 revised works of religious institutions, gave directions to 
 preachers, and confuted the heresies of foreign divines. In 
 the language of his flatterers, he was the British Solomon, but, 
 in the opinion of less interested parties, he merited the appel- 
 lation given him by the Duke of Sully, that of the "wisest 
 fool of Europe."* It is not, therefore, incredible that such 
 a man, so subject to flattery and so notorious for vanity and 
 love of ostentation, accepted the popular belief, and "touched 
 for the king 's evil ' ' with a vainglorious ceremony. The prayer 
 of the ritual which he approved was quietly inserted in the 
 
 1. E. K. Chambprs. Macbeth, In loco. 
 
 2. "T'le suDerstitious rotion wbich. it is wonderful to think, prevailed so 
 long In this country as to the virtue of the roval touch, a notion which our 
 k'ng encouraged," etc. — Boswell's Life of Johnson, Vol. I, p. 7. (London 
 Edition.) 
 
 3. Ibidem. 
 
 4. Llngard's History of England, Character of James I, Vol. VII, p. 280. 
 (Edinburgh Edition, 1902.) 
 
242 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Book of Common Prayer; but when in 1719 the practice had, 
 in fine, become altogether discredited, it was as silently 
 expunged.^ 
 
 The custom of giving a gold coin to each one touched for 
 the "evil" was introduced after St. Edward's time. The 
 Poet's words, "hanging a golden stamp about their necks," 
 is expressive of this custom as observed by King James. The 
 coin then in use was called angel, because on its obverse was 
 stamped the figure of the archangel Michael piercing the 
 dragon. It continued to be coined down to the time of 
 Cromwell. The prince of Morocco mentions it explicitly in 
 his address to Portia : 
 
 . . . "They have in England 
 A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
 Stamped in gold." (M. Ven., II, vii.) 
 
 The value of the coin was ten shillings ($2.50), and the 
 common eagerness to be honored by the royal touch, led Sir 
 Thomas Browne, a contemporary physician and author, to 
 write facetiously, "the king's purse knows that the 'king's 
 evil' grows more common." 
 
 Any belief in the royal pretension, as well as its practice, 
 expired, in fine, with the reign of Queen Anne. One of Dr. 
 Johnson's^ earliest memories is that of his mother carrying 
 him to London to be touched by the queen : the gold coin he 
 received is preserved in the British Museum; but his scrofula, 
 he, like many others, carried with him to the grave (11. 
 139-159). 
 
 A NEW ARRIVAL 
 
 While the prince is still speaking of good King Edward, 
 his attention is called to an approaching stranger garbed in 
 Scotch attire. Though recognizing him as a countryman, he, 
 
 1. Chambers in loco citato. 
 
 2. "Johnson used to tall; of this very frankly. Being asked if he could 
 remember Queen Anne, he said he had a contused, but somehow a solemn 
 recollection of a lady in diamonds and a long black hood. I ventured to 
 say to him, in allusion to the political principles in which he was educated, 
 that his mother had not carried him far enough ; she should have taken him 
 to Rome." — Boswell's Life of Johnson, Vol. I, p. 7. (Edinl)urgh Edition, 
 
A NEW ARRIVAL 243 
 
 nevertheless, regards him with the same distrust as on first 
 meeting with Macduff. As soon, however, as the latter 
 advances and extends a hearty welcome to his cousin Ross, 
 Malcolm rejects suspicion and also greets him as a friend. In 
 eagerness they question the new arrival concerning the state 
 of Scotland. Ross replies in a carefully prepared speech, 
 which is rhetorical in style, and richly adorned with antithesis 
 and metaphor. Alas ! our poor country dares not look upon 
 herself from fear. Once, our mother, she is now our grave. 
 None but infants smile. Sighs and cries of suffering are no 
 longer noted; for extreme affliction is the common lot of all. 
 The dead pass unnoticed, and good men die before sprigs of 
 heath wither in their "bonnets." 
 
 Admitting the truthfulness of his cousin's description, 
 Macduff deems it too studied and artificial for a genuine 
 utterance of deep feeling, and in hurried, anxious words ques- 
 tions concerning the safety of his wife and children. In the 
 fear that the news of their slaughter may prostrate Macduff, 
 Ross designs to break the blow by slow and gradual disclosure. 
 Hence, he parries Macduff's anxious query by playing on the 
 word "well" in its equivocal and eiiphuistic sense. We some- 
 times say the dead are well, as Macbeth in envious mood says 
 of, the murdered king: 
 
 ' ' Duncan is in his grave ; 
 
 After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; 
 
 Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison. 
 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
 
 Can touch him further. ' ' 
 
 In shuffling "off this mortal coil," man "ends the heart-ache 
 and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to." A 
 similar use of the term occurs in Antony and Cleopatra: 
 
 Messenger. Madam, madam, — 
 
 Cleopatra. Antony 's dead? 
 
 If thou say so, villain, thou kill 'st thy mistress. 
 Messenger. First, Madam, he is well. 
 Cleopatra. Why, there is more gold. 
 
 But, sirrah, mark, we use 
 
 To say, the dead are well. [Ant. & Cleop., II, v.] 
 
244 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Macduff, dissatisfied with his friend's laconic replies, voices 
 his fears in the pointed question, ' ' Has the tyrant battered at 
 their peace 1 ' ' Ross, however, still deeming his cousin unpre- 
 pared for the terrible blow, seizes upon the word peace as 
 opportune for further equivocation. The dead, it is true, are 
 sometimes said to be at peace. The word is thus used by 
 Scroop in his reply to King Richard II. : 
 
 ' ' Their peace is made 
 With heads and not with hands : those whom you curse 
 Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound 
 And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground. ' ' [Rich. II, iii, 2.] 
 
 The term is also used by Macbeth when, oppressed by har- 
 rowing fears, he feels envious of Duncan's peaceful repose : 
 
 "Better be with the dead 
 Whom we to gain our peace, have sent to peace, 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
 In restless ecstasy." 
 
 WITHHOLDS SAD NEWS 
 
 The real m e aning of Boss in the equivo cal phrase, "the 
 dead are well" and the "de ad are at peace, " is clear fro m 
 multiplied passages throughout Shakespeare's works. That 
 death like sleep brings rest to the weary is true of man's mor- 
 tal element. After life 's fitful fever his body lies in peaceful 
 slumber in "the silent halls of death," till the grand awaken- 
 ing at the end of time. Not so, however, with his spiritual 
 and immortal element; on abandoning its "mortal coil," or 
 home of clay, the soul is ushered into the spirit world to receive 
 what it has merited according to its well or ill-spent earthly 
 life of probation. 
 
 This is all clear to Christian minds ; but not so with others, 
 who though living in our Christian civilization, are without 
 Christian faith in the immortality of the soul and the future 
 resurrection. If they imagine death to be the end all of man, 
 in fact, his complete annihilation in the destruction of his soul 
 and body, then in consigning his corpse, often in the first 
 
WITHHOLDS SAD NEWS 245 
 
 stages of dissolution, to the crematory or to the grave, where 
 it soon returns to the material elements from which it came, 
 they cannot use the phrases, "peaceful rest" and "peaceful 
 slumber," as the Christian who believes in the final awakening, 
 but only in a sense unreal and meaningless. For them to speak 
 of the corpse lying in the grave, 
 
 "Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams, ' ' 
 
 is in contradiction with their belief: dreams mean mental 
 action, which is surely impossible to the inert corpse which, 
 as they think, with soul destroyed, is now turning into ashes. 
 "Pleasant dreams" aptly recalls the soliloquy of Shake- 
 speare's philosopher. To his Christian mind death had its 
 joyful and its mournful side. If men sometimes long for dis- 
 solution, they also fear it. Hence, Hamlet, philosophizing on 
 the common fear of death, generalizes the thought that ' ' con- 
 science does make cowards of us all;" because of "the dread 
 of something after death," the dread of being "borne before 
 an Everlasting Judge," in that 
 
 "Undiscovered country at whose sight 
 The happy smile, and the accursed, damned." 
 
 The same fear of that "Everlasting Judge," whose sentence 
 is in strict accord with justice, was the chief element that led 
 Claudius to resort to prayer for repentance : 
 
 "In the corrupted currents of this world 
 Offence 's gilded hand may shove by justice 
 And oft 't is seen the wicked prize itself 
 Buys out the law: but 't is not so above; 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 To give in evidence. ' ' [Hamlet, III, iii.] 
 
 Macduff further irritated at Ross's brief and indefinite 
 replies, censures his miserly use of words and earnestly 
 
246 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 demands, "How goes it?" Ross gladly digresses to the state 
 of Scotland, informing him that, while many nobles were gath- 
 ering their elans to crush the usurper, the latter was mar- 
 shaling his forces for defense. Macduff's return is now 
 opportune; his presence in Scotland, he assures him, would 
 alone suffice to create an army, and to arm even women in 
 the effort to rid themselves of "their dire distresses." 
 
 Malcolm interrupts the speaker to ' ' comfort ' ' him with the 
 glad news that by the favor of "gracious" Edward, he and 
 "old Siward" with ten thousand veterans are about to invade 
 Scotland for the purpose of relieving that suffering country 
 by the overthrow of the bloody tyrant. 
 
 The frequent reference to the saintly Edward in the pres- 
 ent scene, is not without its purpose. The crown prince, after 
 the murder of his father, fled to England to his iincle Siward, 
 the Earl of Northumberland ; thence he proceeded to the Eng- 
 lish court, where the virtuous Edward welcomed him with 
 high honor, sympathized in his misfortunes, and espousing his 
 just cause, promised to enthrone him, the rightful King of 
 Scotland. Throughout this lengthy scene not only are the 
 woes of the neighboring kingdom, as well as the horrid crimes 
 of the murderous usurper, repeatedly portrayed in strong 
 colors, but King Edward of saintly character, pictured in 
 marked contrast with the criminal Macbeth, is also frequently 
 presented to our mental vision. This virtuous monarch is 
 chosen by divine Providence as the vindicator of justice in the 
 destruction of the blood-thirsty tyrant, and the restoration of 
 the reign of law and order among a suffering Christian people. 
 Hence, the saintly king, who was most averse to war and blood- 
 shed, and who formerly refused to resort to arms in defence 
 of his own just right to the English throne, now feels inspired 
 to enter at least into one foreign conflict for the purpose of 
 vindicating right and justice.^ 
 
 The poet confers high praise upon "good Siward," the 
 Earl of Northumberland ; no commander in all Christendom, 
 he avers, surpasses him in skill and experience in the art of 
 war. On returning from his victory in Scotland, he was soon 
 
 1. Cf. Lingard's History of England, Vol. I, p. 345. (Edinburgh Edition.) 
 
CHEISTENDOM 247 
 
 after attacked by a fatal disorder. So great, however, was his 
 passion for arms that, regretting as a misfortune his dying in 
 bed, he declared he would die as he had lived, like a warrior ;^ 
 hence he demanded his armor and, arrayed in the accoutre- 
 ments of war, expired sitting upright — leaning upon his 
 spear. 
 
 CHRISTENDOM 
 
 If from the frequent use of the term, the idea of Chris- 
 tendom appears to have possessed a special charm for Shake- 
 speare, this charm may not be so apparent today, since under 
 the changed conditions of our modern political and religious 
 world, it has lost much of its former fascination. A little 
 digression, therefore, in exposition may be permissible. Chris- 
 tendom is now taken in a quantitative sense, as merely denoting 
 those parts of the world that are inhabited by Christians; 
 or in other words, it comprehends every individual professing- 
 Christian the world over, whether members of the olden faith 
 or of the multiplied divergent Christian sects, even though 
 devoid of cohesion and unity in doctrine and government. Not 
 so, however, was Shakespeare 's notion of Christendom. With 
 him it stood for a polity as well as for a religion, for nations 
 as well as for peoples. It banded together all Europe in a 
 Christian federation, which inspired great deeds, dignified 
 many centuries of history, and still exerts no little fascination 
 over the minds of poets and historians.^ 
 
 This ideal Christendom was greatly strengthened by St. 
 Augustine's "De Civitate Dei." Its clear distinction between 
 the two hostile kingdoms, the one of God and the other of his 
 enemies, and its vivid portrayal of the history, dignity, and 
 universality of the former, exercised a commanding influence 
 during the Middle Ages. The Church in converting the west- 
 ern nations brought together the already divergent streams of 
 national tendencies, and so laid the foundation of a European 
 federation, in which the spirit of Christianity animated every 
 individual and social element of human life. Its spirit per- 
 
 1. Ibidem. Also Alban Butler's Biography of Edward the Confessor, 
 Vol. IV, p. 157. 
 
 2. Of. Catholic Encyclopedia. 
 
248 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 vaded philosophy, science, literature, art, and even the state 
 itself, which while not ecclesiastical was strictly Christian. 
 In this Christendom two independent but coordinate powers, 
 the religious and the secular, laboring in harmony for the 
 whole good of man — for his temporal and eternal interests — 
 gave us a material, intellectual, and moral civilization, with 
 the result that the history of Christendom is one with the 
 history of civilization. 
 
 Christian cosmopolitanism reached its climax in the twelfth 
 century, when clergy and laity were probably never so united 
 since the early days of the Church. It was the age of Alex- 
 ander III., who canonized Edward the Confessor, subdued the 
 violence of Barbarossa, and compelled Henry II. to atone for 
 the murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Soon famous 
 schools scattered through Europe branched out under papal 
 sanction into great universities, within whose walls were 
 gathered professors and students from every nation, speaking 
 a common language and possessing a common literature, which 
 was read with equal ease from the shores of the Mediterranean 
 to the North Sea. 
 
 At critical moments this ideal Christendom had been the 
 only bond that linked the peoples of the European world. 
 Only a generation after the demise of Edward the Confessor 
 arose the crusades, which, as shown in his dramas, had a spe- 
 cial charm for Shakespeare. They were essentially a papal 
 enterprise. The idea of quelling all dissensions among Chris- 
 tians, and uniting them under the same standard against the 
 hated Turk, originated with the popes, who alone were in a 
 position to know and understand the common interests of the 
 Christian world. 
 
 In this universal Christian federation kings, as well as 
 their sjibjects, looked upon the papacy as the central court, 
 often of first instance, but always of last resort. The amount 
 of legal business that poured in upon it was a source of uneasi- 
 ness to St. Bernard in the twelfth century. The movement 
 was, however, irresistible ; for the papacy had in fact become 
 the center of a vast Christian nation, and to it kings freely 
 appealed against kings, and subjects against tyrannic rulers. 
 
CHRISTENDOM 249 
 
 Of the former, an example is had in King John 's appeal to 
 Innocent III. against Philip II. of France;^ and of the lat- 
 ter, Shakespeare himself gives a striking illustration in the 
 uncrowning of the same King John :^ 
 
 King John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
 The circle of my glory. 
 
 Card. Pandulph. Take again \^giving John the crown] 
 
 From this my hand, as holding of the pope, 
 Your sovereign greatness and authority. [King John, V, i.] 
 
 "King John," writes Macaulay, "was the worst of Eng- 
 lish monarchs ; history reveals only his vices : his virtues, if 
 such a monster could possess any virtues, were unseen or for- 
 gotten. He stands before us polluted with meanness, per- 
 jury, and cruelty. Arrogant in prosperity and abject in adver- 
 sity, his heart was callous to every sentiment of pity, and his 
 many victims never returned from their dungeons. ' ' ^ Revolt- 
 ing against his tyranny, the whole English people, led by the 
 lords temporal and spiritual, appealed to the Father of 
 Christendom, the universally acknowledged supreme arbiter 
 between kings and their subjects. In vain King John fumed 
 and raged against the pope, against bishops and nobles, and 
 against the papal envoy. Cardinal Pandulph. Against his 
 tyranny stood the insuperable moral power of Christendom, 
 and in prudence he signed the great bill of rights known as 
 Magna Charta. This document, says, Hallam, was the origin 
 of our modern constitutional governments. 
 
 A contemporary of King John was Philip the Second of 
 France. Having grown tired of his virtuous wife, he obtained 
 a divorce from his own appointed court. When the queen, 
 however, in defense of her rights, appealed to the head of 
 Christendom, Philip continued contumacious until, his king- 
 dom placed under interdict, he feared deposition and, in con- 
 sequence, reinstated his lawful queen. As Philip is a leading 
 character in the Poet's drama of King John, Shakespeare was 
 imdoubtedly cognizant of the incident, and it probably led him 
 
 1. Cf. Lingard's History of England, Vol. II, p. 306. 
 
 2. Ibidem, p. 331. 
 
 3. Of. Also Lingard's History of England, Vol, 11, p. 374, 
 
250 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 to chronicle a parallel in the play of Henry VIII.^ In com- 
 plete sympathy with Queen Katharine, he makes her the hero- 
 ine and adorns her with aU the charms of his magic pencil. 
 Standing in queenly majesty before the royal tribunal of the 
 lustful monarch, she, in the consciousness that her cause is 
 prejudged, utters her appeal to the sovereign of Christendom ; 
 
 " I do refuse you for my judge, and here 
 Before you all, appeal unto the pope 
 To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness 
 And to be judged by him." [Henry VIII, II, iv.] 
 
 A POWERFUL CHARM 
 
 That this ideal Christendom of Middle Age Catholicism, 
 should exercise a charm over Shakespeare's mind, can seem 
 strange only to those of his readers who are unaware that the 
 Poet "stood at the meeting point of the two great epochs of 
 our history. A new political world was rising into being, a 
 world more reaUy national but less picturesque, less wrapt in 
 the mystery and splendor that poets love. From this new 
 world of thought and feeling, Shakespeare stood aloof, nor 
 were the political sympathies of the Poet those of the coming 
 times. "^ "Shakespeare," says Carlyle, "was the noblest 
 product of Middle Age Catholicism, which was abolished as 
 far as an act of parliament could abolish it.'' An act of par- 
 liament, however, never converted a nation to a new religion. 
 It is impotent to wipe out the traditions of ages and by a 
 legal stroke obliterate from a peoples' minds and hearts the 
 cherished beliefs and practices and glories of a thousand 
 years. 
 
 There exists an assumption, too common with unreflect- 
 ing non-catholic minds that, when under Elizabeth all Eng- 
 land was proclaimed Protestant by a statute law of parliament, 
 
 1. AU eminent critics agree tliat of Henry VIII Shakespeare composed 
 only Act. I, sc. 1 and 2 ; Act II, sc. 3 and 4 ; Act III, sc. 2 (in part) ; Act V, 
 BC. 1, comprising in all 1,146 lines : the other lines of the play, which number 
 1467, are assigned to Fletcher. Long before this conclusion was reached, 
 "Dr. Johnson had the sagacity to observe that the genius of Shakespeare 
 comes In and goes out with Catherine." — Cf. Hudson's Shaltespeare's Life 
 Art and Characters, Vol. II, p. 176. Dowden's Shakespeare, His Mind and 
 Art, p. 368, and Gervinus, Shakespeare's Commentaries, p. 825. . 
 
 2. Green's History of the English People, Chap. VII, N. 849.' 
 
A POWERFUL CHARM 251 
 
 the people at once welcomed and accepted the new religion. 
 The transition from Catholicity to Protestantism was, never- 
 theless, a slow struggle lasting for a period of more than one 
 hundred years, and for the accomplishment of which were 
 invoked systematic misrepresentation, dark calumny, and per- 
 sistent persecution. On the testimony of Macaulay, "the 
 change of faith was prompted not so much by religious motives 
 as by political exigencies and against the ivill of the nation." 
 ' ' There is no reason to siTppose that the nation as a body was 
 discontented with the old religion. Facts point to the oppo- 
 site conclusion. Had it been so, Mary would never have been 
 allowed to ascend the throne. Long down into the reign of 
 Elizabeth, according to a modern historian, the old faith still 
 numbered a majority of adherents in England. This rooted 
 attachment to the old faith and the difficulty everywhere 
 experienced by the government in weaning the clergy and 
 their flocks from their ancient tendencies is a sufficient proof 
 that it was unpopular. " ^ " There was no thought of protest- 
 ing against the See of Rome until the king, for his own pur- 
 pose, abolished the jurisdiction altogether. If the tone of the 
 general literature and the new evidence supplied by the state 
 papers is to be credited, it is impossible to maintain that the 
 breach with Rome was popular — that is, that it was desired 
 by the people at large, or indeed, by any considerable number 
 who had not a personal motive — who did not in fact view it 
 as a way leading to perspective personal gains. ' ' ^ Froude, the 
 historian, writes without fear of error: "The whole spirit- 
 uality of England protested i.gainst the establishment of the 
 Anglican Church." To enforce it upon the people, the minis- 
 ters of Elizabeth were driven to coercive measures by 
 way of fines, confiscations, imprisonment, banishment, and 
 executions. ' ' 
 
 1. Eneland under the Old Religion, by .Gasquet, p. 46. Cf. Letters and 
 Papers of "the Eelgn of Henry VIII, VI, p. 470. by Rev. J. S. Brewer, pro- 
 fessor of English literature in King's College, 1855-77. 
 
 2. Ibidem, p. 93. Cf. also Dr. J. Gairdner, LoUardy and the Reforma- 
 tion, and again the History of the English Church in the Sixteenth Century. 
 
 3 Butler affirms that even at the accession of James the First a major- 
 ity of the population of England was Catholic, and Eichton, that when 
 Elizabeth came to the throne the Catholics were two-thirds of the nation. ' 
 (Macaulay upon Nares's Memoirs of Lord Burghley.) 
 
252 A GEEAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Considering all these circumstances, and furthermore, that 
 Shakespeare's parents were faithful Catholics — "Recusants"^ 
 — who were more than once fined for refusal to attend the 
 new worship ; that he was educated in the classic school of the 
 still Catholic town of Stratford,^ a solution appears for facts 
 that have never been satisfactorily explained: the one, that 
 while treating with disrespect the parsons of the new State 
 Church, so called to distinguish them from priests of the old 
 religion, he portrays the Catholic clergy with dignity and 
 respect, and especially the monks and nuns, so hated by the 
 Reformers ; and the other, that, while touching in so many of 
 his dramas upon the doctrines, sacraments, rites, and cere- 
 monies of the old religion, he never, like his young contem- 
 porary dramatists, falls into the smallest error. His education 
 in the religion of his parents, moreover, explains his predilec- 
 tion for the glorious historic times of ' ' Merry England. ' ' How 
 his poetic mind must have glowed as his fancy revelled in the 
 renowned exploits of English kings, knights, and nobles in 
 their valiant contests with Saracens in oriental climes ! How 
 his national pride must have swelled with fervid enthusiasm 
 when, as he gazed in mental vision upon the flower of English 
 knighthood going forth with Richard Coeur-de-Lion, he saw 
 them under the same standard of the cross, side by side with 
 the armies of Philip Augustus of France and of Frederick 
 Barbarossa of Germany, battling victoriously at Acre against 
 the hordes of the crescent ! The valiant deeds of Richard, the 
 Lion-hearted, at once the terror and the admiration of the semi- 
 barbarous Saracens, were long in after centuries the glorious 
 burden of poetry and minstrel song in every royal court of 
 Christendom. 
 
 His own admiration and sympathy for the crusaders of 
 Christendom, Shakespeare could not fail to reflect in his 
 dramas. When in his own day, England under the misgov- 
 ernment of Elizabeth's minister, was groaning beneath the 
 oppression of multiplied royal monopolies, he feelingly 
 
 1. Attested by State Papers preserved In London Office. 
 J V?' i? was a high-class school for the time. Its head-master had a salary 
 double that of the master of the famous school of Eton. (Of. Shakespeare's 
 Family, by Charlotte Btopes, C. VIII.) '^ 
 
A POWERFUL CHARM 253 
 
 contrasts her condition with the glorious days of olden 
 times: 
 
 ' ' This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, 
 This fortress built by nature for herself, 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
 Eenowned for her deeds as far from home 
 For Christian service and true chivalry. 
 As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry 
 Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, 
 Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, 
 Lile to a tenement or peltingi- farm." [Rich. II, II, i.] 
 
 His reverence and esteem for the noble crusaders — "the 
 soldiers of Christ" — he again expresses in the sympathetic 
 lines dedicated to the Duke of Norfolk : 
 
 "Many a time hath banished Norfolk fought 
 For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field. 
 Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross 
 Against black pagans, Turks and Saracens: 
 And toil'd with works of war, retired himself 
 To Italy; and there at Venice gave 
 His body to that pleasant country 's earth, 
 And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
 Under whose colors he had fought so long." 
 
 [Rich. II, Act IV, 1.] 
 
 It is not, therefore, surprising that, when desirous of lauding 
 another famous warrior, the Poet should extend his vision 
 beyond his own little isle, which was but a unit of universal 
 Christendom, in search for one among its world-renowned 
 chieftains, who in valor and prowess of arms could overmatch 
 old Siward, the Earl of Northumberland. But he finds : 
 
 "An older and a better soldier (there is) none 
 That Christendom gives out. ' ' 
 
 1. Paltry, petty. 
 
254 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 BREAKS THE SAD NEWS 
 
 To return to the text, we note that the glad tidings of an 
 English army ready awaiting orders to march against the 
 tyrant, has cheered the spirits of Macduff as well as of Ross; 
 and, therefore, the latter concludes the moment propitious for 
 breaking the long-withheld news. He does not, however, blurt 
 "out the massacre immediately, but with the kind intent of 
 lessening the blow, he pictures its appalling horror. The dread 
 news is so terrible that it should be cried out nowhere save in 
 the desert wild, where no human ear could catch it. Its 
 frightful nature will afflict every honest heart, even though the 
 main part pertains to Macduff alone. In an instant, the latter 
 guesses it, and at once Ross tells the savage slaughter in a few 
 hurried words, but withholds the cruel circumstances, lest they 
 should heighten Macduff's grief beyond endurance. 
 
 When stunned and staggered by the blow, Macduff, silent 
 and overpowered by anguish of heart, seeks to conceal his 
 agony, Malcolm exclaims, "Merciful heaven! what, man! ne'er 
 pull your hat upon your brows." Stifle not your sorrow; vent 
 it forth: supreme grief, that suppressed broods in silence, 
 breaks the heart. Heedless of his words, the sorrow-stricken 
 father with heart racked with pain and with mind all absorbed 
 in his grief can only mutter, "My children, too? and I must 
 be from thence ! ' ' When Malcolm attempts to soothe his keen 
 sufferings by suggesting that he make the murderer's punish- 
 ment the antidote of his grief, his words, expressive of the 
 sentiments of a man who "has no children," fall discordantly 
 upon the ears of the grief-stricken thane. If the prince, he 
 thinks, were a father, he would comprehend a father's grief — 
 comprehend that the "medicine of revenge" can not heal so 
 great a grief. 
 
 Upon our modern stage the words are commonly referred 
 to Macbeth on the supposition that, as "he has no children," 
 Macduff can not take an adequate revenge. Different, how- 
 ever, was the practice in Garrick's time, "when the most 
 famous actors, Wilks and Ryan, saw in the words only, the 
 deepest expression of paternal agony, out of which Macduff 
 
BREAKS THE SAD NEWS 255 
 
 arises only by degrees to composure and the desire of revenge. ' ' 
 The hypothesis that Macbeth had no children, appears con- 
 trary to historic fact, as well as to evidence intrinsic to the 
 play. Explicit mention is made of Lulach, the son of Macbeth, 
 by Buchanan, a Scotch historian. An eminent scholar and the 
 famous tutor of James I., he published in Edinburgh in 1582 
 his Renim Scoticarum Historia, and in it we read: "While 
 these things were done, the survivors of Macbeth hailed his 
 son Lulach king when he was led to Scone, ' ' ^ the place where 
 Scottish kings were usually enthroned. The historian's author- 
 ity is strengthened by the testimony of Lady Macbeth in the 
 words: 
 
 . . . "I have given suck and know 
 How tender 't is to love the babe that milks me. ' ' 
 
 Furthermore, other evidence is offered by Macbeth himself. 
 We see him, when assured of security in the enjojonent of 
 royal honors, revelling in the joyous thought as follows: 
 
 . . . "Sweet bodement! good! 
 
 . . . Our high-placed Macbeth 
 Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
 To time and mortal custom. ' ' 
 
 His joy is, however, soon embittered as upon his mind surges 
 the unwelcome thought that the Fates have decreed the crown 
 to pass to "Banquo's issue," — "no son of his succeeding." 
 Had he no son, the last words were surely meaningless ; were 
 he childless, the crown would, in consequence, naturally and 
 necessarily pass to another family, and, therefore, accepting 
 the consequence so obvious and inevitable, he would neither 
 be harassed by the decree, nor would he strain after the impos- 
 sible — the transmission of the crown to a son non-existent. 
 Under such circumstances, he would rather favor "Banquo's 
 issue;" he knew him to be an honorable man, a tried and 
 trusted friend, and as a brave fellow-commander to be emi- 
 
 1. "Haec dum Forfarae geruntur, qui supererant Macbeth!, flUum ejus 
 Lulachum fcul ex iDgenio cognomen inflitum erat Fatuo) Sconum ductum 
 regem appellant." (Shakespeare Variorum, In loco.) 
 
256 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 nently fit. His opposition, therefore, arises from his own 
 ambitigus des ire to have the crown desc enri lineally to his o^ffx^__ 
 poster ity. Hence, in feverish excitement he broods in the 
 spirit of rebellion over the decree of the Fates, until it afflicts 
 his soul even unto madness and murder. His desperation is 
 revealed in the passionate soliloquy in which in bitterness of 
 heart he complains that the Fates, by depriving him of lineal 
 succession, have given him a "fruitless crown" and "a barren 
 \ ^ceptre. ' ' The thought that he has murdered Duncan and 
 ^iven over his immortal soul to Satan, to make, not his own, 
 but "the seed of Banquo kings," so inflames his mind to 
 frenzied rebellion that he challenges Fate to enter the lists 
 against him. In madness he resolves to frustrate the decree 
 by murderously striking down the two that shall prevent the 
 crown from passing lineally to his own posterity. The escape 
 of Fleance, however, frustrates his design, and later, when in 
 the cavern he feels his heart expand with joy at the promises 
 of evil spirits, it is the one flaw that mars his complete 
 happiness : 
 
 . . . "Yet my heart 
 Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art 
 Can tell so much : Shall Banquo 's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom ? ' ' 
 
 If there still remain a doubt, whether the textual phrase, 
 "he has no children," should be referred to Macbeth or to 
 Malcolm, turn we in fine to the Poet himself ; he surely knows 
 best his own meaning, and he has expressed it — the same idea 
 under the same circumstances — in his previous drama of King 
 John. Lady Constance, in a paroxysm of grief, enters upon 
 the scene ; and, when in the presence of King Philip of France 
 and Cardinal Pandulph, she affectingly bewails the loss of her 
 son, Prince Arthur, they strive to calm and to comfort her : 
 
 King Philip. Patience, good Lady ! Comfort, gentle Constance. 
 Cardinal Pandulph. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 
 Lady Constance. He talks to me that never had a son. 
 
 [King John, III, iv.] 
 
THE STRICKEN THANE 257 
 
 In these lines, the bereaved Constance bears the same relation 
 to Macduff as the Cardinal bears to Malcolm. Both the latter, 
 when counselling grief -stricken parents to take "comfort," 
 the one a mother and the other a father, received the same 
 significant reply: "he talks to me that has no children." — 
 None but a father can fathom a father's grief. 
 
 THE STRICKEN THANE 
 
 The prince, though perceiving the thp,ne's distracted state 
 and anguish of heart, as revealed in passionate words of 
 affection and supreme grief, still fails to fathom the depths of 
 his paternal affliction ; and, in consequence, appeals to him as a 
 man, and not aS a father, that mindful of his manhood he 
 battle bravely against his overpowering grief rather than yield 
 thereto. Again, there is the courteous reply: though I do 
 strive manfully against it, nevertheless, I must feel it as a 
 man who, endowed with human feelings and bound by the 
 dearest human ties, must be sensitive to the cruel blow, which 
 has robbed me of all that was most precious in life. 
 
 Like good Christians who, sometimes, while in a mental 
 disturbance induced by the throes of an overwhelming grief, 
 speak querulously or harshly of God for non-interference, so 
 thg_affli£ted-fcthe5?- questions- iow Ji£av&n-.xauMJjeJ3Jt-jaa_aad- 
 yet rema in inactive. Such sentiments are excusable, when 
 arising from a mental distraction, caused by an agony of 
 grief. In saner moments the Christian recognizes the fact 
 that man, in the natural order of his earthly existence, is 
 subject to all the conditions and vicissitudes of life, with which 
 Providence does not interfere super naturally, or by way of 
 miracle, save very rarely and under peculiar circumstances. 
 This thought soon beams on Macduff, and begets lowly senti- 
 ments, which stir him to reflect on his own "naught," or 
 unworthiness. The thought leads him in an humble spirit of 
 resignation to confess that he is stricken for his own sinfulness^ 
 and not for the "demerits" of his loved ones. Influenced by 
 such Christian sentiments, he naturally thinks of the welfare 
 of his dear ones in the other life and, in the spirit of his 
 Catholic Faith, prays devoutly. May God rest their soiils ! 
 
258 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 In the plays of Shakespeare, the term heaven frequently 
 occurs as synonymous with the word God, or the Supreme 
 Being, or the Sovereign of heaven, or Divine Providence. In 
 illustration, we have in the present citation, "merciful 
 heaven," — "heaven rest them now," and "heaven forgive 
 him." Again, in All's Well that Ends Well, the Countess in 
 reference to her son, who has abandoned his wife, speaks of 
 the Virgin Queen of heaven, whose prayers God delights to 
 hear and loves to grant : 
 
 . . . "What angel shall 
 Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, 
 Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear, 
 And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
 Of greatest justice." [HI, iv.] 
 
 This substitution is, on the authority of Clarendon, accounted 
 for by an act .of Parliament passed in the reign of James I., 
 which inflicted severe penalties for profanity on the stage ; in 
 consequence of that enactment, the word God occurring in the 
 original manuscripts was probably in the actor 's copy changed 
 to heaven or some other synonym for the sake of avoiding 
 even the appearance of profanity (11. 192-227). 
 
 At the close of the scene. Malcolm ani ;! Macduff are repre- 
 sented in changed positions . At the opening, when the latter 
 was all intent on urging the prince to assert his right to the 
 crown, and to redress his country's wrongs, he met with the 
 indifferent reply : 
 
 . . . ' ' What I can redress 
 As I shall find the time to friend, I shall." 
 
 As Macduff continued with great fervor to incite Malcolm to 
 action, his patriotic efforts were curbed by the prince's pre- 
 tence of unfitness for the kingly office. But, now when Mac- 
 duff, lost subjectively in his bereavement, is so totally oblivious 
 of the objective world about him, as to lose all thought of his 
 former purpose and even of revenge, Malcolm with difficulty 
 awakens him from the emotional world, which enthralls him to 
 
THE STRICKEN THANE 259 
 
 the outer world of realities and action. Let him, he pleads, 
 turn his grief to anger, which, instead of blunting, shall enrage 
 the heart and sharpen the sword of revenge. Macduff, in 
 reply admits that, in his overmastering grief, he could weep 
 as a woman, or like a braggart boast in uproarious voice of 
 his awful and dire revenge. But, no; instead he invokes the~ 
 powers of heaven to set him Avithout delay face to face with 
 the fiend of Scotland, and if his thirsty sword drink not the 
 monster's blood, let himself be rated as great a criminal as 
 the murderous usurper, and then may God forgive them iDoth. 
 
 The prince approves with delight the stricken thane's new~^ 
 and manly tone, and decides upon an instant conference with 
 the king. The army in all readiness is expecting hourlj' the 
 word of command, and the tyrant already ripened in crime, is 
 awaiting his doom. As the conflict is that of heaven against 
 the hell-hound of violence and blood, the prince calls on Provi- 
 dftiee to set afoot His avenging forces. Let Macduff be cheer- 
 ful: the long night of Scotland's affliction shall soon be ban- 
 ished by the sunrise of justice and gladness (11. 228-240). 
 
ACT FIFTH 
 
 SCENE FIRST 
 SECRET STINGS OF CONSCIENCE 
 
 From the last scene, which pictured the clouds of war 
 gathering against the tyrant, we pass to another in strik- 
 ing contrast. From suppressed whisperings, heard in the 
 calm stillness of Lady Macbeth 's private apartments, we learn 
 of the avenging Nemesis that invisibly torments her. The tran- 
 sition from verse to prose has given rise to various suggestions. 
 One author supposes that Shakespeare deemed prose more 
 proper to the broken utterances of sleep-walking; whil.e 
 another suspects ' ' that the matter of this scene is too sublime, 
 too austerely grand to admit of anything so "artificial as the 
 measured language of verse; and that, as from an instinct of 
 genius, he felt that any attempt to heighten the effect by any 
 arts of delivery would impair it." Though either reason is 
 sufficient to warrant a transition, nevertheless, the speeches 
 of the physician have a cadence verging on and almost gliding 
 into blank verse, a kind of rhythmical prose, says Delius, 
 which, with the view of softening the change, Shakespeare fre- 
 quently employs in passing from one to the other. 
 
 After the disappearance of Lady Macbeth in the Third 
 Act, the Poet left her fears and sufferings to our conjectures, 
 imtil in the present scene he reintroduces her strolling in 
 troubled sleep, like a restless ghost, through dark and silent 
 chambers. ' ' Of all poets, Sha ke.^peare is unpycellerl in por- 
 traying emotions arising from thp rpa1i7a tinn of shattere d 
 hopes and i rreparabl e ruin. ' ' At his touch, the overwhelming 
 grief of Othello, the helpless wretchedness of Lear, and the 
 desolation and remorse of Lady Macbeth, become terrible, and 
 yet extremely touching and pathetic. Hij delineation of the 
 secret torture of his heroine, as arising from consciousness of 
 
 260 
 
SECRET STINGS OP CONSCIENCE 261 
 
 secret guilt and the silent stings of conscience, seem, liowevei-, 
 to transcend all other tragic conceptions. Its artistic purpo'S'i? 
 is not only to unveil the true personality of the woman who, 
 from an" ambitious yearning for the diad em , had done great" 
 violence to heFfmonine nature, but also to reveal the in- 
 hereut po wer for good which lav dnrnif^nt in one so richly 
 en doweH. 
 
 ' I'Jiat Her towerin g bravery, which shamed and_ repelled 
 witl Tliau ghty scorn tKelmuntiiig^ears ancTterrOTSof her hius- 
 banH"; thather "supeiTuman audaclty,~stimulated"'b"y' heryrul- 
 ing^assion, and'str engtheneEllUXternaturally by _the evil 
 sp irits whom she had , iTi'^"Vfrl..,mj:^?, '>'?1,y asSiimP'^T '^ptp- ^nly 
 thg^ ^ock courage of a feminine mind, strong and ardent, 
 but_J)linded by the master-passion oi amBimnj^s^_J[i^£j^ged 
 in ^he p resenT'scene^ wlren7 by 'sighs "and gasps swelling ^front_^ 
 her_tQ£lur££LtLeSHZshe xeygglsjn'her sIee,Eless._agpny whmshe 
 had sac rifi ced, and how violent was the struggle to subjugate 
 g Tm[;jior n qfure, pQvn fo T-hlglxgr- good and utterly unequal J;o 
 the app alling feelings of remorse... 
 
 I f shp Rnffprs .Tn orp keenly than her husband, it is not 
 merely, because her womanly physical nature is weaker than 
 his, but, bec ause she pereeive s^that,^^havin£^vrr£!^ted.-fj-oiM Jier 
 hand the~coiifr"oI 'of""aSTra!l ieTn££ds,„ht:T:,.U9 further.,.. aflt| ji 
 consequence, leaves her alone to gltj^ n jY ^I"i"^g l\.t^-Pfl 4 melan - 
 cfao^""broodipg ,_ E ven before the royal banquet, when she 
 oFserved his beginning to live his life apart, she openly 
 chided him for wonted aloofness in words which also betrayed 
 her own mental sufferings.^ Furthermore, she not ic ed his 
 inclination t o independent action, when he refused to mak e 
 ner his confident in bis niot for Banaud's.de^-UCllmi - From 
 this time forth, their lives grew daily more estranged; and 
 when evil spirits haAlbv false promises of safety and success, 
 uplifted his drooping spirits, and changed his fears to exulting 
 hopes, he felt no need of other counsel, and sought no more 
 her presence and her symnathy. Hence, while his life was 
 daily distracted from the thought of guilt by ceaseless activity 
 in affairs of state, and in bloody strife in defense of his 
 
 1. Act. Ill, sc. 2, 1. 8-12. 
 
262 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 crown, she was left alone in the solitude of the castle to brood 
 OTer awfial memories face to face with conscience. The dread 
 secret, closely guarded, barred her from all sympathy, and 
 as a solitary, with mournful thoughts for sole companions, 
 she perforce bore in silence the burden of remorse — a burden 
 which she felt would be more tolerable, if she enjoyed her hus- 
 band's trust and confidence. But, day after day, she passed 
 in loneliness and meditative melancholy, wholly ignorant of 
 her husband's doings in the world without, save when chance 
 whisperings told of some new horror, which brought the shud- 
 dering conviction that by his bloody course he was driving 
 both to ruin and despair. 
 r"~ Through these long, lonely days, her fevered mind, pre- 
 \ occupied with the crime to which she was driven by love and 
 I ambition, ruminates unceasingly upon the past. Now, she 
 * !Terself, by strange irony, suffers the fears and fnrfiseen ev ils 
 which, in audacity and scor n she had flouted in her vac il- 
 laTmg hiisband: — tfyday, sue teeis her breast aflame with 
 a consuming~Ere, and continually recalls in vivid fancy the 
 real and terrible events of the crime ; and by night, M'alking 
 in sleepless wanderings, she acts over again in imagination 
 the incidents of that horrid night. 
 
 The scene opens upon a room in the castle of Dunsinane, 
 where a physician and a lady of the court are watching 
 through the night in expectation of seeing the queen walking 
 in sleep. Macbeth has been abfjent frnnn the casi|1e for a con- 
 siderable time in c nnspguPTice nf a. t:P];i,frt.it.llffti thf P Oh^ p« ni^S^f? 
 Jeserting him. The thanes, hostile to the tyrant, had no doubt 
 received secret information that an English army was on the 
 march to invade Scotland for the overthrow of the usurper, 
 and were urged to gather their clans and join the invading 
 forces. Macbeth, however, through numerous spies, was made 
 aware of their hostile purpose, and had taken the field in per- 
 son to quell the rising insurrection. During his absence, the 
 mental malady of the queen had daily grown more acute and, 
 in consequence, a physician was summoned to observe her 
 movements, and if possible to diagnose her secret trouble, and 
 prescribe a remedy. His presence in the castle must have 
 
NIGHT-WATCHERS 263 
 
 been known to Lady Macbeth. Having heard from her maids 
 of her sleep-walking, and even of some of her words, she had 
 likely, in anxiety to guard the dread secret, resolved upon 
 special efforts against the practice ; and the resolve of her once 
 iron will was effective till the third night. 
 
 NIGHT-WATCHEUS 
 
 In the meanwhile, the physician had grown skeptical ; after 
 watching for two nights, he had noticed nothing to confirm the 
 report. In his doubt, he questions the Lady-in-waiting and 
 learns that, since the king's absence, Lady Macbeth has been 
 accustomed to rise nightly and write a letter in her sleep. This, 
 letter has reference, it is thought, to the one she received from 
 her husband concerning the first apparition of the Weird Sis- 
 ters; but another opinion, which seems preferable, supposes 
 that her writing indicates her desire to communicate with her 
 husband, who has taken the field against his enemies. Having 
 long assumed the mastery in directing his ambitious fortunes, 
 she, from force of habit, is still striving to guide him in her 
 dreams. 
 
 The physician's questionings concerning her utterances in 
 sleep, are prompted not so much by curiosity as by his pro- 
 fessional calling ; as symptoms of her mental unrest, her words 
 might enable him to discover its origin or cause. The Lady- 
 in-waiting refuses to report what she had heard, implying 
 that it is of such a grave nature, and so compromising in char- 
 acter as to forbid her to commit herself by repeating it, save 
 on the surety of a Avitness (11. 1-16). 
 
 The gentlewoman, while still in converse with the physi- 
 cian, is the first to notice the silent entrance of Lady Macbeth, 
 and exclaims: "Look! here she comes and fast asleep." 
 Stand back in concealment, and watch her closely. The 
 queen in a dressing gown advances slowly and silently, holding 
 a lighted taper in the right hand, her left outstretched as one 
 with outspread fingers feeling his way in darkness. Her pallid 
 corpse-like countenance stamped with the sorry marks of con- 
 tinued nightly vigils, her parched lips that speak her burning 
 fever of remorse, and her open sightless eyes that, robbed of 
 
264 A GREAT SOtTL IN CONFLICT 
 
 the old-time fire, gaze into space in a fixed and vacant stare, 
 tell her soul's overwhelming desolation. Barefoot, and noise- 
 less as a specter, she walks, pausing ever and anon, as in 
 mysterious ghostly tones she whispers, now faintly breathing, 
 now gasping forth in heaving bosom, the secret anguish of her 
 heart. In appearance, less a living beiug than a corpse 
 endowed with utterance, she resembles in her restless sleepless 
 strolling, a harassed soul that returns to haunt the earthly 
 scenes of her former sinful life. Hers was the plot to strike 
 Duncan in his sleep, and by that murderous blow she has, by a 
 strange but just judgment, ^Ifn ^^^^^^"'-"^ oi^^p and, in conse- 
 quence, she is forever more denied nature 's needful repose : 
 
 "The sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care. 
 The death of each day 's life, sore labor 's bath. 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature 's second course. ' ' 
 
 Prom the maid we learn how the queen, in fear of dark- 
 ness, insists on having a lighted taper near her through the 
 night. Thi s horror of darkness rea dilv recalls by contrast 
 her former bravado, when she summoned "thick night" to 
 come in the pall of ' ' the dunnest smoke of hell. ' ' Painful now 
 is the memory of those evil spirits, whom she had so impiously 
 welcomed to her breast, those "murdering ministers, sightless 
 substances" that in darkness ever "wait on nature's mis- 
 chief," and likely her red-handed guilt rouses a dread of their 
 horrid presence or of the ghosts of the murdered victims. 
 Having set down the lighted taper, she begins seemingly to 
 wash her hands, an action which, we are informed, she fre- 
 quently repeats and often for a quarter of an hour. Her 
 efforts, however, proving ineffectual, she in surprise and hor- 
 ror still sees a bloody spot and utters words in betrayal of her 
 guilty secret, words which in wakeful hours she would never 
 speak for all the fabulous wealth of "Ormus or of Ind." But 
 her will, though naturally powerful, is now helpless in sleep, 
 and, in consequence, under the complete sway of a fevered 
 and disturbed imagination, she whispers incoherent phrases, 
 which, without historical sequence, seem broken and jumbled 
 together like misfit elements in some fantastic dream. 
 
SLEEP-WALKING 265 
 
 SLEEP-WALKING 
 
 Lady Macbeth 's sonmambulistic walking is the enactment 
 of her dreams. Whatever she sees, or hears, or does, is but the 
 mere embodiment or repetition of former powerful impres- 
 sions, which for the time sway her fancy. Hence her words 
 and actions are in strict conformity with images conjured up 
 by an intensely excited imagination. This organic faculty 
 forms material images or phantasms of objects perceived by 
 the exterior senses, and even joins them into new combina- 
 tions. Phantasms are not isolated images. In their formation 
 they are usually associated with others and, in consequence, 
 when one phantasm is aroused other conjunctive images are 
 thereby excited. Wliile awake. Lady Macbeth could at will 
 regulate the workings of her fancy, but in sleep, when the 
 senses are closed to the outer world of realities, she is left 
 alone in the presence of the inner world of dreams or unreali- 
 ties, in which image after image of a disturbing nature is 
 conjured up, and combined anew by her abnormally excited 
 imagination. 
 
 As these images are reflected by her actions and whispered 
 accents, they are seen, though massed together incoherently, 
 to contain three elements of weird harmony : the thought of 
 the murder, the fear of discovery, and remorse of conscience. 
 In the first series of these phantasms, she lives over again the 
 vivid scenes of that fatal night of Duncan 's murder : 
 
 "Obb, two; why then 't is time to do it." 
 
 "Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much 
 blood in him?" 
 
 AVTien her husband, the murder done, had with bloody hands 
 rushed into her presence in excitement and delirious terror, 
 she made an effort to calm and recall him to his senses, in 
 
 the words : 
 
 "These deeds must not be thought 
 After these ways: so it will make us mad." 
 
 Then she had not realized the horrid nature of the crime; 
 but now, that its foulness and enormity are seen by her 
 
266 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 awakened conscience, she reveals in delirious dreams that she 
 herself is affected by the same terror and horror of the deed. 
 Pausing and listening breathlessly, she slowly counts again, in 
 a strange unnatural whisper, the strokes of the bell, which was 
 the appointed signal that all was auspicious for the murderous 
 blow. Her fancy, distracted for a moment by a few incon- 
 gruous phantasms, returns again to the scene of the crime. 
 Once more in fancy she seizes the daggers from the trembling 
 hand of her terrified husband, and goes to "gild the faces 
 of the grooms." Then, in the thought that "the sleeping 
 and the dead are but as pictures," she gazed without horror 
 upon the old king suffused in his life 's blood, and imbued her 
 hands therein ; but now, the scene affects her with a shudder, 
 as painfully she whispers her surprise, ' ' That the old man had 
 so much blood in him." Duncan's murder readily suggests 
 another, which followed from it, and for which as particeps 
 criminis she holds herself equally accountable. Her natural 
 womanly feeling for the murdered innocent mother and chil- 
 dren, she discloses as she whispers in mournful, melancholy 
 tones of regret, ' ' The thane of Fife had a wife ; where is she 
 now ? ' ' 
 
 Another series of images which crowds upon her fancy 
 relate to the scenes wherein she labored to keep her terrified 
 husband from betraying his guilt: 
 
 "Me, my lord, fie; a soldier and af eared? what need TPe fear 
 Who knows it when none can call our power to account? 
 Wash your hands; put on your night-gown; look not so pale. 
 To bed, to bed ; there 's knocking at the gate : come, come, come, 
 Come, give me your 'hand : to bed, to bed, to bed. ' ' 
 
 These words, indicative of the nature of her phantasms, show 
 that she is living again in fancy through that crucial scene 
 after the murder, when her husband standing dazed and 
 trembling in the grasp of fear and terror, she attempted to 
 rally him by appealing to her own presence of mind and 
 fearless courage. In her dream, however, she reminds him 
 of his owi\ boasted valor that should know no fear, and, fur- 
 thermore, s\|^ggests that no power in the kingdom can call a 
 
 \ 
 
SLEEP-WALKING 267 
 
 supreme monarch to account. In that scene, as now in sleep, 
 when her intellect is hampered, she had no thought of the 
 King of Kings, that invisible higher Power, who as Master of 
 every human conscience vindicates His violated laws in this 
 life as well as in the world to come ; in this life as seen by the 
 pangs of remorse, which, racking her soul day and night, 
 induce a delirium of unrest. Again in disturbed imagination 
 she hears that loud knocking at the gate, which once filled her 
 with fear and dismay, and reaching out in trepidation for her 
 husband's hand, she in imagination hurries him panic-stricken 
 from the scene, while whispering in tremulous accents those 
 words of unconscious irony: "Wash your hands! put on your 
 night-gown!" Formerly she did not feel the force of her 
 husband's words when, standing affrighted in frenzied 
 remorse, and staring with glaring eyeballs at his bloody hands, 
 he exclaimed : 
 
 "What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyesl 
 Will all great Neptune 's ocean wash this blood 
 Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather 
 The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 
 Making the green one red." 
 
 Prom fear of exposure, which overcame the guilty pair in 
 that memorable scene, her fancy by way of association, next 
 conjures up other phantasms of a kindred nature. Seated 
 again in vivid imagination at the banquet table, she sees her 
 husband overpowered by terror, when pointing at the ghost of 
 "blood-boltered Banquo, " he utters tell-tale words. Their 
 memory startles her, and again in fearful anxiety she whispers 
 in alarm: "No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you 
 mar all with this starting. — I tell you yet again Banquo 's 
 buried; he cannot come out on's grave." This last sentence 
 she had not uttered at the banquet scene. It is the product 
 of her present overwrought imagination, which in sleep is 
 uncontrolled by judgment or reason. In her waking hours 
 she was well aware that disembodied souls, when permitted to 
 return to earth, do not resume their buried and corrupting 
 bodies, but by preternatural power clothe themselves in some 
 
268 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 aerial, shadowy form in resemblance to that of their human 
 life. 
 
 The third series of phantasms that agitates her over- 
 wrought imagination, relates to her overpowering sense of 
 guilt and pangs of remorse : 
 
 "Yet here 's a spot! — ^Out damned spot! out, I say! — 
 Hell is murky. — What, will these hands ne'er be clean? 
 Here 's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of 
 Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh! — 
 What is done cannot be undone." 
 
 These phrases are interjected here and there, as the panorama 
 of former distressing scenes crowd through her imagination. 
 From each harrowing image, or representation she frequentlj' 
 reverts to her present pitiful condition, and gives expression 
 to her secret sufferings. Tortured by day with remorse of 
 conscience, she is by night the victim of a riotous imagination, 
 which perceives the repulsive smell of blood upon her hands, 
 and its presence affects her with a feeling of intense horror 
 and revulsion. "The sense of smell," says Verplanck, "has 
 never been successfully used as a means of impressing the 
 imagination with terror, pity, or any of the deeper emotions, 
 except in this dreadful sleep-walking scene of the guilty 
 queen, and in one parallel scene of the Greek drama, as 
 wildly terrible as this. It is that passage of the Agamemnon 
 of Aeschylus, where the captive prophetess, wrapt in visionary 
 inspiration, scents first the smell of blood and then the vapors 
 of the tomb breathing from the palace of Atrides, as ominous 
 of his approaching murder. These two stand alone in poetry." 
 The sight of innocent blood upon her hand, moreover, 
 haunts her imagination, and finding the tell-tale spot, despite 
 repeated rubbings and washings, inerasable, she whispers in 
 impassioned accents of exasperation and horror, ' ' Out damned 
 spot! out, I say!" The bloody spot is the image of the guilty 
 stain upon her soul, and is, therefore, a "damned spot," 
 because it speaks her condemnation. Formerly she proved 
 her Christian belief in hell, the home of evil spirits, when in 
 the firm resolve of lofty ambition she not only summoned their 
 
HELL IS MURKY 269 
 
 aid, but also invoked "the dunnest smoke of hell" to come 
 and pall her contemplated crime with its thick pitchy black- 
 ness; and now in vivid fancy, she sees in dream that horrid 
 prison, sniffs its dense smoke, feels its murkiness, and in shud- 
 dering horror whispers, "Hell is murky." For the attain- 
 ment of an unhallowed ambition, she had deliberately and vol- 
 untarily separated herself from God, rejected Him in favor of 
 the denizens of hell; and final separation from God, the 
 supreme good, is hell. 
 
 HELL IS MURKY 
 
 If Lady Macbeth 's orthodox notion of hell seems repugnant 
 to many of our day, it is perhaps due to the forgetfulness of 
 the important truth that hell or eternal punishment is not 
 decreed by an arbitrary or despotic power. It is an intrinsic 
 necessity arising from the perfection of God and the willful 
 apostacy of man. If God be holy, just, pure, true, and 
 unchangeable, then, if the man who is impure, unjust, unholy, 
 and false, will not change by repentance, it follows that, as 
 light and darkness cannot coexist, so neither can God and that 
 human soul unite in eternity. Eternal punishment is, there- 
 fore, not a statute law, but an intrinsic necessity, arising on 
 the one hand from the divine perfection, and on the other, 
 from the human soul persevering impenitently in sin. The 
 holiness of God and the sinfulness of man clearly demon- 
 strate the intrinsic necessity of an eternal separation. And 
 what is hell but to be separated from God eternally? Man 
 was created for God, his supreme good, and the lost soul will 
 hunger and thirst after that supreme good when to be united 
 with God will be impossible forever. As breathing is a vital 
 necessity of the body, so union with God is a vital necessity 
 for the eternal happiness of the soul. This loss of God engen- 
 ders remorse — the consciousness that the soul has committed 
 self-murder, that it sinned unto death of its own free will, 
 and that without constraint or necessity it broke its link of 
 union with God. In this eternal separation the worm that 
 dieth not, the perpetual tooth of remorse, afflicts the soul with 
 an anguish which no human heart can conceive, an anguish 
 
270 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 so poignant and overpowering as to exceed the pain of sense 
 itself.^ 
 
 ^> TjiR dreams nf Tiady^Mafiheth in the slee p-walking scene, 
 are,hut ajveOex of .emotions during he r'~wa£in£^ hours. an(i 
 disclose. that hers ig a.remQrsa,merging intcMiespair. This she 
 betrays in the phrases, ' ' all the- perfumes of AraBia will not 
 sweeten this little hand," and "what's done cannot be 
 undone. ' ' Her mental anguish is revealed when, groping her 
 way in the dimly lighted chamber, she in horrid convulsive 
 shudderings utters in prolonged agonizing sighs, ' ' oh, oh, oh ! " 
 They seem the heart-piercing sighs of a lost soul hopelessly 
 immersed in despair, and cause the physician and maid to fall 
 back in fear and dismay; the former exclaiming, "What a 
 sigh was there!" and the latter, "I would not have such a 
 heavy-laden heart in my bosom for all the dignity of the 
 queenship." 
 
 Lady Macbeth 's appalling cries of anguish have recalled 
 to certain commentators the pathetic last days of Queen Eliza- 
 beth, as recorded by Sir John Carey. "She took my hand, 
 Avrung it hard and said, 'no Robin, I am not well,' and while 
 discoursing fetched out not less than forty or fifty great sighs. 
 I had never kno-mi her to sigh, but when the Queen of Scots 
 was beheaded. ' ' Sir John Harrington, her godson, found her, 
 on his visit, altered in features and reduced to a skeleton. 
 She stamped with her feet and swore violently at the objects 
 of her anger. The sword which she kept beside her, she often 
 thrust with violence into the tapestry of her chamber. During 
 the paroxysms of her disorder she had been alarmed at the 
 frightful phantoms conjiired up by imagination, and writes 
 Mrs. Southwell, her maid of honor : ' ' She obstinately refused 
 to return to her bed, and sat both day and night on a stool 
 bolstered up with cushions, having her finger in her mouth 
 and her eyes fixed on the floor." Lord Cecil, her prime 
 minister, made public the report that she was stricken with 
 madness. When the lord admiral, a blood-relation, urged her 
 to return to bed, the Queen replied that, if he had seen what 
 she saw there, he would never make the request. When Cecil 
 
 1. Cf. sin and Its Consequences, hy Card. Manning, p. 63 et passim. 
 
HELL IS MURKY 271 
 
 asked if she had seen spirits, she refused to reply. In secret 
 she told the lord admiral in piteous tones : ' ' My lord, I am 
 tied Avith an iron collar about my neck." When he sought 
 to console her, she replied, "No; I am tied and the case is 
 altered with me."^ 
 
 If rPTTinrse he definprl ag g Vepn aiif rnish nfririTid a com- 
 punction for crime committed. Lady MacbethTn sleep-walking 
 undoubtedly exhibits by word and action a supreme remorse 
 of conscience. If in wakeful hours, when in full command 
 of her faculties, she guarded well the cause of her affliction, in 
 sleep, A^hen the imagination and not the will is in full con- 
 trol, she, like many great criminals, unconsciously betrays 
 her seSe of guiTt" aii dtEe mental sufferings consequent upon it. 
 Compunction, however, may "be natural or superiiaiural. It 
 is natural, if arising from merely human motives, as when one 
 is grief-stricken, not because of the violation of a law of God, 
 but by reason of disastrous consequences, such as temporal 
 loss, or disgrace, or suffering. Such was the remorse of King 
 Antiochus, a murderer and blasphemer.^ Stricken by Divine 
 Justice with a horrible disease, he bewailed his wickedness in 
 compunctious prayer; but his repentance was insincere, 
 because prompted by his sufferings, and not by sorrow for his 
 ; sins against God. Compunction, on the other hand, is super- 
 natural, when on the promptings of divine Faith, it arises 
 from fear of punishment by reason of an offense against God, 
 our greatest benefactor and supreme good. It must neces- 
 sarily include hope of pardon, which is founded on God's 
 infinite mercy. "To despair of God's mercy," affirms St. 
 Augustine, " is to dishonor God 's infinite perfection. ' ' Pardon 
 of sin is inculcated by multitudinous assurance in Sacred 
 Scripture : ' ' Turn to me and I will turn to you, saith the 
 Lord."^ "I desire not the death of the sinner but that he 
 be converted and live. " * "If your sins be as scarlet, they 
 shall be made white as snow : and if they be red as crimson, 
 they shall be white as wool. ' ' ^ 
 
 1. Cf. Llngard's History of England, Vol. VI. C. IX, p. 644. 
 
 2. 2 Mach. IX. 
 .S. 7ach. 1 :3. 
 
 4. Ezek. 3.3 :11. 
 .-. Is. 1:18. 
 
272 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 REMORSE WITHOUT BEPENTANC E 
 
 As belief in God's mercy on condition of repentance, is a 
 fundamental doctrine of Christianity, it_ma:LSfisa.sur2rising_ 
 tlj^t Lady Macbeth, as a C hristian.jmmiaju.-s l i otild . n . - w£2e- 
 exhibiting deep remorse, ^ijdbsg,jiQ,.Seii±ijPient,of JsjieJCSBeiit- 
 ahce.J Hers, on the contrary, seems a despair like that of the 
 first murderer, who deemed his crime too great to be forgiven. 
 Though Lady Macbeth 's religion was that common to her peo- 
 ple, it seemed to have exercised but little influence upon her 
 daily life, and that little was more theoretical than practical. 
 The drama offers no evidence that she was a religious woman 
 with mind deeply imbued and strengthened by religious prin- 
 ciples, and with will tutored to restraint and habituated to 
 the observance of the moral order in matters antagonistic to 
 her cherished passion. That her conscience was not delicately 
 sensitive of evil, is evidenced in the fact that in the contem- 
 plated crime, she considered neither its heinous offense against 
 God, nor its future punishment, but was wholly engrossed in 
 escaping detection. Her conscience, though stunted in growth, 
 was not, however, atrophied, and accordingly, in the fear that 
 its action might impede the perpetration of a bloody crime, 
 which was naturally most repulsive to her refined feminine 
 nature, she resorts to the aid of evil spirits, whom she prays 
 to strengthen her against its voice of remonstrance. Their 
 agency was powerful with a woman who, weak in the practice 
 of religion, was, moreover, by nature, proud, haughty, self- 
 willed, imperious, and who never brooked opposition. Such a 
 woman Avould regard but little the law of God, which forbade 
 her unholy reaching out for the cherished idol of her heart. 
 Ambition was naturally her ruling passion and, as a part o f 
 her nature, she loved it, nurtured it, an d l^roo'ttTingTong over 
 the pb,ie ct of her as piralinns. pbttiq in InnV npr»n fhc <=Ho/l^rvi 
 a s" the_o ;fl^,:^5ig..,mi£^^^y "^^ ^"^ ^ifflf and^ in consequence, 
 yearning after it as hex, sunreme ^ood. she became obliYiousT or' 
 ail otner interests of this life and the next. j,nd was, therefore , 
 ready to sacrifice all for "the golden round" that meant her 
 P^eyation JoL/the siimmit oFliiiman honor, powei ' 
 
REMORSE WITHOUT REPENTANCE 273 
 
 Thus inclined, lier affinity for evil attracted kindred evil 
 spirits, those "sightless substances that wait on nature's mis- 
 chief." Knowing her ruling passion as well as her husband's, 
 and perceiving her enslaved by ' ' the concupiscence of the eyes 
 and the pride of life," they divined her fallow soul to be 
 fruitful soil for seeds of diabolical temptation, and accord- 
 ingly inspired her to invoke their aid, and willfully to yield 
 up her soul to them for the attainment of her royal aspira- 
 tions.. Hence, with perfect self-control, domineering energy, 
 abetted by an iron will, and imagination dazzled by the dia- 
 dem, she not only resolves upon the crime, but even summons 
 them as auxiliaries from hell, to come and make her womanly 
 nature an adamantine rock against every assault of conscience 
 and every revulsion of human feeling : 
 
 "Come, you spirits 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, make thick my blood: 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse, 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose." 
 
 • Responsive to her unhallowed invocation, they came, and 
 true to their malicious nature, "filled her with direst cruelty 
 that no compunctious visitings of nature" thwart her resolve. 
 Their course of temptation is that usual with votaries of 
 human power and glory.^ Alluring her senses and imagina- 
 tion, they magnify the worth of the object yearned for as 
 her supreme good, and fascinating her fancy with the glamor 
 of the dazzling diadem, they insist that no obstacle need 
 impede her grasping the coveted prize; they cunningly per- 
 suade her that the crime so easv of performance, is equally 
 easy of concea lmapijJJiey-insinuate that "allttle water will 
 clear her of the deed;" they blind her to the fatal effects 
 surely consequent upon the crime ; a nd by infl aming her.jpas- 
 sionate ambition and bewitching her imagina ti on with a glow- 
 ing but exaggerated vision of royalty, they distract her mind 
 
 puirfshment. ~ ~ 
 
 1. Enles for Discernment of Spirits, by St. Ignatius Loyola, Rules 1 & 14, 
 
274 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 I .But after the excitement consequent upon the crime had 
 / passed, and her brow was adorned with the coveted diadem, 
 [ ca me the unforeseen but inevitable hour of reaction. Her 
 conscience, startled into vigorous action and asserting itself 
 in a surprising manner, cried aloud in denunciatory tones, 
 which she could neither ignore nor drown. Her eyes, more- 
 over, were opened like the primal offender's, and she was 
 disillusioned and disappointed in the prize and the happiness 
 she had imagined it to bring. She had dreamed that "the 
 golden round" was synonymous with supreme honor and hap- 
 piness ; but it brought her nought but supreme misery. Even 
 before the banquet, when crowned with the "round and top 
 of sovereignty," she began to realize that the specious fruit 
 within her grasp was cankerous, and, in consequence, deep 
 melancholy seized her soul, and in the misery of an afflicted 
 heart, she sighed in secret : 
 
 "Nought 's had, all 's spent 
 Where our desire is got without content: 
 'T is safer to be that which we destroy 
 Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy." 
 
 In the footsteps of melancholy followed remorse, and vaia 
 was her effort to philosophize it away in words, which, though 
 expressive of her own misery, she addressed to her husband, 
 whom she imagined to be afflicted for the same reason as 
 herself : 
 
 "How now, my lord, why do you keep alone, 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making; 
 Using those thoughts which should indeed have died 
 With them they think on? Things without all remedy 
 Should be without regard : what 's done is done. ' ' 
 
 That higher Power to whom innocent blood cries aloud 
 for vengeance, she had neither respected nor considered. Her 
 irreligious mind swayed by evil spirits, those "murdering 
 ministers that wait on nature's mischief," had blighted her 
 natural sensibility to the divine law. But the blow that 
 destroyed the life of Duncan also roused to life her deadened 
 
REMORSE WITHOUT REPENTANCE 275 
 
 conscience. Its accusing voice she hears, and at once becomes 
 sensible of a cruel Nemesis that ghost-like shadows her unceas- 
 ingly, ever whispering her horrid guilt. In the wretchedness 
 common to every human soul that allies itself with evil spirits, 
 she feels no impulse to appeal for divine aid against their 
 malign influence, and bereft of all human hope and sympathy 
 because of her guarded secret, she succumbs to misery and 
 despair, and these deepen with the days as in loneliness she 
 meditates on the emptiness of her golden dreams, and the 
 wretchedness they entail upon her guilt-stained soul. Upon 
 her conscience was at work, day after day, the inevitable law 
 of the Creator, and with the deepening of remorse she realized 
 the force of His words: "Wickedness is fearful, it beareth 
 witness of its condemnation : for a troubled conscience always 
 forecasteth grievous things."^ "Day and night Thy hand 
 was heavy upon me : I am turned in my anguish whilst the 
 thorn is fastened. " ^ As evil spirits harassed King Saul after 
 he had fallen away from God, and drove him first to melan- 
 choly, then to remorse and despair, and finally to self-destruc- 
 tion, so the evil spirits to whom Lady Macbeth yielded herself 
 wUlfuUy, were far from abandoning her and their diabolical 
 purpose. 
 
 , At the sight of her remorse, they resort to their usual 
 change of tactics,^ in order to prevent her return to God by 
 true penitence. Before the murder they minimized the 
 crime and its consequences; but after it they magnify them 
 with the view of inducing despair. Still obsessing her, they 
 harrow her feelings, fill her with sadness, disquiet the imagina- 
 tion, darken the mind with scruples, suggest false reasonings 
 concerning God's mercy, and insist on the uselessness of 
 repentance. Under their diabolical influence, she makes no 
 effort at resistance, and has no recourse to the common means 
 of prayer and penitence ; but wholly engrossed in the thought 
 of the punishment of her crime, comes to think it too great to 
 be forgiven, until in the despondency of despair, she walks the 
 night in troubled dreams, giving unconscious expression to the 
 
 1. Wisdom 17:10. 
 2 Ps 31 :4. 
 
 3'. Rules for Discernment of Spirits, by St. Ignatius Loyola, Rules 2 & 4. 
 
276 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 feelings she partly conceals by day : that nothing will cleanse 
 her bloody hands, that nothing will purify her blood-stained 
 soul. "Her accents betray the workings of spirits from 
 the abyss that inexorably demand their victim." Over the 
 Avhole scene broods that mysterious awe-inspiring tone which 
 prompts us to understand much that is not openly expressed. 
 As we gaze upon her wasted form, "her wan and haggard 
 countenance, her starrj- eyes glazed with the ever burning 
 fever of remorse, and on their lids the shadow of death," her 
 restless spirit in whispering anguish of gasps and sighs wan- 
 dering in troubled dreams a living ghost through the dark- 
 ened rooms and dismal halls of the gloomy castle, her misfor- 
 tune rouses our human sympathies, and while, as fellow- 
 mortals, we can not help feeling commiseration over the utter 
 ruin of a woman endowed with such great possibilities for 
 good, we also feel an increased horror of crime in presence of 
 its fearful consequences. The affecting scene gives but a 
 glimpse of the turmoil in the depths of her soul, and, as with 
 sighs and groans that move to horror and yet to pity, she 
 vanishes from sight, the sad victim of an unholy ruling pas- 
 sion, we feel that the awful scene naturally suggests to Chris- 
 tian minds the import and value of the divine petition: "lead 
 us not into temptation but deliver us from evil" (11. 17-67). 
 
 THE DIVINE RATHER THAN THE PHYSICIAN 
 
 As Lady Macbeth vanishes from the dimly lighted chamber, 
 like a specter of the night, t he phys ieiaTi spe^, ^R there ^ j^ ^^lt 
 of his observations.- Tfpr wli^gppT-i^^-] l yprdi^ , which iucriTniTiat.ed 
 ners eiiancl liusbarid , recall t|ip fmil (^^p^^p that, are whjs- 
 peredjibou^.amaflgJiia.$)eople. Prom fear of the tyrant none, 
 save in bated breath, dares retail these rumors nor comment 
 thereon. "While tJie royal criminals in strange fatuity still 
 imagine their guilty secret to be all their own, it is in fact 
 spread abroad on the wings of the wind. Its divulgation was 
 chiefly due to the nobles who, after having witnessed Macbeth 's 
 terror at the sight of Banquo's ghost, and heard his self- 
 incriminating utterances, were so unceremoniously hurried 
 
DIVINE RATHER THAN PHYSICIAN 277 
 
 forth from the banquet-hall liy the panic-stricken queeJi. 
 Some were already in open rebellion against the usurper, and 
 spoke their convictions freely; while others, yet apparently 
 in his service, dare whisper only to confidants their strong 
 suspicions or convictions. 
 
 Unnatural crimes, justly concludes the physician, rouse 
 in the criminal an unwonted activity of conscience, which is 
 accompanied with mental disturbance and an abnormal 
 excitement of the imagination that leads him to suspect and 
 fear every man. Criminals with minds thus infected are 
 often known to be exposed by their own rebellious conscience, 
 for in sleep, when the imagination and not the will is in 
 control, they blurt out unwittingly the dread secret. Day and 
 night, they feel the inexorable secret touch of Him who -never 
 fails in the sanction of His violated law: "Tribulation and 
 anguish upon every soul that worketh iniquity. " ^ " The 
 wicked are like the raging sea which cannot rest. ' ' ^ 
 
 Convinced that the queen's malady is of the soul, and not 
 of the body, the physician exclaims : ' ' This disease is beyond 
 my practice. More needs she the divine than the physician. ' ' 
 His dictum has been repeated since by many a medical adviser. 
 Lady Macbeth needed, indeed, a healer of her sin-tortured 
 soul, a priest of the Church of God, who with divine legatine 
 powers could restore peace to her riotous conscience by sac- 
 ramental absolution. Such power, Shakespeare, in the ehai"- 
 acter of the physician, a presumably well informed Catholic, 
 seems to recognize in the priesthood of the Church : 
 
 ' ' The blackest sin is cleared with absolution. ' ' 3 
 
 He knew that the Scribes and Pharisees, the bitter enemies 
 of the Saviour, challenged His divine power of forgiving sins, 
 by protesting : ' ' "Who can forgive sins but God alone 1 ' ' This 
 objection which is sometimes re-uttered in our own day by 
 modern allies of those odious Scribes and Pharisees, the 
 Man-God met by miraculously healing the palsied man before 
 
 1. Rom. 2 :9. 
 
 2. Is. 57 :20. 
 
 :!. Rape Luc, verse 31. 
 
278 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 the multitude in proof that He, the Son of Man, had power 
 on earth to forgive sins; and "the multitude praised and 
 glorified God that gave such power to men} The Savior 
 "came not to call the just but sinners to repentance," ^ and in 
 their behalf, He conferred the same power upon His apostles 
 and their successors in His universal Church, when, after His 
 resurrection, "breathing on them He said: Receive ye the 
 Holy Ghost. Whose sins you shall forgive, they are forgiven ; 
 and whose sins you shall retain, they are retained. ' ' ^ Hence, 
 the words of the physician are clear concerning the cure of 
 Lady Macbeth 's spiritual malady: her diseased conscience 
 called for a divine physician who, by divinely delegated power, 
 could on condition of true repentance uplift her blood-stained 
 soul, purified from the slough of hopeless remorse. 
 
 Moved to pity by Lady Macbeth 's sore distress, the kind- 
 hearted physician does not, as the proud pharisee in the 
 temple, thank God that he is not like others, but in Christian 
 charity and humility prays God to "forgive us all." ""Who 
 can say: my heart is clean, I am pure from sin?"* The 
 thought of our common human frailty is forced upon him by 
 the affecting scene : "He that thinketh himself to stand, let 
 him take heed lest he fall."^ 
 
 Turning to the Lady-in-waiting, he orders her to attend 
 diligently to the queen, and to remove beyond her reach 
 anything by which she might do violence to herself, insinuat- 
 ing that those afflicted with her malady often resort to self- 
 destruction. In conclusion, he confesses amazement and 
 bewilderment ; but in charity refrains from voicing his secret 
 thoughts and suspicions: "Judge not and you shall not be 
 judged." Moreover, as court physician, honor bars disclosure 
 of professional knowledge. In fine, with a "good night" from 
 the gentlewoman, the "good doctor" departs burdened with 
 gloomy thoughts and perplexities (11. 68-76). 
 
 1. Matth. 9 :2. 
 
 2. Luke 5 :32. 
 
 3. John 20 :22. 
 
 4. Piov. 20 :9. 
 T). 1 Cor. 10:12. 
 
SCENE SECOND 
 
 A COUNCIL OF WAR 
 
 After the disappparancft nf Lady Macbeth , Shakespearp 
 p roceeds to show how^MacbethjjiTtlieJiope oTescapihg Tefri- 
 b utive ju stice, attempt^ to sta:^ bv violence the iron hand of 
 
 Jntr ^ -""is isJb riaflZ-aiifolded in a conference of the nobles who 
 have taken the field agai ^nli thn limiT'r^^' On their~march 
 with fife and drum, and under colors, they have halted with 
 their clans in the plains near Dunsinane. From this con- 
 ference we learn of their loyalty to Malcolm, and of their 
 eagerness for the fray that shall purge the land of its malig- 
 nant plague ; and, on the other hand, how Macbeth is broken- 
 spirited and bewildered at the ever increasing desertions 
 from hisjorces. They hear from Menteith, a new arrival, 
 that the^English forces have entered Scotland, and that the 
 crown- prince, Macduff, and the old warrior, Siward, all athirst 
 for revenge, are intent on instant action. Each has a grievous 
 j)ersonal cause : one to avenge a father 's murder ; another, 
 the -butchery of his wife and children; and the earl of 
 
 "iNorthumberland, the murder of his sister's husband. They 
 deem the justice of their cause so impelling that it would even 
 rouse a mortified, or ascetic man who has attained indifference 
 to all concerns of life, and inspire him to respond to the call 
 to arms in a conflict full of carnage and horrors. The Poet, 
 whose familiarity with Sacred Scripture is seen from his 
 numerous allusions to its text, seems, in the present instance, 
 to have borrowed the idea of "mortified" from the words of 
 the Apostle: "If you live according to the flesh, you shall 
 die; but if by the spirit you mortify the deeds of the flesh, 
 you shall live."^ 
 
 By secret information the nobles learn that by agreement 
 the advancing English army is to meet the Scottish forces near 
 Birnam "Woods. By the mention of these "Woods the Poet 
 opportunely reminds his audience of the equivocal prediction 
 of evil spirits when near its fulfilment : 
 
 1. Rom. 8 :13. 
 
 279 
 
280 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 ' ' Macbeth shall never vanquished be until 
 Great Blrnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against him." 
 
 At the conference the leaders ascertain from the list 
 which Lennox bears, the names of all the English gentry 
 among the auxiliary troops; and, furthermore, that with the 
 noble young Si ward are many gentle youth, still in the bud- 
 ding flower of manhood. Information is next sought con- 
 cerning the situation and strength of the tyrant's forces. 
 As Macbeth perceives the ever growing power of his enemies, 
 now made most formidable by union with the English troops, 
 he, writes Holinshed, the chronicler, retreats, at their advance. 
 Into Fife, where he purposes to await attack in the fortified 
 camp at Dunsinane. 
 
 Lord Caithness reports that those ill-disposed call his 
 course of action madness; others of less hostile mind call it 
 valiant fury. Like a man with a distempered, swollen body, 
 he is unable to direct affairs, and to control conflicting ele- 
 ments among his disorganized followers. His secret murders, 
 says Lord Angus, are weighty drags upon his spirits ; frequent 
 rebellions reproach his own treason; and subjects yield obe- 
 dience from fear rather than from love. Now, uncertain of 
 the crown, he is conscious "that his title hangs loose about 
 him," and feels like a thievish pigmy clad in a giant's garb. 
 It is, therefore, no surprise, says Lord Menteith, that his 
 senses ' ' recoil and start ' ' when conscience and all his faculties 
 protest against his false position. He ever bears about 
 
 ' ' A silent court of justice in his breast, 
 Himself a judge and jury, and himself 
 The prisoner at the bar, ever condemned." [Tennyson.J 
 
 Lord Caithness voices the sentiment of all. It is to march 
 at once to Birnam, and there yield obedience to the crown 
 prince, who comes with a remedy for the diseased realm. 
 Eesolved to do their utmost to support Malcolm, the "sover- 
 eign flower," and to destroy the noisome weeds of the land, 
 they begin their march to Birnam. 
 
SCENE THIED 
 CONFIDENCE ALTERNATING WITH FEAR 
 
 Though many than fip wit! ) 1;hfii>_jiM >4HJ^'H»*t»!»4TnT^~TTmr"lTtr one 
 .j oined their fortunes with thosR of Malp.olm. Macbeth still 
 h oped to hol d the thr one hy the sway of terror, and pfoppprle rl 
 so metime s agitated by fe ar and other times hy ^^^^I Kn.i tif 
 ravage tne ItJalKl'wiih a boundless waste of cruelty . His mad 
 excesses arose from fear a s well as from confi dence, iiis 
 guardian spirits of evil had, by their manif estation~ot their 
 powers at the last interview in the cavern, won his full con- 
 fidence and inspired him with a firm faith in their assurance 
 of his safety; hence, he felt convinced that he could with 
 absolute impunity defy the hostility of the thanes as well 
 as of all opposing forces. 
 
 The present scene, however, shows him under the alter- 
 nating influence of confidence and fear. Accompanied by the 
 court physician and a few courtiers, he has retired within the 
 castle of Dunsinane ; but scout after scout rushes in with the 
 alarming discovery that ten thousand English troops in con- 
 junction with the Scottish forces are advancing against the 
 castle. The report fills his followers with fear and conster- 
 nation, and Macbeth 's own heart quails at the thought of 
 facing so great a force with his small army. His fear soon 
 yields to confidence as he reflects that, safe in his stronghold, 
 his guardian spirits, who "know all mortal consequences," 
 shall battle for him at once invulnerable and unconquerable. 
 The thought renews his courage, and in towering valor he 
 defies the faithless thanes, and drives from his presence other 
 scouts who, pale-faced, hurry forward with confirming reports. 
 Why should he be troubled ? His courage can know no taint 
 of fear "till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane," "and that 
 will never be " : 
 
 ' ' Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root?" 
 
 To animate the flagging spirits of his followers, he vaunts 
 in impassioned tones his utter fearlessness of the advancing 
 
 281 
 
282 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 foe. The spirits that know the future have promised him 
 immunity from harm. What matters, then, if the treacherous 
 thanes ally themselves "with the English epicures?" He 
 scorns "the boy, Malcolm," and in fatuity is oblivious of the 
 spirit's warning to "beware Macduff," the one fated instru- 
 ment of his undoing. One and all are born of woman and, 
 in consequence, his courage shall never know the blight of 
 doubt, nor his heart quake with fear. 
 
 In indignation he sneers at the English auxiliaries, dubs 
 them epicures, men more notorious for feastings than 
 renowned for prowess of arms. The idea is borrowed from 
 the chronicles of Holinshed. Englishmen, he affirms, intro- 
 duced luxuries into Scotland. The sumptuous feasts of 
 Hardicanute, the predecessor of the saintly Edward, had 
 become a common topic of reproach among. the Scots. Dr. 
 Johnson, whose dislike for the Scots was well known, believes 
 that Macbeth 's reproach of epicurism is nothing more than 
 a natural invective uttered by an inhabitant of a barren 
 
 irCPuntry against those who have more opportunity of luxury. 
 
 That Macbeth 's almost incredible confidence in the 
 
 equivocal predictions of his evil tempters continues to grow 
 
 as his danger increases is portrayed in scene after scene with 
 
 J wondrous refinement of irony. His fallacious confidence 
 illustrates a sinner's folly, when ensnared by the wiles of 
 Satan. It is explained by the fact t.bat^ bis sf)i7l fif^p yfi'tiL. 
 th e passion of ambition, his will with its hopes and desires- 
 ma stere d his wnoie Deinp:, and turned his mind awav from. 
 the''"consideration of moral truths iiiiopposition to his 
 cherished aspiration. 
 
 ^" AL hly hl'sL meeLmg with the Weird Sisters, Macbeth was 
 in presence of serious temptation, and it grew in gravity in 
 proportion as his royal ambition became day by day more 
 intensified under the influence of his demon-tempters. While 
 it is true that man by his own unaided strength can be 
 faithful to easier moral duties, and overcome lighter tempta- 
 tions, it is equally true that he is morally unable to overcome 
 vehement temptation without the aid of grace. As a conse- 
 quence of his fallen state, his animal-nature is in rebellion 
 
CONFIDENCE ALTEENATING WITH FEAR 283 
 
 against the higher, and his senses and appetites, or passions, 
 are inclined to present sensible things, which move him 
 readily and strongly, while his intellect, left to itself, is 
 remiss in considering moral principles which may strengthen 
 the instability of his will, and' enable it to overcome tempta- 
 tion. 
 
 Macbeth, therefore, under grave and persistent temp- 
 tation, needed grace of resistance; and prayer is specially 
 characterized as the means of obtaining it. But he was not, 
 as already noted, a practical Christian of religious life and 
 habits, and, therefore, from his neglect of prayer as the 
 means of grace, he fell a victim to the wiles of his evil temp- 
 ters.^ Hence, after he had rejected God and his eternal 
 interests for the sake of the crown, he was so completely in 
 the power of his fiendish guides that they swayed his will, 
 and held it firm in adherence to the truth of their promises ; 
 and this pleasing subjective certitude barred his mind from 
 doubt or from examining whether his confidence was sup- 
 ported by real, or objective evidence. 
 
 Many men go through life adhering to errors in judgment, 
 whether theoretical or practical; and their errors are always 
 traceable to free will. They are not, of course, caused by the 
 objective truth ; nor can the intellect be necessitated to judge 
 falsely, since its very essence consists in the power of knowing 
 — of grasping truth. There remains but one possible cause 
 of error — man's freedom to embrace or reject a proposition. 
 While the will then is the ultimate cause of all error, there are 
 various proximate causes: such as false information, confu- 
 sion of ideas, impatience to reach a conclusion, great conceit 
 or pride which hinders us from doubting our own judgments, 
 and, in fine, prejudice and passion, or strong desire, which 
 prompts us to accept as true what is pleasing to us. Under 
 such conditions, man by his free will can often bend the 
 intellect to fix its attention on the probabilities of what he 
 wishes to be true, and to turn the mind from weighing all 
 reasons to the contrary, and thus he can form a false judg- 
 
 1. Cf. The Christian Religion, Rev. W. Wilmes, S. J., p. 287. De Gratia 
 Chrlsti, Card.Mazzella, p. 242. 
 
284 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 ment to which he adheres without fear of error/ In like 
 manner Macbeth, who ardently desired that the promises. of 
 his evil tempters be true, failed to reflect upon the important 
 truth that fallen spirits can possess no certain knowledge 
 of future events which depend entirely upon man's free will; 
 that they are only shrewd guessers by reason of their superior 
 intellect and long experience; and that hating truth and 
 loving falsehood, their purpose in dealing with man is to 
 deceive him by specious or seeming truths. At his cost, 
 therefore, Macbeth was to learn that their fictitious or equivo- 
 cal prophecies uttered,, as the oracles of old,^ with the intent 
 of deceiving, would indeed be verified, because they them- 
 selves were to bring about the fulfilment as they, and not as 
 Macbeth understood them. 
 
 A RUDE SHOCK 
 As Macbeth 's boasted courage is based on a belief of 
 assured safety, which is wholly subjective, it receives a rude 
 shock when he is suddenly recalled to the objective reality of 
 things. His confidence, resting on superstition, 'buoys him 
 up against dangers as long as he dwells in the subjective 
 world of thought, but fails him as every fresh alarm awakens 
 him to the actual situation. Hence, when he observes the 
 servant, pallid from fear and trembling, rushing forward 
 with the alarming news of the great advancing army, his 
 spirit of bravado lapses into rage and fury. In the utter loss 
 of self-control, he curses in great passion the unfortunate 
 messenger, who but performs his duty, and heaping upon 
 him such derisive epithets as villain, patch, goose, and lily- 
 livered boy, drives him forth, lest he infect others by his 
 inanifest terror (11. 1-9).^ 
 
 1. Cf. Coppens' Logic & Metaphysics, p. 52 et seq. 
 
 2. An illustration is the well known equivocal prophecy ; "Te vlncere 
 Komanos. (You the Romans shall conquer.) 
 
 3. Loon signifies a stupid man, a rogue, or rascal : patch, as a nickname 
 of fools, was suggested by the motley colored garments of the Jester ; goose 
 was the emblem of cowardice, and as such occurs in another tragedy : 
 
 "You souls of geese 
 That bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
 From slaves that apes would beat!" (Cor. I, iv.) 
 Lily-livered is a term synonymous with cowardice, and is so used by the 
 Poet m his charaoter of FalstafC: -The second property of vour excellent 
 sherris is the warming of the blood ; which, before cold and settled, left the 
 liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice." 
 (2 Henry, IV, iv, 3.) 
 
A EUDE SHOCK 285 
 
 Macbeth 's Rxt ernal yjoIpticp rpflec.ts bis internal disturb- 
 ancej__jEoi'tured in conscience by the guilt of many crimes, 
 and distracted in mind by pressing dangers, he feels immersed 
 in melancholy. His wild disorders, inconsistencies, and ma3^ 
 assurance, alternating with dejection and "valiant fury," I 
 indicate a presumption without hope and a confidence without! 
 moral courage. From the depths of desolation he perceives 
 in the promises of the apparitions the sole ray of hope amid 
 the thickening gloom. Though evil spirits still sway his will 
 to confidence in their words, he, nevertheless, at the sight of 
 appalling odds against him, is unable to repress sentiments 
 of fear and uncertainty, and, in consequent dejection of mind 
 and heart, he feels an overpowering melancholy and weariness 
 of life. Gone is his bravado, as turning for consolation to 
 his trusted confidant, he confesses his fears, anxieties, and 
 doubts concerning the issue of the conflict. Victory shall 
 accord him the crown with joyful security, or defeat shall 
 dethrone him and hand him over, a victim to avenging justice. 
 The painful uncertainty with all that it means for good or 
 for evil, afflicts his mind, overpowers his spirits, and fills him 
 with so great a desolation of soul and heaviness of heart 
 that, in self-communing and despondent words he affirms his 
 weary life to be no longer worth the living. 
 
 A similar feeling of desolation had overmastered him after 
 the coronation. The crown had brought him keen disap- 
 pointments and fears, which racking his soul, engendered 
 "terrible dreams" that "shook him nightly," and caused 
 him to lie in torture of mind in "restless ecstasy," or violent 
 mental agitation. Then he envied the peaceful sleep of 
 Duncan, whom neither the "domestic malice" of the thanes, 
 nor "foreign levies" could further trouble. His "terrible 
 dreams, torture of mind, and restless agony," Macbeth, as 
 a man of war, had resolved to end by the sword. He firmly 
 belVved in his abilitv to crush all opposition ; but his course 
 of violence and blood had produced a contrary and unfore- 
 seen effect; had brought him face to face with the present 
 crisis, in which a formidable force is about to besiege him 
 in his last retreat within the fortified castle of Dunsinane. 
 
286 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 In the pressing crisis his former "torture of mind" and 
 "restless agony" not only remain, but even reach a greater 
 intensity. "With a ceaseless torturing remorse gnawing at 
 his conscience by day and by sleepless nights, fears and anx- 
 ieties continue to increase and perplex his mind. The crown 
 is now in actual jeopardy; the thanes whom he had failed to 
 down, have united against him, and, strengthened by a for- 
 eign army, are advancing on every side ; with a few followers 
 he must meet them in a bloody and doubtful conflict, whose 
 fatal issue means the loss of the throne as well as his life. 
 Thus agitated by fears, beset by insuperable difficulties, and 
 perplexed by uncertainties, his soul overcharged with crime, 
 and his mind and feelings overburdened with sadness and 
 desolation, he bitterly complains that Pate by cruel touch has 
 changed his glorious summer into a winter of discontent, 
 wherein his course of life with all its bright dreams have been 
 nipped by a killing frost and blasted. His sorry plight is 
 that described by a later poet: 
 
 "My days are in the yellow leaf; 
 The flowers and fruit of life are gone, 
 The worm, the canker, and the grief 
 Are mine alone. ' ' [Byron.] i 
 
 COMPLAINTS STRANGELY PITEOUS 
 
 The complaints of Macbeth appear strangely piteous. 
 Though he had betrayed his crinie t n fhr t^nnpn nt thr linniirt 
 s cene, he p er severes in the fatuous belief that. Dnnpan 'g 
 murder is s till a secret ail his own, and, in consequence- 
 failin g to'lfac Te ffects to^eir causes, deems himself harshly 
 
 treatedTJa PJ-?" ffliPit ^''^'^l" gnrpT^cor^ an/l iT.^;jTT.c.T,t -it ih^ 
 
 imjrp nf thr thannn- Were his mental vision not blinded by 
 his tempters, he would see that the loss of "honor, love, 
 obedience, and troops of friends" is but the common and 
 natural consequence of his crimes and usurpation; and that 
 he can expect nought from his constrained followers save 
 
 1, On completing his thirty-sixth year. 
 
COMPLAINTS STRANGELY PITEOUS 287 
 
 muttered curses and empty "mouth-honor." The latter 
 phrase is likely another of Shakespeare's many allusions to 
 Sacred Scripture : ' ' This people dravv- near me with their 
 mouth, but their heart is far from me. ' ' ^ 
 
 The pangs of remorse are not, however, Macbeth 's chief 
 affliction at the present moment. His voice of conscience is 
 muffled, on the one hand, by the stress of direful dangers, 
 which, barring all other cares, impel him to superhuman 
 activity, and on the other by his trusted evil tempters who, 
 by distracting him from thoughts of his terrible guilt, drive 
 him on in his bloody course of oppression. From the depths 
 of his present momentary desolation he shall soon again, when 
 mindful of his promised safety, uplift his dejected spirits 
 and in boasting valor defy the massing hordes of treasonous 
 thanes and "English epicures." 
 
 Some interpreters of Shakespeare see in his depression 
 a reference to Elizabeth. The opinion seems supported by 
 some probability. The Poet was writing for an audience 
 which was well acqxiainted with the dark incidents that 
 troubled the last days of the recently deceased queen, and 
 he himself as well as the new sovereign, as is shown elsewhe re, 
 had small reg ard for her. The sentiments, moreover, which 
 the lines ascribe to iViacbetn are in perfect accord with those 
 that historians attribute to Elizabeth. She had learned the 
 unwelcome and distressing truth that she had lived too long; 
 that she had become an object of aversion to her subjects; 
 that those on whose loj^alty she had hitherto reposed in con- 
 fidence were unfaithful to her; and that even her favorites 
 were impatiently looking forward to her death. Pensive and 
 taciturn, she sat whole days by herself, indulging in the most 
 gloomy reflections, and every rumor agitated her with new 
 and imaginary terrors. In the melancholy of her mental 
 sufferings she assured the French ambassador that she had 
 grown weary of her very life.^ It is, therefore nothing 
 strange that her sense of abandonment and depression of mind 
 and heart should loom up before Shakespeare's mind when 
 
 1 Is 29 "13 
 
 2. ci. Lingard'g History of England, Vol. VI, p. 644. (Edinburgh 
 Edition.) 
 
288 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 wishing to portray Macbeth 's gloomy melancholy, world- 
 weariness, and tiredness of life. 
 
 In extreme nervous tension Macbeth loudly calls for 
 Seyton, and in the hope of better news seeks further informa- 
 tion. When he learns that the English army of ten thousand 
 has united with the Scottish forces near the high wooded 
 hill of Dunsinane, twelve miles distant, and is preparing to 
 attack him on the morrow, his old-time courage is aroused, and, 
 in the spirit of a warrior that has never known defeat, he 
 proclaims his readiness to fight to the last. Alert for instant 
 action, he demands his armor, and orders out more troopers 
 who, riding at great speed through the country on every side, 
 shall gather reinforcements and suppress all talk of fear 
 by repressive measures. At the presence of the court physi- 
 cian, he turns his thoughts to the condition of Lady Macbeth, 
 and hears that her disorder is more of the soul than of the 
 body; that her restless, sleepless nights arise from an imag- 
 ination overwrought with disturbing phantasms. 
 
 Lady Macbeth, taking no part in the horrors that enraged 
 the realm against her husband, clings to him faithfully and 
 after many of his personal friends had deserted him, she 
 with mind diseased and heart overpowered with horrifying 
 memories, which defy all antidotes, follows him unhesitatingly 
 to the doomed castle of Dunsinane. That she still retained her 
 husband's affection is clear from the present instance, when, 
 though sorely distracted and preoccupied with the impending 
 crisis, he is greatly concerned for her health, and gives in 
 anxious solicitude a mournful recital of her sufferings. While 
 thinking of her serious plight, he recognizes it as his own, and 
 again in self-absorption lapses into a melancholy reflective 
 mood. His plaintive words, which describe with pathos "the 
 rooted sorrow and troubles of the brain," disclose his deep 
 despondency, sickness of heart, and weariness of life. The 
 culprit that has murdered sleep is still afflicted by "the ter- 
 rible dreams that shake him nightly, ' ' and in a state bordering 
 on delirium, which is induced by reason of insomnia, he 
 yearns pathetically for some antidote that can expel bloody 
 memories which haunt the mind and oppress the heart. 
 
THE STAGE IN SHAKESPEARE'S DAY 289 
 
 The plaintive tones of Macbeth 's words, as well as his 
 keen disappointment and anger at the physician's inability 
 to prescribe the desired antidote, again show that he has all 
 along been making mentally the application to himself. 
 Scorning in rage the medical art in its impotency to heal 
 such mental maladies, he calls for his armoi', and in great 
 excitement and agitation turns his thoughts to the alarming 
 situation. Especially fretful and disturbed at the presence 
 of the English auxiliaries, he speaks in misgiving words his 
 anxiety, fear, and apprehension. Dreading each danger that 
 he thinks he scorns, his courage fluctuates between fear and 
 "valiant fury," now ebbing at the thought of his desperate 
 fortunes, now flowing as the promise of the spirits occur 
 to his mind. His credulous belief in their assurance is the 
 one strong anchor with which, securely moored, he hopes to 
 ride in safety the impending destructive storm. Hence, he 
 closes the agitated scene as he began it with the boastful 
 words: "Macbeth shall never vanquished be, until great 
 Birnam wood shall come against him" (11. 19-62). 
 
 SCENE FOURTH 
 
 THE STAGE IN SHAKESPEARE'S DAY 
 
 The theaters of London in Shakespeare's day were rude 
 in structure, and still marked by many of the earlier condi- 
 tions under which plays had been presented. They retained 
 with some modifications the same arrangements as the court- 
 yard of the old English inn, with its open space surrounded 
 on three sides by galleries. The scenery was extremely scanty 
 and of the simplest description : when tragedy was in action 
 the stage was ornamented with black tapestry; a projection 
 from the middle of the stage served for a rampart, or tower, 
 or balcony; a raised board bore the name of the region or 
 city at which the spectator was to imagine himself; and his 
 fancy was supposed to picture a scene of rocks, or woods, 
 or sea, or ships, in accordance with the large printed placard 
 on the stage. A literary contemporary wrote in ridicule: 
 
290 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 "You shall have Asia on the one side and Africa on the other, 
 and so many other under-kingdoms, that the player when 
 he comes in, must ever begin with telling where he is, or else 
 the tale will not be conceived. Now shall you have three 
 ladies walk to gather flowers, and then we must believe the 
 stage to be a garden. By and by we hear of shipwreck in 
 the same place, then we are to blame if we accept it not for 
 a rock. In the meantime two armies fly in, represented with 
 four swords and bucklers, and then what hard heart will 
 not receive it for a pitched field. ' ' ^ 
 
 This absence of visible scenery imposed on the dram atist 
 the task, not only of cre a ting the plot and action, but the 
 backgrou nd of his piav : ana much of the most exquisite poetry 
 in our language was written to set before the imagination that 
 which the theater could not set before the eye.^ Adapting 
 himself to conditions, the Poet introduces, accordingly, several 
 typical scenes, like the present,- to represent war on the stage. 
 Malcolm 's army is seen near Birnam wood and, to the beat of 
 drums, soldiers with colors flying march in review before 
 him, and Siward, and the Scottish chieftains. The crown 
 prince in high hopes of victory expresses confidence that the 
 thanes shall soon be rid of those servants who in the fee of 
 the usurper live as spies in their homes. His order that each 
 soldier "hew down a bough and bear it before him" is bor- 
 rowed from Holiashed's Chronicles: "Malcolm eommandsd 
 every man to get a bough of some tree or other of that M^ood 
 in his hand as big as he might bear, and to march therewith 
 in such wise that on the next morrow they might come closely 
 and unseen in this manner within view of the enemy. ' ' 
 
 BIRNAM WOOD 
 
 Though the incident of the moving forest verifies the 
 equivocal promise made to -Macbeth by the evil spirits, its 
 association with the prophecy of the Weird Sisters is not 
 historic, but purely Shakespeare 's own creation. Apart^ from 
 
 1. Sir Philip Sidnpy, An Apology for Poetry. 
 
 2. Ct. Mabie, Shakespeare, I'oet, Dramatist, and Man, p, 77. Cf. etiam 
 Gervinus, Shakespeare Commentaries, p. S4. 
 
BIRNAM WOOD 291 
 
 this prophetic association, the story of the moving forest is 
 found in varying forms among the myths of many lands. 
 Already a legend of Arabia in the time of Mohammed, it is 
 traced back to India, and even to the days of Alexander the 
 Great. The mythical basis of the Macbeth legend, it is 
 asserted, is the ancient German religious custom of May- 
 festivals, or Summer-welcomings. King Griinewald was orig- 
 inally a "Winter-giant, whose dominion ceased when the May- 
 feast begins and the green wood draws nigh.^ The folk-lore 
 tale is in brief as follows : "A king had an only daughter 
 who possessed wonderful (preternatural) gifts. When his 
 enemy, a king named Griinewald, besieged him in his castle, 
 the daughter during the long siege continually encouraged 
 her father to resistance. But on Maj'-day when she saw the 
 hostile army approach with green boughs, she in fear and 
 anguish knew that all was lost, and said to her father: 
 'Father, you must yield or die; I see the green wood draw- 
 ing nigh.' " ^ This tale is clearly analogous to the Macbeth 
 legend. The^ daughter knows that her father can not be 
 conquered till the green wood moves against him and as, 
 like Macbeth, she deems this impossible, she urges him to 
 confidence. When, however, she sees in surprise and affright 
 the seemingly impossible actually come to pass, she counsels 
 him prudently to make terms with King Griinewald. The 
 Scottish legend of the moving forest was not committed to 
 writing before 1420. In adapting the later version of Holin- 
 shed's, Shakespeare gives it further poetical embellishment 
 by associating it with evil spirits, who, intent upon deceiving 
 Macbeth, make it the basis of their equivocation. 
 
 In face of many adverse reports, Macbeth still credulously 
 maintains his confidence in the promise of his guardian spirits, 
 and because of the numbers of the enemy, decides to gain 
 strategic advantage by retiring within the strongly fortified 
 castle of Dunsinane. Malcolm commends his prudence : were 
 he to take the open field he would give the gentry and com- 
 moners that are in constrained service the desired opportunity 
 
 1. Manual of German Mythology, p. ."57. 
 
 2. Slmrock apud Furness, p. 398. Grimm's German Popular Tales, 1. 148. 
 
292 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 to desert him. Macduif speaks against idle speculation con- 
 cerning desertions and, while cautioning against negligence 
 prompted by overconfident feelings of security, pleads for 
 industrious and valorous action. The old warrior, Siward, in 
 turn declares in oracular words that a battle alone can settle 
 matters, and expose what are each man's rights and what his 
 duties. The scene, in fine, closes with the conference, as 
 Siward gives the command of forward march to the troops. 
 
 SCENE FIFTH 
 IN REFLECTIVE MOOD 
 
 The scene is placed within Macbeth 's camp on the hill 
 of Dunsinane. Soldiers marching to the beat of drum are 
 seen passing in martial array before the castle in presence 
 of Macbeth. They are but the remnant of the large force 
 that once was his. Seyton, his faithful adherent, appears 
 the only man of note among his followers; of the nobles 
 mentioned in the play, all have joined the army now advanc- 
 ing against the usurper. As scout after scout brings in 
 alarming news, the cry, "They come," is passed along the 
 walls and shouted from the watch-towers. The noisy com- 
 motion on all sides awakens Macbeth to action, and again 
 in his element, his martial spirit is aroused. At his command 
 the bugle blast hurries all to arms, and the banners are 
 unfurled on the outer walls. To animate his soldiers with 
 his own spirit of defiance, he reminds them of their impreg- 
 nable position, and of his purpose of holding the fortress 
 against the enemy. "The castle's strength will laugh a siege 
 to scorn ' ' : hence, let the besiegers persevere in their futile 
 attack "till famine and the ague eat' them up." "Were they 
 not reenforced by numerous deserters from his own ranks, he 
 might with a more equal force meet them dareful face to face 
 in the open field, and beat them backward home. His speech 
 is suddenly interrupted by shrieks of women within the 
 castle, at which Seyton hurries forth to ascertain the cause. 
 
 Left alone to his own thoughts for a few moments, 
 
LADY MACBETH 'S DEMISE 293 
 
 Macbeth, the man of action, falls again into a reflective mood, 
 and is swayed by imagination. The first sentiment is one of 
 surprise that shrieks of women should now affect him so 
 little. His present callous state forces upon him the thought 
 of other days of innocence of life, when his mind unaccus- 
 tomed to bloody thoughts, his heart unhardened by crime, and 
 his conscience unseared by guilt, his feelings still unblunted 
 quailed at a shriek in the night, and his hair stood on end 
 at the mere recital of a tragic tale. 
 
 After the first murder his imagination had been excited 
 to alarming fears and terrors. "The owl's scream and the 
 cricket's cry" had affrighted him, and every noise had 
 appalled him. His hands were "a sorry sight," and he was 
 even "afraid to think of what he had done." These appre- 
 hensions, fears, and terrors, he himself attributes later to 
 his imagination, which was as yet unfamiliar with crime.' 
 The change is strongly marked after his visit to the Weird 
 Sisters in the cavern. Prom that time, devoted to action and 
 wholly absorbed in strengthening his position against the 
 increasing power of the enemy, he yielded less to play of the 
 imagination, and was less affected by fantastic fears and 
 apprehensions. He has "supped full with horrors" : Banquo's 
 ghost had twice at the supper table overpowered him with 
 dismay and terror ; evil spirits in the cavern had conjured up 
 before his eyes dreadful bloody apparitions ; and having since 
 familiarized himself with deeds of blood and smothered the 
 rebellious voice of conscience, no "direness" or horror can 
 longer startle him to fear and apprehension. He reflects the 
 sad condition of the not uncommon hardened sinner who with 
 conscience dead no longer distinguishes between good and 
 evil, and pursues his wicked course undisturbed to the end 
 (11. 1-15). 
 
 LADY MACBETH 'S DEMISE 
 
 As soon as Seyton returns, Macbeth with suspicion in his 
 words anxiously inquires, wherefore were those shrieks of 
 women. In reply, he learns that the loud cries were lamen- 
 
 1. Ill, iv, 142, 
 
294 ■ A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 tations over the sudden death of his unhappy wife. While 
 the Poet leaves to our conjecture the cause of Lady Macbeth 's 
 demise, nevertheless, from the physician's order to remove 
 all means of self-destruction and to watch her closely, he 
 seems to insinuate that she died by her own hand. Such, at 
 least, was the common rumor, as reported by Malcolm at the 
 close of the drama : "Who as it is thought by self and violent 
 hands took off her life. ' ' Her mind diseased from a continu- 
 ally disturbed and overwrought imagination, and her nervous 
 system wrecked from insomnia, there is little doubt that the 
 great commotion excited by the alarming beat of drums, the 
 bugle-blasts to arms, and the cry of "still they come," 
 resounding on every side, led her, in fear and despair of her 
 own and her husband's cause, to seek by self-murder an 
 escape from the horrors of impending perils. Awe-inspiring 
 and fearful is the thought of her sinking to death in a mental 
 agony of an overpowering despairing remorse, the unfortunate 
 victim of her ruling passion. 
 
 Every Christian knows at least in theory that retribution 
 follows in the footsteps of sin ; yet forgetful of this truth or 
 indifferent to it, the sinner yields to temptation in the fatuous 
 belief that he shall escape, where others have paid the penalty-: 
 
 "All this the world well knows, yet none knows well, 
 To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell." 
 
 Had Lady Macbeth not persuaded herself and husband that 
 they could attain the throne and, nevertheless, escape detec- 
 tion and punishment, she surely would not have impelled him 
 to crime. Impressive, indeed, is the lesson which Shakespeare 
 here sket f^hps of fhp fr-pitH of a. bad ambitinn rea ped bY_ 
 unhallowed means. If Lady Macbeth in like aspirations with 
 her Tiusband, had not been enslaved by ambition ; if with her 
 great intellectual powers and capacity of love, she had ren- 
 dered the same fealty to his better nature instead of allying 
 herself with his evil tempters, how different would have been 
 the results for good! In her broken spirit, her saddened 
 days, her awful nights, and premature despairing death, the 
 Poet, by disclosing the appalling effects of sin, strikingly 
 
LADY MACBETH 'S DEMISE 295 
 
 emphasizes the worth and blissfulness of moral rectitude and 
 innocence of life. 
 
 "It is one of the finest thoughts of the whole drama that 
 Lady Macbeth should die before her husband; for not only 
 does this exhibit him in a new light, equally interesting 
 morally and psychologically; but it prepares a gradual soft- 
 ening of the catastrophe. Macbeth left alone, resumes much 
 of that connection with humanity which he had so long 
 abandoned; his thoughtfulness becomes pathetic and his 
 sickness of heart awakens sympathy."^ That he still 
 retained a ffection for bis wi fe, notwith standing the fact that 
 she, in alliance witk-exil spirits, hadln"th"e'"chall[Sr^"fif~}rtg~'" 
 lorpy drivwijiim against hisjudgment.intqjthe gulf of destruc- 
 tlon. may be gathered from the utter absence of harsh feelings 
 awJ^ords of reproach and.recximination. Furthermore, -his 
 imTtlfhfurTecitai of her mental sufferings, his solicitude for 
 her health, which urges him to anxious inquiries even while 
 distracted by most pressing affairs; his repeated insistence 
 that the physician do his utmost to restore her to "sound and 
 pristine health"; and lastly his terrible anger at the physi- 
 cian 's avowal of his helplessness in the case ; are all indications 
 of a deep and undiminished affection. 
 
 To the contrary, however, is the opinion of certain com- 
 mentators. One compares the deep natural pathos of Macduff 
 on hearing of his wife's death to that of Macbeth in the 
 present scene. The former, he says, "Pulls his hat upon his 
 brows, ' ' and gives vent to his agony in the simplest and most 
 direct words; the latter makes a speech elaborate and poetic, 
 but without a touch of the heart.^ The comparison may, 
 indeed seem plausible, but a little reflection will show its 
 ineptness, because of the difference of both in character, in 
 subjective conditions, and in circumstances. In the drama, 
 Macbeth appears as a man far from effusive and not given to 
 sentimental expression of his inward feelings of affection; 
 but rather a brusque warrior who deems such manifestations 
 unbecoming his sturdy manhood. In the present instance, 
 
 1. The Varlornm PTiaVp^^^parp, in lopo. 
 
 2. W. W. Story, Excursions in Art and Literature, p. 225. 
 
296 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 he is laboring under the most harassing circumstances : Eng- 
 land and all Scotland, represented by her nobles, are 
 gathering in overwhelming force before his castle, where with 
 reduced and doubtful followers he must make a last st^nd for 
 his life, and where in the midst of alarming clamors, he is 
 actually attempting to rally his panic-stricken soldiers for 
 the impending struggle. Amid these harrowing circumstances 
 his mental faculties, moreover, seem in an abnormal condition ; 
 "the affliction of terrible dreams that shake him nightly," 
 the ceaseless pangs of a fruitless remorse, as well as anxieties, 
 fears, and perplexities have left him haggard of body, worn 
 of brain, and in a confusion of mind bordering on delirium : 
 a state in which he feels an overmastering sense of despond- 
 ency and world-weariness. Considering all this, it is but 
 natural that his first sentiments should be regret and vexation 
 at the ill-timed death of the queen — ill-timed, coming at the 
 very crisis of his life, when his cup of bitterness is already 
 full to overflowing. For the attainment of a common ambi- 
 tion a strong mutual affection had- -m arlp~thPTti. ppr tnory in I 
 crimei. ^'or her he had sacrificed all here and hereafter, and 
 now that she was gone, why should he linger on in blighted 
 life? Never before had death touched him so closely, and 
 caused him so to realize the brief and uncertain tenure of 
 existence. Already stupefied by pressure of remorse, calamity, 
 and despair, his mind is overwhelmed by the blow and his 
 thoughts rushing into the blank and dismal future are couched 
 in images indicative of the certainty and inevitableness of 
 death and the nothingness of human life. 
 
 PEOCEASTINATION OF MORTAL FOOLS 
 
 From man's impotency to stay the silent, stealthy 
 steps of death, he is aware of the futility of his wish, and 
 proceeds to generalize on the fatal procrastination of "mortal 
 fools," whom "all our yesterdays have lighted the way to 
 dusty death." 
 
 " 'To-morrow I will live,' the fool does say; 
 
 To-day itself 's too late ; — the wise lived yesterday. ' ' [Martial.] 
 
PROCRASTINATION OF POOLS 297 
 
 "This day was yesterday to-morrow named; 
 To-morrow shall be yesterday proclaimed." [Owen.] 
 
 The alliteration of the passage as well as the idea of 
 death taking procrastinating fools by surprise may have been 
 suggested to Shakespeare by the well-known lines of his day : 
 
 ' ' They follow the crow 's cry to their great sorrow, 
 Cras, eras, eras i we shall amend, 
 
 And if we mend not then, then shall we the next morrow. 
 Or else shortly after, we shall no more offend; 
 Amend mad fool, when God his grace doth send. ' ' 2 
 
 In the thought that each yesterday was once a tomorrow, 
 and as such "lighted fools the way to death," the Poet very 
 probably had in mind the ignis faiuus,^ a phenomenon not 
 infrequent in the lowlands of Macbeth 's country, and com- 
 monly known as the light of fools or fools' light.* There are 
 many instances on record of travelers mistaking the ignis 
 fatuus for a lamp, and being thus lured into bogs or marshy 
 places where they perished. "Dusty death," or the idea of 
 death bringing man down to the dust of the grave, is another 
 instance of the Poet 's many references to Sacred Scripture : 
 ' ' Dust thou art and unto dust thou shalt return. " ^ " Thou 
 has brought me down to the dust of death."" "At death 
 man goes into the house of his eternity, his dust returns to 
 the earth whence it came and his spirit to God who gave it. " ^ 
 
 Macbeth next gives expression to his own subjective feel- 
 mgs m words thaTgiscTose r i is oppression ot mmd which arises 
 fro m despondenc y, desperation, wearai^^Qr^a^^rTime^life, 
 and a tm±UJda£^j5aiO£ s!e?i^r'senseofguilt with its i nevITable 
 retribution. "Out, out, brief candle!" Out, brief flame of 
 life — a flaMe which consumes itself in burning. The sands 
 of man 's span of life begin to run at hia birth. To Macbeth 's 
 
 1. To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow. 
 
 2. .Halliwell apud The Variorum Shakespeare. 
 
 3. Allen apud Variorum Shalsespearc. 
 
 4. "An i?nis fatuiis tliat bewitci^es 
 
 And leads men into pools and ditches." (Butler.) 
 
 5. Gen. 3 :19. 
 
 6. Ps. 21 :16. 
 
 7. Ecc. 12:7. 
 
298 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 disordered mind all things of earth have now lost their fas- 
 cination, and seem as unsubstantial as "walking shadows." 
 Man in his brief life, like .a bedizened king, struts and frets in 
 passing show his hour upon the stage, and then is seen no 
 more ; his life 's story, full of sound and fury, is nothing more 
 than the incoherent tale of an idiot, signifying nothing. The 
 metaphor, 
 
 "All the world's a stage 
 And all the men and women merely players, ' ' 
 
 had a special charm for the Poet, and his frequent allusion 
 to it shows how he, himself an actor, was deeply impressed 
 with the idea. To him, actors were but shadows, shadows 
 of realities; for in the histrionic or mimetic art, actors are 
 not themselves, but the living, walking shadows of real per-^ 
 sonages, whose form they assume in an attempt to reflect 
 their thoughts and sentiments. 
 
 WEAEY OF LIFE 
 
 His words of despondency and desperation are suddenly 
 interrupted by the hurried entrance of a scout in manifest 
 fear and breathless excitement. Macbeth in anger demands 
 in imperious tones that he tell "his story quickly." When the 
 messenger in great timidity mentions what he saw — Birnam 
 wood moving forward — Macbeth is at first startled and sur- 
 prised, but deeming the report incredible, and the fact even 
 impossible, he yields to anger and in the loss of self-control, 
 berates and threatens the scout in great wrath and fury. In 
 truth, the allied forces under Malcolm had begun their march 
 some hours before from Birnam wood, but were not observed 
 until they had come within three m^es of the castle. The 
 messenger persisting in the truth of his report, Macbeth in 
 rage threatens to hang him if it prove false, until he shall 
 shrivel up in famine; but, in weakening anger, he adds that, 
 if the report be true, he cares not if the same be done to 
 himself. Doubt already begins to torture his mind. In the 
 promise : 
 
WEARY OF LIFE 299 
 
 ' ' Macbeth shall never vanquished be until 
 Great Eirnam vFOod to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against him, ' ' 
 
 he suspects with horror, for the first time, his probable decep- 
 tion by equivocating fiends that utter falsehoods in the guise 
 of specious truths. His deception can be laid solely to his 
 own folly. Every Christian knows that the words of fiends 
 may not be trusted ; that the ' ' father of lies ' ' and his legions 
 intermeddle in human affairs with the sole purpose of enticing 
 man from virtue and from God; that accurate knowledge 
 of future events which depend upon the free will of man can 
 not be known in advance with certainty, save by the omni- 
 scient God; and therefore, that predictions of evil spirits are 
 based on falsehood, or equivocation, or at best on shrewd 
 giiesswork. Their equivocation in the present instance is 
 evident. Macbeth understood their' promise, as they wished, 
 in his own favor when he said : 
 
 ' ' That ATill never be : 
 Who can impress the forest; bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root?" 
 
 They were intent, however, on fulfilling it in their own 
 meaning; for they felt confident of their power to inspire 
 Malcolm to adopt the strategem of the moving forest. Birnam 
 wood was on an elevation of 1568 feet, and afforded a clear 
 view of Dunsinane, twelve miles distant. A commander, 
 desirous of laying siege to the fortified castle on the hill 
 across the valley, would, in accordance with military tactics, 
 endeavor to screen from the enemy the number of his advanc- 
 ing troops. The strategem had been employed at other times, 
 but only to conceal the attacking force, when it was inferior 
 to that of the enemj'^; but as Malcolm's army was overwhelm- 
 ingly superior to Macbeth 's, the strategem serves no other 
 purpose than that of the fiends. 
 
 As Macbeth 's doubt increases concerning the promises of 
 the equivocating evil tempters, he begins "to pull in resolu- 
 tion" in fear and dismay. Like a fleet courser that unchecked 
 
300 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 rushes on to its destruction, he, in the confidence of assured 
 safety, had in the face of multiplying dangers, given full 
 rein to his courage, until now, surprised and dazed on the 
 very brink of a precipice, he sinks in "resolution," and even 
 quails at the fearful thought that he has been tricked by 
 the fiends. In his feeling of assured safety, whose sole base 
 was his fatuous and undoubted faith in the promise of his 
 evil guardians, he had withdrawn with his faithful followers 
 within the castle of Dunsinane, and fortified it against ever 
 multiplying enemies; but he realizes too late that, duped by 
 "the fiends that lie like truth," he has placed himself in a 
 hopeless situation, has cooped himself up in a cage, from 
 which he can not escape in presence of overwhelming besieg- 
 ing forces. Compared to his present distemper of mind, 
 slight was formerly the mental disorder in which he resolved 
 "to let the frame of things disjoint and both worlds suffer 
 ere" he would "sleep in the affliction of those terrible dreams 
 that shook him nightly." Far worse is his present delirious 
 state : tortured by the pangs of guilt and fear of retribution, 
 bewildered and enraged at the trickery of fiendish advisors, 
 and despairing of escape from his hopeless plight, -he actually 
 confesses in maddened frenzy his weariness of life, and wishes 
 "the crack of doom" were at hand. In dreadful desperation, 
 he determines, in a reckless and infuriated martial spirit, to 
 meet his probably impending fate in battling to the death, 
 like a warrior "with harness on his back" (11. 15-52). 
 
 SCENE SIXTH 
 
 IN MARTIAL AERAY 
 
 In the present brief scene, the castle of Macbeth appears 
 in the background, and Malcolm and biward with their allied 
 forces, are seen marching in martial array before it. Malcolm 
 commanding a halt gives a general order that the soldiers 
 throw down the leafy bows which they carry to screen their 
 numbers, and so strike Macbeth with terror at the sight of 
 the formidable army which hems him in, a prisoner within 
 
AT BAY 301 
 
 his castle. The strategem from a military point of view was 
 ineffective ; since before their arrival, the usurper was already 
 well informed by spies of the vast superiority of Malcolm's 
 forces. The ruse, however, was no doubt inspired by 
 Macbeth 's evil tempters, and it served their purpose, which 
 was to destroy his feeling of assured safety by exposing the 
 real meaning of their equivocation and his own consequent 
 self-destruction. 
 
 "When Malcolm's whole power was come together," 
 writes Holinshed, the chronicler, "Malcolm divided the same 
 into three battalions;" of the front division, he entrusted 
 the command to Siward and his son, while he and Macduff 
 would lead the two others. All is in readiness for battle, 
 and Macduff commands the trumpeters to blare forth the 
 strident notes of instant bloody conflict. The scene closes 
 with loud alarms heard amid resounding clang and clash of 
 arms. 
 
 SCENE SEVENTH 
 
 AT BAY 
 
 The seventh scene discloses "another part of the field of 
 battle." Amid noises on every side as of skirmishes and con- 
 flict, Macbeth with bloody sword in hand enters suddenly 
 in breathless excitement. In desperation he recognizes the 
 hopelessness of his cause. Though betraye d by evil spirits, 
 deserted by his followers, a nd ensn ared in a trap whence he 
 
 pgji Tint '^'''''^P'') ^iL-^£]?JtilI21^£lI^^.--S>.^^"^''^ "^^"^"-l-SlU^^Zl^ 
 fight on i jfrcRly agnii;)st thp dogs of warr~ljriiis"lTRsperate 
 
 perils, he likens himself to the baited bear which, tied to a 
 stake, is compelled to defend his life against bloodthirsty 
 hounds that are set upon him in courses. Having sacrificed 
 eternal for temporal interests, he clings to life more tena- 
 ciously, the nearer he approaches the dreadful retribution 
 awaiting, him ; and in utter despondency and despair seeks 
 to bolster up his drooping spirits by the thought that, though 
 he lose the battle, he shall not suffer harm in person. Have 
 
302 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 not "the spirits that know all mortal consequences pro- 
 nounced" his safety? "Fear not, Macbeth!" 
 
 ' ' Be bloody, bold, and resolute ; laugh to scorn 
 The power of man ; for none of woman born 
 Shall harm Macbeth." 
 
 Macbeth 's continued confidence in this prediction has 
 seemed surpassing strange to many. Experience, they think, 
 should have taught him to regard it with suspicion and mis- 
 trust. That he did not do so, after his deception by these 
 "fiends that lie like truth," they attribute to an oversight of 
 the Poet. Others, however, rejecting such an interpretation, 
 ascribe the confidence displayed to Shakespeare's perfect 
 knowledge of human nature. He knew full well, writes 
 Knight, "that one hope destroyed does not necessarily banish 
 all hope ; that the gambler who has lost thousands still believes 
 that his last guinea will redeem them; and that the last of a 
 long series of perishing delusions is as firmly trusted as if 
 the great teacher. Time, had taught nothing." 
 
 If Macbeth had been in an undisturbed state of mind, 
 possessing full command of his reasoning faculties, and 
 capable of reflecting and eliciting a calm and unbiased judg- 
 ment, he would undoubtedly have perceived the folly of 
 further confidence in lying spirits that had already twice 
 deceived him, and led him into dreadful straits, from which 
 he can not possibly escape, save at the sacrifice of his life. 
 That in the present crisis, his was not such a state of calm 
 deliberation, was owing to the abnormal condition of his mind, 
 to the desperate circumstances which threatened his over- 
 whelming ruin, and to the potent influence which his evil 
 tempters still exercised upon him. The drama shows that, 
 tortured in soul by the sense of guilt and the dread of retri- 
 bution, his imagination is feverishly excited and overwrought 
 by fearful dreams ; that his mind, harassed by fears, anxieties, 
 and the consciousness of imminent peril, is, furthermore, so 
 enervated by sleepless nights that, afflicted with alternating 
 fits of defiant fury and hopeless despondency, he seems to 
 
A BRAVE ASPIRANT 303 
 
 live in a delirium, whicli some call madness, and ' ' others that 
 lesser hate him, valiant fury." With mind and imagination 
 thus disordered and clouded, he is, moreover, obsessed by 
 evil spirits. Having given himself over to them body and 
 soul, he can not rid himself of them, nor indeed, under their 
 enchantment, does he desire to do so. Relentlessly they 
 pursue him, intent upon the ruin of his soul. By sophistries 
 they again sway his disordered mind and regain his con- 
 fidence. They had spoken truth : Birnam wood has come to 
 Dunsinane, and he faces defeat ; but he had misconstrued their 
 prediction, and his deception was his own. Under their 
 malign influence, he now becomes blind to the equivocation 
 of their other promise : no man of woman born shall harm 
 Macbeth, and, deeming it too clear to allow of misunder- 
 standing, he accepts it with the greatest confidence. It is 
 his only ray of hope amid the thickening gloom which sur- 
 rounds him ; his only escape from the precipice of destruction ; 
 and in the black seething whirlpool of despair in which he 
 feels himself immersed and struggling, bewildered by fear 
 and terror, he clutches with avidity at anything, as a 
 drowning man at a straw. 
 
 A BEAVE ASPIRANT 
 
 Macbeth 's brief soliloquy is interrupted by young Siward, 
 who, rushing forward sword in hand and gazing intently 
 about him, suddenly halts in presence of a strange and 
 unknown chieftain. Never before had he seen Macbeth, and 
 in suspicion, regardless of all ceremony, he challenges his 
 identity. Like many a young warrior, athirst for renown, 
 Siward had amid the battle been searching eagerly for the 
 tyrant, with the intent of winning military fame by slaying 
 him with his own sword in personal combat. In the spirited 
 dialogue that follows, Macbeth alludes to his own well-known 
 valor and prowess of arms which have always stricken terror 
 into adversaries. Siward in turn can not express in words 
 his supreme abhorrence of the criminal usurper, and chal- 
 lenges his boast by the lie direct, and, as a consequence, their 
 swords clash in instant and deadly combat. The young 
 
304 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 warrior, however, in a fight fierce but brief, falls a victim to 
 .the superior strength and skill of the hated tyrant. Pointing 
 at the lifeless form with his bloody sword, Macbeth exclaims 
 in mingled sentiments of pity and contempt, "Thou wast 
 born of woman!" While sheathing his blade he professes 
 to defy, and even to scorn all weapons wielded by man of 
 woman born. The immediate effect of his victory is to inspire 
 greater confidence in the promise of his evil tempters. 
 
 Hastily pushing forward to the part of the field of battle 
 whence resounded the greatest clamor, Macduff hurriedly 
 enters upon the scene in eager search and excitement. His 
 anxiety to meet the tyrant face to face grows in intensity, as 
 the thought is forced upon him that, should the murderer of 
 his wife and children be slain by other hand than his, their 
 ghosts would forever haunt him. Spurning to combat with 
 wretched hirelings of the usurper, he reserves his sword for 
 Macbeth alone with the resolve either to hew the bloody 
 criminal with his vengeful blade, or to sheathe it again with 
 unbattered edge. As alarms and noise of battle grow louder 
 and nearer, he concludes from clatter of feet and clash of arms 
 that a chieftain "of greatest note" is nigh, and rushes 
 forward in the high hope of facing the accursed usurper. 
 
 Close upon Macduff's exit, Malcolm and Siward enter. 
 From the latter we learn, during the pause in battle, that the 
 thanes with their clans are fighting bravely, that Macbeth 's 
 soldiers are divided and battling on both sides, and that the 
 castle has been taken. Malcolm in turn testifies to meeting 
 many of the foe, who, having joined his forces, are fighting 
 against the usurper. The scene closes with old Siward 's invi- 
 tation to the crown-prince to enter the castle, now in possession 
 of his followers. 
 
 SCENE EIGHTH 
 
 ROMAN FOOLS 
 
 The curtain rising on the last scene, exposes another part 
 of the battlefield, where Macbeth with bloody sword in hand 
 stands alone, the mournful picture of a forlorn hope. His 
 
ROMAN FOOLS 305 
 
 perplexity of mind and feverish excitement, arising from 
 fears and alarms, his face emaciated, his features drawn and 
 worn, his hollow eyes restless and lusterless, in which the fire 
 of valiant fury has been extinguished by utter dejection of 
 spirits, reveal his bewilderment, chagrin, and despair. At 
 last, he realizes that his cause is shattered, that the desperate 
 crisis leaves him nought but flight or surrender. Flight, 
 however, is now impossible, and his soldierly spirit scorns 
 the thought of surrender. In his miserable plight the thought 
 flashes upon him of other military chieftains who, after hope- 
 less rout in battle, ended like distress by self-destruction ; 
 but as instantly he spurns the temptation, and contemns the 
 thought of emulating those "Roman fools," as rash and 
 unvaliant. To fall by his own sword, as long as he can use 
 its keen edge upon the enemy, is nought but sheer cowardice. 
 If fall he must, it shall not be upon his own blade, but upon 
 a heap of slaughtered foes. 
 
 By the phrase "Roman fools," Shakespeare alludes to 
 pagan times, when commanders like Brutus and Cato pre- 
 ferred self-destruction in defeat, rather than to live and 
 walk, as captives, the streets of Rome to grace the triumph 
 of the conqueror. Though suicide is a heinous crime to a 
 Christian mind, it was to the pagan a venial offense, which 
 appeared licit under certain conditions, and became ulti- 
 mately one of the great moral plagues of the decadent 
 civilization of ancient Greece and Rome. Pagans, immersed 
 in idolatry, and influenced by its baneful moral doctrines, 
 were grossly ignorant of man's noble destiny, of the main 
 purpose of his brief existence here on earth, and possessed but 
 hazy and corrupt views of future rewards and punishments. 
 Its debasing principles and moral practices were swept away 
 by the luminous doctrines of Christianity, which solved the 
 mysteries that perplexed men's minds, taught them their 
 relation to the Creator, as well as the sacredness and signifl- 
 cance of human life. Hence, the ages of Faith afforded no 
 congenial soil for the growth of the morbid tendency to 
 suicide. Its recrudescence is, however, noted at the birth of 
 the Renaissance. It grew with its growth, and its ravages 
 
306 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 have reached such an intensity among all civilized nations 
 that it may be considered the special evil of our times/ Like 
 other moral evils, as divorce and race-suicide, its progress 
 is seen to keep pace with the de-Christianization of a country. 
 It is, therefore, not surprising to learn from official statistics 
 that suicides during the nineteenth century have in Europe 
 alone numbered a vast army of two millions, an army far 
 outnumbering the victims of all the European wars of the 
 same century.^ As self-murder is rated a heinous crime, and 
 is ascribed to the absence of religious influence, modern phil- 
 osophers, in harmony with the Materialism of our day, are 
 wont to explain its prevalence by the; presence of some form 
 of insanity permanent or temporary. Yet, it is clear that 
 by far the greater number commit the crime deliberately and 
 with premeditation. No Christian of sound mind deliberately 
 commits self-murder unless he has, as a general rule, uprooted 
 from mind and heart every influence of religion; for suicide 
 is in violent contradiction to the tenets of Christian revelation, 
 and usually, save in cases of insanity, is the culmination of 
 a life of disorder, weakness, and cowardice. By inculcating 
 the great supernatural truths of man's purpose in life, the 
 importance of death, and its consequent rewards and pun- 
 ishments, the Christian religion not only solves the enigma 
 of human suffering, and to a great extent prevents disorders 
 of life, but also by its doctrine of efficacious repentance 
 through sacramental grace, relieves overburdened souls, and 
 so counteracts one of the chief causes that impel men to the 
 extreme act. 
 
 THE CHEISTIAN VIEW 
 
 Shakespeare's own view of self-murder is beyond all cavil. 
 Himself a Christian, living in Christian times, when the 
 moral principles of the olden Church, which was England's 
 glory for more than a thousand years, still ruled men's minds, 
 and when the new state religion, yet in formation, lacked 
 virile strength to uproot traditions of ages and to dilute or 
 destroy long cherished moral doctrines, self-murder was by 
 
 1. Jacquart; Bssais de Statistique Morale I, Le Snieide. 
 
 2. Cf. Cath. Encyclop. — Lecky's "History of European Morals." 
 
THE CHRISTIAN VIEW 307 
 
 common law a crime — a felony — which met with penalties in 
 the civil and religious order. In the former the suicide's 
 goods and chattels were forfeited to the crown; in the latter, 
 if the culprit were sane, his corpse was refused honorable or 
 Christian burial. The Poet himself, by the lips of his phil- 
 osopher, indicates the nature of the crime : 
 
 "O that the Everlasting had not fixed 
 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! " 
 
 The precepts of the natural law are ordained by the 
 Almighty Lawgiver for man's good, and the terrible sanction 
 which they bear is intended to deter him from their violation. 
 This truth is the thought underlying the famous soliloquy, 
 in which Hamlet, fully convinced that he must lose his own 
 life in the slaying of Claudius, reflects upon his own inherent 
 love of life and fear of death. Prom this thought he passes 
 to philosophize upon the same fear of death and its cause, 
 as common to aU Christian f ellowmen : 
 
 "For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
 The oppressor 's wrong, the proud man 's contumely. 
 The pangs of disprized love, the law's delay. 
 The insolence of of&ee, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin? Who 'd fardels bear, 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
 But that the dread of something after death 
 Makes us rather bear those ills we have 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all." 
 
 The Christian who would rid himself of fardels along 
 with his weary life, is stayed by the voice of conscience. By 
 admonishing him of the terrible doom awaiting the self- 
 murderer, it rouses him from moral cowardice, and inspires 
 a holy fear and dread which, born of Christian Faith, arms 
 him with moral courage to bear those passing ills he has, 
 rather than to fly to greater that he knows not of by experi- 
 
308 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 ence, but only by reason and divine revelation. Hence, those 
 pagans who in moral cowardice violated the natural law in 
 the face of adversity, Shakespeare calls "Roman fools." Of 
 these he speaks explicitly in the tragedy of Julius Caesar : 
 
 Cassius. Let's reason with the worst that may befall. 
 
 If we do lose this battle, then is this 
 
 The very last time that we shall speak together : 
 
 What are you then determined to do? 
 Brutus. Even by rule of that philosophy 
 
 By which I did blame Cato for the death 
 
 Which he did give himself : I knoV not how. 
 
 But I do find it cowardly and vile, 
 
 For fear of what might befall, so to pervent 
 
 The time of life: arming myself with patience, 
 
 To stay the Providence of some high powers 
 
 That govern us below. 
 Cassius. Then, if we lose this battle. 
 
 You are contented to be led in triumph 
 
 Through the streets of Eome? 
 Brutus. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Koman, 
 
 That ever Brutus will go bound to Eome; 
 
 He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
 
 Must end that work the ides of March began.i (J. Caesar, V, L) 
 
 The battle lost, both resorted to self-destruction, rather 
 than fall in the hands of the enemy. These lines indicate 
 the fact that Brutus found Cato's philosophy very admir- 
 able in theory, but most impracticable and futile in the 
 crisis of his life. It was the same with that of Socrates, and 
 it is the same with all human philosophies. In momentous 
 affairs of life, affairs affecting time and eternity, nought but 
 the eternal truths of the Christian religion can aid man in 
 bearing the fardels of a weary life, and guide him safely to 
 his true destiny. 
 
 1. Shakespeare drew the material of this play from Plutarch's Lives. 
 In it Brutus speaks as follows : "Being yet a young man, and not over 
 greatly experienced in the world, I trust (I know not how) a certain rule 
 of philosophy, by the which I did greatly blame and reprove Cato for killing 
 himself. Not to give place and yield to divine Providence, and not con- 
 stantly and patiently to take whatsoevei' it pleaseth him to send us, but to 
 draw back and fly, is no lawful nor godly act touching the gods, nor con- 
 cerning man, valiant. But now in the midst of danger, I am of a contrary 
 mind," 
 
A CHARMED LIFE 309 
 
 Macbeth 's refusal to play the "Roman fool" arose, no 
 doubt, from varied motives. Though professing in theory 
 the Christian religion, it exercised little influence upon his 
 practical military life, and, in consequence, left him without 
 the supernatural aid that he needed against the temptation 
 of the demons. Nevertheless, he was cognizant of its chief 
 doctrines concerning the immortality of the human soul, the 
 nature of sin, and its fearful punishment in the life to come ; 
 hence, his rebellious conscience, which ever tortured him with 
 the thought of his eternal doom, impelled him to complain in 
 bitterness that he had ' ' given his eternal jewel to the common 
 enemy of man, ' ' and again in the overpowering sense of guilt 
 to exclaim to Macduff: "Get thee back; my soul is too much 
 charged with blood of thine already. ' ' This sense of the hor- 
 rid doom awaiting him for having "jumped the life to come," 
 and for having for the crown given his soul to Satan, was not 
 only a powerful repellent against self-slaughter, but also 
 urged him, in the madness of despair, to resist the hastening 
 of that terrible doom, by clinging the more tenaciously to his 
 present life. There was still one hope in the promise of the 
 fiends, that "none of woman born would harm Macbeth." 
 If that failed, he would then, like a warrior overtaken by 
 fate, fall in battle with great havoc to the enemy. 
 
 A CHAJBMED LIFE 
 
 Macbeth 's castle already taken and victory nearly com- 
 plete, MacdufP, almost in despair of meeting the murderer of 
 his family, enters hurriedly in painful eagerness of search. 
 Absorbed in his own troubled thoughts, Macbeth fails to 
 observe the entrance of his fated adversary. At the unex- 
 pected sight of the multi-murderer, usurper, and tyrant, 
 Macduff feels his whole nature roused to fury, which is further 
 inflamed by the overpowering sense of his own personal 
 wrongs. Though in strict justice he might Avith a clear con- 
 science strike down at one blow the unguarded criminal, never- 
 theless, even though the "hell-hound" be of greater strength 
 and skill of sword, he refrains from an accustomed sense of 
 chivg,lry, and calls on him in an infuriated voice to turn in 
 
310 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 self-defense. Startled by the loud, angry-voiced challenge, 
 Macbeth turns instantly and, brandishing his weapon, pauses 
 a moment to ^lare upon the man whom he has so foully 
 wronged. His strange look betrays mixed feelings : upon him 
 rushes the thought of the evil spirit's warning, "beware 
 Macduff," as well as the injury he has done him already; 
 but trusting to the assurance of his own safety, he motions 
 him away in remorseful sentiments, refusing to further stain 
 his soul with his blood. Macduff, however, spurns to pander 
 to the mood of a tyrant whose bloodthirstiness is beyond words 
 of expression, and in reply rushes with flashing sword upon 
 the murderer of his wife and children. 
 
 After a fierce but brief clash of swords, Macbeth, heedless 
 of the forced combat from which his infuriated foe will not 
 desist till he has slain him, pauses with startling effect to 
 warn him of the folly of persevering in futile efforts. Bear- 
 ing a charmed life against every mortal hand, he is as proof 
 as the invulnerable air against all deadly weapons. Still 
 enchanted by the magic spell which evil spirits had cast upon 
 him in the cavern, he is so entangled in the snares of hell that, 
 notwithstanding his knowledge of their evil nature, and of 
 the fact that they have already deceived him, he yet fatu- 
 ously believes in their friendship, blindly trusts to their 
 power, and feels undoubted confidence of possessing a charmed 
 life which must not yield to man of woman born. This sense 
 of immunity from harm actually prompts him, in eager and 
 earnest words, to dissuade his furious foe from hopeless efforts 
 in an unequal contest. 
 
 « 
 
 THE ENCHANTMENT BEOKEN 
 
 ("^ At once divining the import of Macbeth 's boastful words, 
 
 and the nature of the hellish charm by which the demons stiU 
 
 I hold him in blind subjection, Macduff suddenly tears away 
 
 / the enchanting veil of folly and credulity by disclosing him- 
 
 / self to be the man who, not of woman born, is the fated 
 
 '— JS^emesis of avenging justice. In accordance with his Christian 
 
 faith, Shakespeare often alludes to good and bad angels, and 
 
THE ENCHANTMENT BROKEN 311 
 
 distinguishes between their good and evil natures and pur- 
 poses. On the Christian doctrine that ' ' ill-angels, ' ' or demons, 
 seek to lead men astray by temptation, he bases the charge of 
 the Chief Justice against Falstaff: "You follow the young 
 prince up and down like his ill-angel ! " ^ 
 
 The words of Macduff produce a sudden and wondrous 
 change in the tyrant. At the surprising revelation which 
 breaks his trusted charm of life and crushes his last and only 
 hope, he staggers back as if struck by some invisible power, 
 his face an ashen hue and his vision dimmed. In the throes 
 of despair, he stands bewildered, discomfited, and helpless as 
 one petrified, glaring in dumb surprise at his adversary. 
 Feeling his courage blasted, he curses Macduff, and in wrath 
 denoimcing the lying, juggling fiends, he resolves, all too late, 
 to put no further faith in their equivocal promises. Now, 
 when rudely roused from fatal enchantment, he clearly per- 
 ceives, in quickly flashing thoughts, how lying fiends have by 
 fraud lured him on to a course of crime, even to destruction. 
 Though himself guilty of cunning, deceit, and perfidy, he 
 appears unconscious of inconsistency in denouncing the same 
 in evil spirits. Still more astonishing is his manifest surprise 
 at the trickery and fraud of the ' ' juggling fiends. ' ' A Chris- 
 tian is aware of the perverse nature of fallen spirits and their 
 malignant purposes, and is, therefore, usually alert against 
 their deceitful temptations. But Macbeth sinned against light, 
 made evil his "good, and, in alliance with the fiends, played 
 with their weapons, only to be outwitted by their greater cun- 
 ning and acumen. Staggering under the blow of Macduff's 
 revelation, he sees himself suddenly overtaken by inexorable 
 Nemesis and, feeling his martial power blighted, refuses to 
 continue the combat. This refusal arises not from physical 
 cowardice but from despair of overcoming inevitable fate, 
 which he thinks has doomed him • to fall by the sword of 
 Macduff. 
 
 >The usurper's refusal to continue the combat further 
 rouses in Macduff a supreme scorn, and disdain, and in coht 
 tempt he hurls against him the derisive epithet of coward, a 
 
 1. 2 Henry, I, It, 186. 
 
u. 
 
 312 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 term which was the most opprobrious and stinging to a 
 warrior whose boast was 
 
 ' ' I dare do all that may become a man ; 
 Who dares do more is none. ' ' 
 
 Macduff, furthermore, graphically describes the base treat- 
 ment awaiting his prisoner. He shall expose him to the eyes 
 of aU, like a savage beast in an iron cage, where his ears 
 shall be daily fiUed with the taunts and curses of a baiting 
 rabble. Near by, on a canvas raised high on a pole before the 
 public gaze, shall he be pictured as a rare, wild monster, and 
 beneath it shall be written his loathsome name (U. 1-27). 
 
 SPURNS CONDITIONS 
 
 Without true repentance or sentiments of fruitful remorse, 
 Macbeth, like the first murderer, seems fixed in the belief 
 that his crimes are beyond pardon and that his soul, once 
 bartered for the crown, is lost beyond recovery. His despair 
 inspires a fear and terror of the awful retribution which he 
 knows awaits him hereafter. It was this same fear that 
 stayed his hand when tempted to play the "Roman fool"; 
 and even now, dominating him in the presence of the "doom's- 
 man of fate," it impels him to prefer a continued miserable 
 existence rather than by death to plunge into greater misery. 
 This all-absorbing fear, would no doubt, have driven him to 
 accept the alternative of yielding himself a prisoner, had he 
 met with more or less honorable conditions. 
 
 Macbeth can have no doubt of the grim determination of 
 his adversary, whose hissing words of loathing and contempt 
 speak the indignation, hatred, and fury of a man that is 
 supremely wronged and will not be robbed of his sworn 
 revenge. Realizing to the full the import of his enemy's scorn- 
 ful threats, and the meaning of the indignities and ignomiay 
 to be heaped upon him, he stands in confusion, and, with 
 shame mantling his cheek, his deep sense of pride and honor 
 rouse him irjom a momentary stupor of despair to his old-time 
 martial spirit. He, in turn excited to fury and indignation, 
 
SPURNS CONDITIONS 313 
 
 spurns the proffered terms of surrender, and thunders forth 
 his resolve neither to yield nor to die other than the warrior 
 he has lived. Then, scorning alike the "doom's-man of 
 prophecy" and the juggling fiends that have betrayed him, 
 he proclaims, in flaming words of madness, his last resort to 
 the sword, and with the curse — Damned let him be who first 
 cries for quarter — rushes in frenzied rage of despair against 
 his antagonist. With swords clashing in fiery combat, they 
 battle fiercely in the fury of two savage beasts with horns 
 interlocked. The struggle is long and terrible. The frenzied 
 vigor of Macbeth, hampered by a blind, despairing rage and 
 recklessness, is met by Macduff with equal valor, but with 
 masterful and surer strokes. Though under other conditions 
 Macbeth was the better swordsman, he is not now "Bellona's 
 bridegroom lapped in proof. ' ' His frightful madness, furious 
 heedlessness, and desperation, inspired by the belief that he is 
 vainly battling with the doom's-man of fate, confuse his mind, 
 rob his sight of precision and his hand of its wonted cunning 
 and dexterity, and, in consequence, he receives in a rash 
 moment a fiercely lunging death-thrust, and falls prostrate at 
 the feet of his adversary, a sacrifice to vindictive justice — the 
 victim of his lawless passion of ambition (11. 27-34) . 
 
 Though in deference to modern taste, it is the common 
 practice to have Macbeth meet death upon the stage, it is not 
 certain that such was the intention of the Poet. "It is pos- 
 sible," thinks White, "that Shakespeare or the stage-manager 
 of his company did not deny the audience the satisfaction of 
 seeing the usurper meet his doom, and that in subsequent 
 'retreat' his body was dragged off the stage for its siipposed 
 decapitation. ' ' Such was the practice according to the stage- 
 direction of the four Folios, and in the acting copy of Kemble 
 (1794), Macbeth is graphically pictured as uttering in dying 
 agony his last thoughts and sentiments : 
 
 " 'T is done! the scene of life will quickly close, 
 Ambition 's vain delusive dreams are fled. 
 And now I wake to darkness, guilt, and horror ; 
 I cannot bear it ! Let me shake it off — 
 
314 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 It will not be; my soul is clogged with blood. 
 
 I cannot rise ! I dare not ask for mercy — 
 
 It is too late, hell drags me down ; I sink, 
 
 I sink, — my soul is lost forever. Oh ! oh ! " [Dies] 
 
 By this passage, Garrick, in true actor's instinct, designed 
 to enrich the scene by a spectacular tragic exhibition in which, 
 by the display of his rare histrionic talent, he might impress 
 upon the audience the horrible and appaUiug retribution with 
 which justice overwhelms the unrepentant criminal here as 
 well as hereafter. Though his lines are in perfect harmony 
 with Macbeth 's career and with the spirit of the play, and 
 though merely giving by explicit expression a greater emphasis 
 to the awe-inspiring thoughts and harrowing sentiments which 
 are implicitly contained in Shakespeare's lines, it appears 
 very questionable whether their addition mars or improves 
 the scene. Such portrayal of Macbeth 's horrible agony of 
 remorse and despair, and his heart-piercing cry of a lost soul 
 as the conquering fiends drag him down to the abyss, may 
 have seemed to the Poet too appalling and abhorrent to Chris- 
 tian ears; and therefore, in better judgment, he deemed it 
 more expedient to leave the terrors of the criminal's last 
 moments to the imagination of his Christian audience, which 
 could readily fill in the frightful picture with all its attendant 
 horrors. 
 
 A SOLDIER OF GOD 
 
 Another part of the battle-field is now disclosed as Mal- 
 colm, accompanied by old Siward and the thanes, enters at 
 the head of his forces. As he regrets the absence of certain 
 leaders, he is assured that, though some fell in battle, the 
 numbers present prove that the victory was won without great 
 loss. When Malcolm, however, notes the absence of young 
 Siward and Macduff, Ross announces to the old warrior the 
 death of his son. Consistent with his character of an accom- 
 plished but time-serving courtier, his thoughts are cast in his 
 usual high-flown style : young Siward had lived long enough 
 to reach the age of manhood, only to prove his valor by 
 meeting death in fearless combat like a man. 
 
A SOLDIER OF GOD 315 
 
 At the tragic news the steiu warrior exhibits no signs of 
 mental grief nor of sensible emotion, but, wholly concerned 
 with the manner of his son's death, inquires whether he fell 
 fighting with the enemy or received his mortal wound in 
 retreat. On learning the truth, he grimly rejoices that his 
 son, as a soldier of God, died in the noble cause of justice, nor 
 would he wish any son of his to meet a more honorable death. 
 The Poet here again delicately hints at the nature and cause 
 of the war; the invading army Avere "the soldiers of God," 
 and in His name the saintly Edward had commissioned Siward 
 to overthrow a usurper and monstrous tyrant and to restore 
 with the rightful heir the reign of law and justice among a 
 neighboring, suffering people. Euled by this thought of his 
 noble mission, old Siward disregards proffered words of condo- 
 lence ; his son had fallen bravely in the cause of God, and his 
 death was but the payment of a debt decreed unto mortals by 
 divine Justice : " It is appointed unto men once to die, and 
 after this the judgment. ' ' ^ 
 
 ' ' A man can die but once : we owe God a death. ' ' 2 
 
 Accordingly, he merely prays that God may be propitious to 
 him in the other world. Such and similar prayers are shown 
 by Shakespeare's writings to have been commonly on the lips 
 of Christian peoples of his day. The prayer of the noble and 
 Christian-minded warrior has, however, in our modem and 
 materialistic age, been sadly corrupted into the meaningless 
 phrase, "Good-bye." 
 
 At this juncture, Macduff, breathless and excited, and with 
 signs of his fierce combat with the tyrant, enters, bearing 
 aloft on a pike "the usurper's cursed head." "It is worth 
 observing," says Fletcher, "that the very fact of Shake- 
 speare's making Macduff, after killing his antagonist off the 
 stage, reenter with 'the usurper's cursed head' upon a pole, 
 is a final and striking indication that he meant Macbeth to die 
 by aU unpitied and abhorred. ' ' 
 
 1. Heb. n :27. 
 
 2. King Henry VI, V, v. 
 
316 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 HAIL, KENG OF SCOTLAND 
 
 Macduff, in the presence of Malcolm and the nobles of the 
 realm, glories that his country now is free, and as he sees the 
 royal prince surrounded by the nobles, the pearls of the king- 
 dom, he in fancy beholds his brow already encircled with the 
 pearly diadem. Beading his own thoughts in the minds of his 
 fellow-nobles, he summons all to voice them forth with him ia 
 the salutation, "Hail, king of Scotland!" At once, amid 
 resounding blasts of trumpets, all, bending low in homage, hail 
 Malcolm, their king (11. 35-59). 
 
 If, according to Clarendon, Shakespeare 's part in the play' 
 ends, in all likelihood, with the combat and death of the tyrant, 
 it is, nevertheless, customary on the stage to close the drama 
 with the spectacular scene wherein, amid peals of trumpets, 
 the nobles and allied forces, in joyous shouts of triumph, pro- 
 claim Malcolm the king of Scotland. Against the customary 
 omission of the prince 's closing speech, Fletcher aptly writes : 
 "The omission seems to us to be alike senseless and useless. 
 Shakespeare knew the art of appropriately closing a drama no 
 less than that of opening it happily. These lines from the 
 restored prince not only draw together in one plot, as is requi- 
 site, the several surviving threads of interest, but show us 
 decisively the predominant impression which the dramatist 
 intended to leave on the minds of his audience. They are like 
 a gleam of evening sunshine, bidding 'farewell sweet,' after 
 'so fair and foul a day.' " Moreover, as tragedy exhibits the 
 struggle of good and evil in the world, with the reward of the 
 one and the punishment of the other, it was incumbent upon 
 the Poet, after having given us a master-picture of a man 
 who, in the blindness of egotism and ambition, had boldly 
 defied the powers of Heaven and, in consequence, had fallen 
 beneath the iron hand of inexorable Nemesis, to portray in 
 opposite and striking colors the triumph and reward of virtue 
 by bringing into prominence the noble Malcolm, in whose 
 person Heaven vindicates justice and restores the rights and 
 liberties of a people suffering from the violation of the moral 
 order. 
 
HAIL, KING OP SCOTLAND 317 
 
 The main thoughts of Malcolm's closing speech are bor- 
 rowed from the Chronicles of Holinshed.^ The prince promises 
 to waste no time in requiting his loving and loyal friends. His 
 kinsmen and thanes he elevates to the rank of earldom, and so 
 introduces into Scotland a new title of nobility. The ideas of 
 "cruel ministers," and of recalling home "exiled friends that 
 fled the snares of watchful tyranny," are not recorded in 
 Holinshed. They are the Poet's own thoughts, and are, as 
 some writers think, intended to pay another and last compli- 
 ment to the new sovereign. Such an opinion appears, indeed, 
 very probable, if we recall that Macbeth was composed shortly 
 after the coronation of James I. For Elizabeth, his prede- 
 cessor, the King always manifested a strong antipathy, openly 
 reproached her morals, and felt so keenly the injury she 
 inflicted on his mother that the mere mention of her name 
 stirred him to anger. ' ' When the French ambassador ordered 
 his suite, according to custom, to dress in mourning for Eliza- 
 beth, it was considered by James as an insult, and he was 
 compelled to revoke the order. "^ 
 
 This royal aversion was equally shared by Puritans and 
 Catholics ; both had suffered persecution under Elizabeth, and 
 both in the hope of relief hailed with joy the accession of the 
 son of Mary Stuart. Flattered by the hope that their attach- 
 ment to the House of Stuart, and their sacrifice of blood and 
 treasure in the cause of his unfortunate mother, as well as by 
 promises made to their envoys, the suffering Catholics looked 
 to the son of the Queen of Scots to put an end to religious 
 persecution. They belonged to the party agitating for freedom 
 of worship ; and adherents of this party, be it said with credit, 
 were Shakespeare and his associates from Stratford. The 
 leaders were the earls of Essex, Pembroke, and Southampton, 
 all warm friends and patrons of the Poet. Essex was executed, 
 
 1. Holinshed's authority is Boyce's Scotorum Historiae, which was first 
 printed in Paris in 1526 and translated into the Scotch dialect in 1541. 
 "Malcolm thus recovering the realm by support of King Edward, in the year 
 16 of the same Edward's reign, was crowned at Scone the 25th day of April, 
 1057. Immediately after his coronation he called a parliament at Forfair, 
 In which he rewarded with lands and livings that had assisted him against 
 Macbeth. He created many earls, lord, barons, and knights. Many thanes 
 were made earls, the first that have been heard of among Scotchmen." 
 
 2. Sully Memoirs, I, 14. 
 
318 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 Pembroke exiled, and Southampton, incarcerated in the Tower, 
 awaited the penalty of death from which he escaped only by 
 the demise of Elizabeth. If, therefore, the "Virgia Queen," 
 by the persecution of Shakespeare's friends and patrons, 
 earned his aversion, James won his love and gratitude by 
 favors. As soon as the King of Scots had learned, while still 
 in Edinburgh, of his accession to the English throne, he 
 invited the prisoner in the Tower "to meet him, his friend and 
 sovereign, at York." Arriving in London, James restored to 
 the young earl of Essex and to the earl of Southampton their 
 titles and estates of which Elizabeth had deprived them. 
 James, moreover, invited Catholics to frequent his court, con- 
 ferred on several the honor of knighthood, and promised to 
 shield them from the penalties of recusancy — a penalty to 
 which the Poet's father had been more than once subjected. 
 Such acts were received by the party of religious toleration as 
 pledges of subsequent and more valuable concessions.^ In 
 view of these circumstances and the parallelism already shown 
 between Lady Macbeth, Duncan, and Malcolm on the one side 
 and Elizabeth, the Queen of Scots, and James on the other, 
 and furthermore recalling the fact that Shakespeare composed 
 the tragedy shortly after the accession of James and manifests 
 his gratitude therein by way of many compliments to his 
 royal benefactor, it is not over strange that several writers see 
 in the Poet's words an invitation to the new sovereign to 
 emulate the noble example of Malcolm by putting an end to 
 the Elizabethan persecution. Let him revoke the policy of 
 "cruel ministers" and recall from abroad "exUed friends that 
 fled the snares of watchful tyranny." 
 
 Relying as a Christian upon "the grace of Grace," Malcolm 
 promises to perform aE. that his new position demands accord- 
 ing to "measure, time, and place." Annotators adduce many 
 examples in proof of the Poet's fondness for redoubled words, 
 as — "for the love of love," and "upon his brow shame is 
 ashamed to sit." In the words, "by the grace of Grace," 
 Shakespeare indicates Malcolm's Christian character. Already 
 had he spoken of his royal father, ' ' a most sainted king, ' ' and 
 
 1. Cf. Llngard's History of England, Vol. VII, C. 1. 
 
HAIL, KING OF SCOTLAND 319 
 
 of the pious Queen, his mother, who with maternal devotion 
 had instructed him from his tender j^ears in Christian morals, 
 and inured him to the practice of those "king-becoming 
 graces" or virtues which would fit him for his future royal 
 position. True to this training, he now as king recognizes his 
 new obligations and relies upon the ' ' grace of Grace ' ' for their 
 fulfillment. He closes the fateful tragedy by offering heart- 
 felt thanks to loyal adherents and inviting all to Scone to 
 attend Ms immediate coronation (11. 59-75). 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 In no other drama does the Poet hold so well the mirror 
 up to nature. Macbeth is a universal type, true to all times 
 in which every mortal tempted by some ruling passion may see 
 himself reflected. To the tragic writer, man, the plaything of 
 his passions, is "a pendulum betwixt a smile and tear"; and 
 to him, above all others, 
 
 "The proper study of mankind is man," 
 
 with all the virtues and the vices of his conflicting passions, 
 his ever changing purposes and impelling motives, with their 
 consequences for time and eternity. If the soul of tragedy 
 be some great rebellion in the moral world, and its theme the 
 shock of mighty passions against human and divine laws, then 
 the higher these passions surge, the more fascinating becomes 
 the interest; the bolder the transgression, the grander the 
 action and the more tragic the catastrophe. In every instance 
 arises an inevitable conflict between man's unbridled will and 
 the moral order, in which the transgression, reacting upon the 
 transgressor, involves him in overwhelming doom. 
 
 As a master-artist imbued with the Christian spirit, 
 Shakespeare comprehends to the full the moral purpose of the 
 tragedy and brings it into harmony with the Christian view of 
 human life. If bad men are successful in their evil projects, 
 he never fails to show them overtaken by an avenging Nemesis, 
 which persistently follows in the footsteps of guilt. If inno- 
 cent persons suffer, he makes them amiable in virtue, and their 
 condition preferable to that of bad men who prevail against 
 them. The triumph of evil is but momentary or apparent; 
 it always brings stings and remorse of guilt and leads to 
 greater sufferings than any the bad can inflict upon the good. 
 Exciting love and admiration for virtuous characters, compas- 
 sion for the injured and distressed, and indignation against 
 the authors of their sufferings, his tragedies awaken our moral 
 sensibilities, strengthen our interest in behalf of virtue, and so 
 
 320 
 
EPILOGUE 321 
 
 leave upon our minds and hearts an impression favorable to 
 virtue and humanity. 
 
 The burden of tragedy is the conflict of human passions, 
 and these are motive powers or impulses which, implanted in 
 our nature for good, man can, as a free agent, direct to good 
 or evil. In a strict sense they are organic affections aroused 
 by sensible good or evil, and are intended by the Creator tO' aid 
 man in the attainment of happiness. If the names of various 
 . passions are oftentimes applied to affections of the will that 
 result from intellectual cognition, it is merely in an analogous 
 sense ; such are moral emotions as evidenced in our admiration 
 of virtue and detestation of vice. As a part of man 's nature, 
 passions are neither essentially bad nor imply any defect but 
 rather a perfection. If some are called bad, it is in the sense 
 that they are more liable than others to abuse or excess. Good 
 in themselves, they become bad only when in rebellion against 
 man's higher nature or will enlightened by reason. 
 
 This rebellion is the result of the first fall which wounded 
 and vitiated man 's moral nature ; for, deprived of the preter- 
 natural gift of integrity in punishment of his sin, he began to 
 experience the sting of inordinate concupiscence, the rebellion 
 of the flesh against the spirit. Of this conflict the Apostle 
 speaks: "And I see another law in my members, fighting 
 against the law of my mind and captivating me in the law of 
 sin that is in my members."^ As a consequence, a Chris- 
 tian man is subject to a lifelong struggle with his cor- 
 rupt moral nature, and this struggle is reduced to a 
 conflict with his rebellious passions. Those of his lower nature, 
 being blind and irrational impulses that often anticipate and 
 resist the dictates of reason, must be repressed and governed, 
 while those of his nobler nature must, by the light of reason, 
 be directed to his higher good. Both become strong allies of 
 virtue, if controlled and compelled to recognize the higher law 
 of the spirit. Man's moral perfection is proportioned to his 
 habit of controlling and directing his passions aright. As 
 
 1. Rom. VII, 23. The rebellion of the flesh asalnst the snlr't. the 
 Apostle calls the law of sin, because It comes from original sin and Inclines 
 to sin. 
 
322 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 great mainsprings of action, the greater their energy the 
 greater is man 's capability for good or evil. The saint as weU 
 as the great sinner is endowed with strong passions, with the 
 difference that the saint directs them to good while the sinner 
 abuses them for evil. Cast in the same human mold were the 
 heroes of the cross and of the world ; both rose to heroism by 
 means of grand passions which, as uncommon energies, they 
 directed to good and noble purposes. 
 
 In the human frame, however, are many passions which, 
 as diverging forces, are often in antagonism or tend in differ- 
 ent or opposite directions. Among them is usually in every 
 individual one which strives to control or govern all others. 
 If thwarted or repressed, it never fails to reassert itself in per- 
 sistent combat for the mastery, and this once obtained it 
 dominates with iron hand the weaker passions, neutralizes 
 their influence, or changes their direction. Instances are 
 innumerable. 
 
 An unbeliever or infidel, for example, will not be re- 
 strained from indulging his passion of concupiscence by 
 conscientious motives or the force of moral principles ; but, if 
 personal interests, such as his social standing, reputation, 
 honor, or ambition be at stake, his pride will be strong enough 
 to overcome his sensuality. These considerations are, on the 
 other hand, impotent with the inebriate. In vain may his 
 friends chide him for his folly ; in vain may they expose how 
 his besotting passion entails the loss of business, reputation, 
 friends, and honor, and brings disgrace and impoverishment 
 upon his wife and children; mastered by his debasing habit, 
 the toper proves indifferent to the voice of conscience and, 
 deaf to the clamorous protests of other passions, is content to 
 sacrifice at the ignoble shrine of Bacchus all interests, temporal 
 and eternal, all that ennobles man and makes his life worth 
 the living. 
 
 As a domestic of our fallen nature, the dominant passion 
 too often gaining ascendency over reason and the moral law, 
 is loved, fostered, and defended, even though a secret, treach- 
 erous, and obstinate foe. In cunning it "transforms itself 
 into an angel of light, ' ' and to maintain the mastery is accus- 
 
EPILOGUE 323 
 
 tomed to work under the guise of charity or prudence or 
 liberality or magnanimity or other laudable qualities : 
 
 "O, what authority and show of truth 
 Can cunning sin cover itself withal. ' ' i 
 
 "There is no vice so simple but assumes 
 Some mask of virtue on its outward parts.- 
 
 Once in command it becomes a Jebusite which arms the tempt- 
 ing demons with their greatest power against us. To its 
 charge must be laid the greater number of the vices and evils 
 that afflict mankind. It was at work in the sacrilege of 
 Heliodorus, in Herod's massacre of the innocents, in the 
 avarice of Judas, in the jealousy of the pharisees, in Pilate's 
 travesty of justice, in heresiarchs whose pride engendered 
 religious strife, and in the tyrant whose lust severed a kingdom 
 from the unity and faith of Christendom.^ 
 
 To know the ruling passion is to possess the key to a man 's 
 interior disposition and to his attractions and aversions. A 
 man's biography is the portrayal of his character and interior 
 disposition ; and these are best revealed by his master-passion, 
 which in its development and primal influence imparts to his 
 whole life and action the peculiar tone and distinctive color 
 that distinguished him from others. Hence, by the portrayal 
 
 1. Much Ado About Nothing (IV, i). 
 
 2. Merch. of Venice (III, ii). 
 
 3. This severance, the pamphlet of the Hon. Nathaniel Mickelham. K. C, 
 a member of the English Bench for years, states with legal conciseness : "Up 
 to the time of Henry VIII it seems impossible to point to a single difference 
 in faith held in England from the faith held in Rome, or to any collision 
 between the ecclesiastical law of England and Rome. Tbey were one and 
 the same. In the Middle Ages the Catholic faith, with its center at Rome, 
 had its churches — ^its provincial churches everywhere ; and, among others, 
 the provincial church of England — or rather the provincial churches of Eng- 
 land, for the provinces of Canterbury and York were quite distinct. As 
 Maitland says: 'Too often we speak of the "Church of England" and forget 
 that there was no ecclesiastically organized church that answered to that 
 name. No tie of an eccleslasti'-ol or spiritual kind bound the bishnn of 
 Chichester to the bishop of Carlisle, except that which bound them both to 
 French and Spanish bishops.' Of the Eeclesia Anplicana t*ie Pope was not 
 merely spiritual head : he was also Its supreme judge, and the judges of 
 ecclesiastical cases in England were judges appointed by him. The law they 
 administered was the canon law of Rome. For this international church 
 ruled by the Papal canon law was substituted an insular church ruled by 
 Parliamentary law. In other words, under the statutes of Parliament f^ere 
 comes i_to being 'the Church of England by law established," as it is called 
 in the Canons Ecclesiastical of 160.S, an entirely different body, governed by 
 an entirely different law, and under entirely different conditions of the 
 earlier Church." 
 
324 A GREAT SOUL IN CONFLICT 
 
 of different characters in whom the ruling passion has fuU 
 sway, Shakespeare has made his tragedies perfect biographies. 
 They reveal his complete knowledge of the diapason of man's 
 emotions, and his skillful sweep lifts him beyond compare with 
 aU other artists. His is the mastery of the harpstrings of the 
 human heart, and upon them with a minstrel's bold touch he 
 strikes at wiU the wild, dominant tones of the passions, and 
 we hear strange music, ever changing in pathos, in wildness, 
 in sublimity, and in terror, all in harmony with the varied 
 themes of love, or jealousy, or patriotism, or pride, or revenge, 
 or sensuality. 
 
 While displaying Shakespeare 's intimate acquaintance with 
 the emotions of the human heart, the tragedy, moreover, incul- 
 cates the moral necessity of self-knowledge and self -conquest. 
 It pictures graphically in light and shade 
 
 "How like a devil in the heart 
 Rules the unreined ambition." 
 
 With Cicero it teaches that "virtue is consistent only with 
 moderation and moral restraints of our rational nature." 
 Pride begets ambition, and in ambitious pride 
 
 "Men would be angels and angels would be God." 
 
 Against such irrational inflation of mind and heart, the Poet 
 cautions us by the lips of another victim : 
 
 "Mark but my fall and that that ruined me. 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: 
 By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by it"?i 
 
 Happy had been Macbeth had he 
 
 "Banished the canker of ambitious thoughts; "2 
 happy had he obeyed the caution uttered by his nobler self : 
 
 1. Henry VIII, III, il. 
 
 2. Hen. VI. Part II, I, li. 
 
EPILOGUE 325 
 
 ' ' I have no spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself 
 And falls on th' other side." 
 
 Happy had he halted his wild passion at the foreseen conse- 
 quence that Duncan's virtues 
 
 "Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued against 
 The deep damnation of his taking off." 
 
 In Macbeth, as a universal type, is exposed the spiritual I 
 significance of temptation common to every man, as well as / 
 the fatal folly of yielding up our free will to the powers of / 
 evil in exchange for the gratification of some passion. In him / 
 the Poet emphasizes the dominant idea that man, as a free and I 
 untrammeled agent, is, in the midst of temptation with the 
 acceptance of grace or its rejection, the architect not only of 
 his own character for good or evil, but also of his eternal 
 destiny. 
 
 In truth, the chronicles of every nation are simply the 
 story, on the one hand, of monarchs, and statesmen, and war- 
 riors who, enslaved by their ruling passions, have inflicted 
 evils on their fellow men and live accursed in memory, and, on 
 the other hand, of great heroes in the civil and religious world 
 who, by guiding their ruling passions to the interests of the 
 state or religion, have elevated man by the promotion of his 
 temporal or spiritual good and live immortalized in the hon- 
 ored memory of future generations. Hence, History's pages 
 are emblazoned in honor or in shame with the story of char- 
 acters who, battling either under the standard of virtue or of 
 vice, have shown forth the same truth that is emphasized so 
 forcibly in the tragedy of Macbeth, the truth that passions are 
 wings whereby at will we fly to heaven or to hell. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 Duncan, King of Scotland. 
 
 Malcolm, ) . . „ 
 
 ' C his sons. 
 
 DoNALEAINj ; 
 
 Macbeth, 
 
 ' noblemen of Scotland. 
 
 . ^ generals of the King's army. 
 
 Macdtjff, 
 
 Lennox, 
 
 Eoss, 
 
 MENTEITHj 
 
 Angus, 
 
 Caithness, J 
 
 Fleance, son to Banquo. 
 
 Siward, earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces. 
 
 Young Siwaed, his son. 
 
 Setton, an officer attending on Macbeth. 
 
 Boy, son to Macduff. 
 
 An English Doctor. 
 
 A Scotch Doctor. 
 
 A Captain. 
 
 A Porter. 
 
 An Old Man. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady Macduff. 
 
 Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Hecate. 
 
 Three Witches. 
 
 Apparitions. 
 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants, 
 
 and Messengers. 
 
 Scene : Scotland; England. 
 
THE TEAGEDY OP MACBETH 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene I. A desert place 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches 
 
 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again 
 
 In thunder, lightning, or in rain? 
 
 2 Witch. When the hurlyburly's done. 
 
 When the battle's lost and won. 
 5 3 Witch. That will be ere the set of sun. 
 
 1 Witch. Where the place? 
 
 2 Witch. Upon the heath. 
 
 3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
 1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin. 
 
 All. Paddock calls : • — Anon ! 
 10 Fair is foul and foul is fair; 
 
 Hover through the fog and filthy air. [Exeunt.^ 
 
 Scene II. A camp near Forres 
 
 Alarum within. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, 
 with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Captain 
 
 Duncan. What bloody man is that? He can report. 
 
 As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
 
 The newest state. 
 Malcolm. This is the sergeant 
 
 Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 
 5 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! 
 
 Say to the king thy knowledge of the broil 
 
 As thou didst leave it. 
 Captain. Doubtful it stood. 
 
 As two spent swimmers that do cling together 
 
 And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald — 
 10 Worthy to be a rebel, for to that 
 
 The multiplying villainies of nature 
 
 327 
 
328 MACBETH [Act I 
 
 Do swarm upon him — from the western isles 
 
 Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; 
 
 And fortune, on his damned quarry smiling, 
 15 Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak; 
 
 For brave Macbeth — well he deserves that name — 
 
 Disdaining fortune, with his brandish 'd steel, 
 
 Which smok'd with bloody execution, 
 
 Like valour's minion carv'd out his passage 
 20 Till he fac'd the slave; 
 
 Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, 
 
 Till he unseam 'd him from the nave to th' chops, 
 
 And fix'd his head upon our battlements. 
 Duncan. O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! 
 25 Captain. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection 
 
 Ship-n-recking storms and direful thunders, 
 
 So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come 
 
 Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: 
 
 No sooner justice had, with valouB arm'd, 
 30 Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels; 
 
 But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage. 
 
 With furbish 'd arms and new supplies of men, 
 
 Began a fresh assault. 
 Duncan. Dismay 'd not this 
 
 Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? 
 Captain. Yes; 
 
 35 As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. 
 
 If I say sooth, I must report they were 
 
 As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks; 
 
 So they doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: 
 
 Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, 
 40 Or memorize another Golgotha, 
 
 I cannot tell — 
 
 But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 
 Duncan. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; 
 
 They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons. 
 
 [Exit Captain, attended] 
 
 a titer Boss and Angus 
 
 45 Who comes here? 
 
 Malcolm. The worthy thane of Ross. 
 
 JjEfiNox. What a haste looks through his eyes ! So should he look 
 
Act IJ MACBETH 329 
 
 That seems to speak things strange. 
 Boss. God save the king! 
 
 Duncan. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane? 
 Boss. From Fife, great king; 
 
 Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky 
 50 And fan our people cold. 
 
 Norway himself, with terrible numbers, 
 
 Assisted by that most disloyal traitor, 
 
 The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; 
 
 Till that Bellona 's bridegroom, lapp 'd in proof, 
 55 Confronted him with self -comparisons, 
 
 Point against point, rebellious arm 'gainst arm, 
 
 Curbing his lavish spirit; and, to conclude, 
 
 The victory fell on us. 
 Duncan. Great happiness! 
 
 Boss. That now 
 
 Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition; 
 60 Nor would he deign him burial of his men 
 
 Till he disbursed, at Saint Colme's inch, 
 
 Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 
 Duncan. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
 
 Our bosom interest. Go pronounce his present death, 
 65 And with his fdrmer title greet Macbeth. 
 
 Boss. I'll see it done. 
 Duncan. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt} 
 
 Scene III. A heath 
 Thunder. Enter the three Witches 
 
 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 
 
 2 Witch. Killing swine. 
 
 3 Witch. Sister, where thou? 
 
 1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, 
 5 And munch 'd, and munch 'd, and munch 'd. 'Give me,' 
 
 quoth I: 
 'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. 
 Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: 
 But in a sieve I'll thither sail. 
 And, like a rat without a tail, 
 10 I'll do, I'll do, and I'U do. 
 
 2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 
 
330 MACBETH [Act I 
 
 1 Witch. Thou'rt kind. 
 3 Witch. . And I another. 
 
 1 Witch. I myself have all the other; 
 15 And the very points they blow, 
 
 All the quarters that they know 
 
 I' the shipman's card. 
 
 I'll drain him dry as hay. 
 
 Sleep shall neither night nor day 
 20 Hang upon his pent-house lid; 
 
 He shall live a man forbid: 
 
 Weary se'nnights nine times nine 
 
 Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: 
 
 Though his bark cannot be lost, 
 25 Yet it shall be tempest-tost. 
 
 Look what I have. 
 
 2 Witch. Show me, show me. 
 
 1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb. 
 
 Wreck 'd as homeward he did come. [Drum within'] 
 30 3 Witch. A drum, a drum! 
 
 Macbeth doth come. 
 All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, 
 
 Posters of the sea and land. 
 
 Thus do go about, about: 
 35 Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine. 
 
 And thrice again to make up nine. 
 
 Peace! the charm's wound up. 
 
 Enter Macbeth and Banqdo 
 
 Macbeth. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 
 Banquo. How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these 
 40 So wither 'd, and so wild in their attire, 
 
 That look not like th' inhabitants o' the earth, 
 And yet are on 't? Live you? or are ye aught 
 That man may question? You seem to understand me, 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 45 Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, 
 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 That you are so. 
 Macbeth. Speak, if you can : what are you? 
 
 1 Witch. AU hall, Macbeth 1 hail to thee, thane of Glamis I 
 
 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor t 
 
Act I] MACBETH 331 
 
 50 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter ! 
 Banquo. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear 
 Things that do sound so fair ? — I ' the name of truth, 
 Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
 "Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner 
 
 55 You greet with present grace and great prediction 
 
 Of noble having and of royal hope. 
 That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak not. 
 If you can look into the seeds of time. 
 And say which grain will grow and which will not, 
 
 60 Speak, then, to me, who neither beg nor fear 
 
 Tour favours nor your hate. 
 
 1 Witch. Hail! 
 
 2 Witch. Hail! 
 
 3 Witch. Hail! 
 
 65 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
 
 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 
 
 3 Witch. Thou shalt get ki ngs, though. __thou be none: 
 
 So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! 
 1 Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! 
 70 Ma cbeth . Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: 
 By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; 
 But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
 A prosperous gentleman; and to be king 
 Stands not within the prospect of belief 
 75 No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence 
 
 You owe this strange intelligence? or why 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you. 
 
 [Witches vanish] 
 Banquo. The earth hath bubbles as the water has, 
 80 And these are of them. Whither are they vanish 'd? 
 
 Macbeth. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted 
 
 As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd! 
 Banquo. Were such things here as we do speak about? 
 Or have we eaten on the insane root 
 85 That takes the reason prisoner? 
 
 Macbeth. Your children shall be kings. 
 Banquo. You shall be king. 
 
 Macbeth. And thane of Cawdor, too: went it not so? 
 Banquo. To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here? 
 
332 MACBETH [Act I 
 
 Enter Boss and Angus 
 
 Ross. The kiBg hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, 
 90 The news of thy success: and, when he reads 
 
 Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
 His wonders and his praise do contend 
 Which should be thine or his: silenc'd with that, 
 In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, 
 95 He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, 
 
 /Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, 
 \Strange images of death. As thick as tale 
 Came post with post; and every one did bear 
 Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 
 100 And pour'd them down before him. 
 
 Angus. We are sent 
 
 To give thee from our royal master thanks; 
 Only to herald thee into his sight, 
 Not pay thee. 
 Ross. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, 
 105 He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor; 
 
 In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! 
 For it is thine. 
 Banquo. [Asidel What, cm toe_devU_speakjtrue? 
 Macbeth. The thane of Cawdor lives : why do you dress me 
 
 In borrow 'd robes? 
 Angus. Who was the thane lives yet; 
 
 110 But under heavy judgment bears that life 
 
 Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin'd 
 With those of Norway, or did line the rebel 
 With hidden help and vantage, or that with both 
 He labour 'd in his country's wreck, I know not; 
 115 But treasons capital, confess 'd and prov'd. 
 
 Have overthrown him. 
 Macbeth. [Aside'] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! 
 
 The greatest is behind. [To Ross and Angus] Thanks for your 
 
 pains. 
 [To Banquo] Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 
 When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me 
 Promis'd no less to them? 
 120 Banquo. That trusted home 
 
 Might yet enkindle you unto the crown. 
 Besides the thane of Cawdor, But 't is strange; 
 
Act I] MACBETH 333 
 
 And oftentimes, t«jjvnn_us_tQ_j}ur_harii), 
 The instruments of darkness tell usjtrutlis, 
 125 WnTus witE_ honest tri^S, to betray 's 
 
 In deepest consequence. 
 Cousins, a word, I pray you. 
 Macbeth. [Aside] Two truths are told, 
 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen. — 
 130 [Aside'] This supernatural soliciting 
 
 \ Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : if ill, 
 ' Why hath it given me earnest of success, 
 j Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor; 
 i If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
 135 Whose horrid image doth uniix my hair 
 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs. 
 Against the use of nature? Present fears 
 Are less than horrible imaginings. 
 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
 140 Shakes so my single state of man that function 
 
 Is smother 'd in surmise, and nothing is 
 But what is not. 
 Banquo. Look, how our partner 's rapt. 
 
 Macbeth. [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance may 
 crown me, 
 Without my stir. 
 Banquo. New honours come upon him, 
 
 145 Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould 
 
 But with the aid of use. 
 Macbeth. [Aside] Come what come may. 
 
 Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 
 Banquo. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 
 Macbeth. Give me your favour : my dull brain was wrought 
 150 With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 
 
 Are register 'd where every day I turn 
 The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. 
 Think upon what hath chane 'd ; and, at more time. 
 The interim having weigh 'd it, let us speak 
 Our free hearts each to other. 
 155 Banquo. Very gladly. 
 
 Macbeth. Till then, enough. Come, friends. [Exeunf] 
 
334 MACBETH [Act I 
 
 Scene IV. Forres. The palace 
 
 Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, and 
 
 Attendants 
 
 Duncan. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not 
 
 Those in commission yet return 'd ? 
 Malcolm. My liege, 
 
 They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
 
 With one that saw him die; who did report 
 5 That very frankly he confess 'd his treasons, 
 
 Implor'd your highness' pardon, and set forth 
 
 A deep repentance: nothing in his life 
 
 Became him like the leaving it; he died 
 
 As one that had been studied in his death 
 10 To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, 
 
 As 't were a careless trifle. 
 Duncan. There 's no art 
 
 To find the mind's construction in the face: 
 
 He was a gentleman on whom I built 
 
 An absolute trust. 
 
 Fnter Macbeth, Banquo, Eoss, and Angus 
 
 O worthiest cousin ! ■/ 
 15 The sin of my ingratitude even now "' 
 
 Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before. 
 
 That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
 
 To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserv'd, 
 
 That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
 20 Might have been mine! Only I have left to say. 
 
 More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
 Macbeth. The service and the loyalty I owe, 
 
 In doing it, pays itself. Your highness ' part 
 
 Is to receive our duties; and our duties 
 25 Are to your throne and state children and servants; 
 
 Which do but what they should, by doing every thing 
 
 Safe toward your love and honour. 
 Duncan. Welcome hither : 
 
 I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
 
 To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, 
 30 That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known 
 
 No less to have done so, let me infold thee 
 
Act I] MACBETH 335 
 
 Aud hold thee to my heart. 
 Banquo. There if I grow, 
 
 The harvest is your own. 
 Duncan. My plenteous joys, 
 
 Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
 35 In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
 
 And you whose places are the nearest, know, 
 
 We will establish our estate upon 
 
 Ouj eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter 
 
 The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must 
 40 Not unaccompanied invest him only, 
 
 But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
 
 On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, 
 
 And bind us further to you. 
 Macbeth. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you. 
 45 I '11 be myself the harbinger, and make joyful 
 
 The hearing of my wife with your approach; 
 
 So humbly take my leave. 
 Duncan. My worthy Cawdor I 
 
 Macbeth. [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step 
 
 On which I must fall down, or else o 'erleap, 
 50 For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ; 
 
 Let not light see my black and deep desires; 
 
 The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be 
 
 Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. {Exit] 
 
 Duncan. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant, 
 55 And in his commendations I am fed; 
 
 It is a banquet to me. Let 's after him, 
 
 Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome. 
 
 It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt] 
 
 Scene V. Inverness. Macbeth 's castle 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, alone, with a letter 
 
 Lady Macbeth. [Beads] They met me in the day of success; 
 and I have learn 'd by the perfect 'st report, they have more in 
 them than mortal knowledge. When I burn'd in desire to question 
 them "further, they made themselves air, into which they vanish 'd. 
 Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the King, 
 who all-hail 'd me ' Thane of Cawdor '; by which title, before, these 
 weird sisters saluted me, and referr'd me to the coming on of time, 
 
336 MACBETH [Act I 
 
 with ' Hail, king that shalt bel ' This have I thought good to deUver 
 thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the 
 dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promis'd 
 12 thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell. 
 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be 
 
 What thou art promis'd. Yet do I fear thy nature; 
 
 It is too fuU o' the milk of humailbm3aess~ 
 
 To ca^teh the nearest way : thou wouldst be great; 
 
 Art not without ambition, but without 
 
 The^illaess should attend It: what thou wouldst highly, 
 19 That wouldst thoiTholiJy'; wouldst not play false, 
 
 An d yet wouldst wrongly _iyin : thou 'Idst have, great Glaniis, 
 21 That which cries, ' Thus thou must do,' if thou have it; 
 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do 
 
 Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, 
 
 That I may pour my spirits in thine ear, 
 25 And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round 
 
 Which fate and metaphysical aid dot h seem 
 
 To have thee crown 'd withal. 
 
 Enter a Messenger 
 
 What is your tidings? 
 Messenger. The king comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Thou 'rt mad to say it: 
 
 30 Is not thy master with him? who, were 't so. 
 
 Would have inform 'd for preparation. 
 Messenger. So please you, it is true; out thane is coming. 
 One of my fellows had the speed of him, 
 Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
 Than would make up his message. 
 35 Lady Macbeth. Give him tending; 
 
 He brings great news. [Exit Messenger] 
 
 The raven himself is hoarse 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here; 
 40 And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full 
 
 Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; 
 Stop up th ' access and passage to remorse. 
 
Act I] MACBETH 337 
 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 45 The effect and it I Come to my woman's breasts, 
 
 And take my milk for gall, you murd 'ring ministers, 
 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 
 You wait on nature's mischief I Come, thick night. 
 
 And pall thee in the dxmnest smoke of hell, 
 50 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes. 
 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark. 
 
 To cry, " Hold, hold! " 
 
 Enter Macbeth 
 
 Great GlamisI worthy Cawdor I 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter I 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 55 This ignorant present, and I feel now 
 
 The future in the instant. 
 Macbeth. My dearest love, 
 
 Duncan comes here to-night. 
 Lady Macbeth. And when goes hence? 
 
 Macbeth. To-morrow, as he purposes. 
 Lady Macbeth. O, never 
 
 Shall Sim that morrow see! 
 60 Tour face, my thane, is as a book where men 
 
 May read strange matters. To beguile the time, 
 Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye. 
 Tour hand, your tongue; look like tJM Innocent flower, 
 But be the serpent under 't. He that 's coming 
 65 Must be provided for ; and you shall put 
 
 This night's great business into my dispatch. 
 Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 
 Macbeth. We will speak further. 
 Lady Macbeth. Only look up clear ; 
 
 70 T o al ter f avou r^ eve rjB to fear. 
 
 Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt] 
 
 Scene VI. Before Macbeth 's castle 
 
 Hauthoys and torches. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, 
 Banquo, Lennox, Macduff, Koss, Angus and Attendants 
 
338 MACBETH [Act I 
 
 Duncan. This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air 
 Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
 Unto our gentle senses. 
 
 Banquo. This guest of summer, 
 
 The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
 5 By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath- 
 
 Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, 
 Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird 
 Hath made his pendent bed and proereant cradle: 
 Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ'd 
 The air is delicate. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth 
 
 10 Duncan. See, see, our honour 'd hostess! 
 
 The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, 
 Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you 
 How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, 
 And thank us for your trouble. 
 Lady Macbeth. All our service 
 
 15 In every point twice done and then done double 
 
 Were poor and single business to contend 
 Against those honours deep and broad wherewith 
 Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, 
 And the late dignities heap'd up to them. 
 We rest your hermits. 
 
 20 Duncan. Where 's the thane of Cawdor? 
 
 We eours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
 To be his purveyor: but he rides well, 
 And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him 
 To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess. 
 We are your guest to-night. 
 
 25 Lady Macbeth. Your servants ever 
 
 Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt. 
 To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, j 
 
 Still to return your own. 
 Duncan. Give me your hand; 
 
 Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, 
 
 30 And shall continue our graces towards him. 
 
 By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt 
 
Act I] MACBETH 339 
 
 Scene VII. Macbeth 's castle 
 
 Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, aiid divers Servants with 
 dishes and service, over the stage. Then enter Macbeth 
 
 Macbeth. If it were done when 't is done, then 't were well 
 
 It were done quickly : if th ' assassination 
 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catch 
 
 With his surcease success ; that but this blow 
 5 Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
 
 But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 
 
 We 'Id jump the life to come. But in these cases 
 
 We still have judgment here, that we but teach 
 
 Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
 10 To plague th' inventor: this even-handed justice 
 
 Commends th' ingredients of our poison 'd chalice 
 
 To our own lips. He 's here in double trust: 
 
 First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
 
 Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 
 1.5 Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
 
 Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 
 Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
 
 Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongu 'd, against 
 20 The deep damnation of his taking-off; 
 
 And pity, like a naked new-born babe 
 
 Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd 
 
 Upon the sightless couriers of the air. 
 
 Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
 25 That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur 
 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 
 Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself 
 
 And falls on th' other. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth 
 
 How now! what news? 
 Lady Macbeth. He has almost supp'd: why have you left the 
 29 chamber? 
 
 Macbeth. Hath he ask'd for me? 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Know you not he has? 
 
 Macbeth. We will proceed no further in this business: 
 He hath honour 'd me of late ; and I have bought 
 
340 MACBETH [Act I 
 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
 
 Which would be worn now in their newest gloss. 
 
 Not east aside so soon. 
 35 Lady Macbeth. Was the hope drunk 
 
 Wherein you dress 'd yourself? hath it slept since? 
 
 And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
 
 At what it did so freely? From this time 
 
 Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
 40 To be the same in thine own act and valour 
 
 As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that 
 
 Which thou esteem 'st the ornament of life, 
 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem, 
 
 Letting ' I dare not ' wait upon ' I would,' 
 
 Like the poor cat i' the adage? 
 3:5 Macbeth. Prithee, peace: 
 
 41 dare do all that may become a man ; 
 Who~gares do moTe is n"oHe: 
 Lady Macbeth. What beast was 't, then, 
 
 That made you break this enterprise to me? 
 When you durst do it, then you were a man; 
 
 50 And, to be more than what you were, you would 
 
 Be Eo much more the man. Nor time nor place 
 Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: 
 They have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
 Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know 
 
 55 How tender 't is to love the babe that milks me; 
 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face. 
 Have pluck 'd my nipple from his boneless gums, 
 And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you 
 Have done to this. 
 Macbeth. If we should fail? 
 
 Lady Macbeth. We fail! 
 
 60 But screw your courage to the sticking-place. 
 
 And we 'U not fail. When Duncan is asleep — 
 Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
 Soundly invite him — his two chamberlains 
 Will I with wine and wassail so convince, 
 
 65 That memory, the warder of the brain, 
 
 Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
 A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep 
 Their drenched natures lie as in a death, 
 What cannot you and I perform upon 
 
Act II] MACBETH 341 
 
 70 Th' unguarded Duncan? what not put upon 
 
 His spongy ofBcers, who shall bear the guilt 
 Of our great quell? 
 Macbeth. Bring forth men-children only; 
 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd, 
 75 When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
 
 Of his own chamber and us'd their very daggers, 
 That they have done 't? 
 Ladt Macbeth. Who dares receive it other, 
 
 As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar 
 Upon his death? 
 Macbeth. I am settled, and bend up 
 
 80 Bach corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
 
 Away, and mock the time with fairest show; 
 
 False face must hide what the falsejifiart-doth know. 
 
 [Exeunt] 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene I. Inverness. Court of Macbeth 's ca^le 
 
 Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch tefore hvm 
 
 Banquo. How goes the night, boy? 
 
 Fleance. The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. 
 
 Banquo. And she goes down at twelve. 
 
 Fleance. I take 't, 't is later, sir. 
 
 Banquo. Hold, take my sword. There 's husbandry in heaven; 
 5 Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. 
 
 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me. 
 And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, 
 Eestrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature 
 Gives way to in repose! 
 
 Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch 
 
 Give me my sword. 
 10 Who 's there? 
 
 Macbeth. A friend. 
 
 Banquo. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king 'a a-bed: 
 He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
 Sent forth great largess to your offices: 
 15 This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
 
342 MACBETH [Act II 
 
 By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up 
 
 In measureless content. 
 Macbeth. Being unprepar'd, 
 
 Our will became the servant to defect; 
 
 Which else should free have wrought. 
 Banquo. All 's weU. 
 
 20 ' I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: 
 
 To .you they have show'd some truth. 
 Macbeth. I think not of them; 
 
 Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
 
 We would spend it in some words upon that business, 
 
 If you would grant the time. 
 Banquo. At your kind'st leisure. 
 
 Macbeth. If you shall cleave to my consent, when 't is. 
 
 It shall make honour for you. 
 26 Banquo. So I lose none 
 
 In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
 
 My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
 
 I shall be couusell'd. 
 Macbeth. Good repose the while! 
 
 30 Banquo. Thanks, sir: the like to you! 
 
 [Exeunt Banquo and Fleancb.] 
 Macbeth. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready. 
 
 She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Servant] 
 
 Is this a dagger_which I see JiefoE©-me, 
 
 The handle towar d my han d? Come, let me clutch thee. 
 35 I have thee not, and yet I see thee stiU. 
 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 
 To feeling as to sight? or_art thou but 
 
 A dagger of the mind, a false creation. 
 
 Proceeding from the heat- oppressed brain? 
 40 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 
 As this which now I draw. 
 
 Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; 
 
 And such an instrument I was to use. 
 
 Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 
 45 Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; 
 
 And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, 
 
 Which was not so before. There 's no such thing: 
 
 It is the bloody business which informs 
 
 Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half -world 
 50 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 
Act II] MACBETH 343 
 
 The curtain 'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates 
 
 Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither 'd murder, 
 
 Alarum 'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
 
 Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
 55 With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
 
 Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth. 
 
 Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
 
 Thy very stones prate of my whereabout. 
 
 And take the present horror from the time, 
 60 Which now suits with it. WlyJea I .th;:ea% he lives: 
 
 Words to the heat of deeds too cold -breath gives. 
 
 [A bell rings'] 
 
 I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. 
 
 Hear it not Duncan ; for it is a knell 
 
 That summons thee to heaven or to hell. [Exit] 
 
 Scene II. The same 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth 
 
 Lady Macbeth. That which hath made them drunk hath made me 
 bold; 
 What hath quench 'd them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace! 
 It was the owl that shriek 'd, the fatal bellman. 
 Which gives the stern 'st good-night. He is about it:'. 
 5 The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms 
 
 Do mock their charge with snores : I have drugg 'd their possets, 
 That death and ntwTre do contend about them. 
 Whether they live or die. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. Above, for a moment. 
 
 Macbeth. Who 's there? what, ho! 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Alack, I am afraid they have awak'd, 
 10 And 't is not done. Th' attempt and not the deed 
 
 Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; 
 
 He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled 
 
 My-fa> ther as he 3lept, _I! ha^^one 't. 
 
 Enter Macbeth 
 
 My husband! 
 Macbeth. I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? 
 
344 MACBETH [Act II 
 
 15 Lady Macbeth. I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. 
 Did Bot you speak? 
 
 Macbeth. When? 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Now. 
 
 Macbeth. As I descended? 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Ay. 
 
 Macbeth. Hark 1 
 
 Who lies i' the second chamber? 
 19 Lady Macbeth. Donalbain. 
 
 Macbeth. This is a sorry sight. [Looking on his hands'] 
 
 Lady Macbeth. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 
 
 Macbeth. There 's one did laugh in 's sleep, and one cried 
 'Murder! ' 
 That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: 
 But they did say their prayers, and address 'd them 
 Again to sleep. 
 25 Lady Macbeth. There are two lodg'd together. 
 
 Macbeth. One cried ' God bless us I ' and 'Amen ' the other, 
 As they had seen me with these hangman's hands: 
 Listening their fear, I could not say ^Amen,' 
 When they did say ' GoaTBlSTusr ' 
 30 Lady Macbeth. Consider it not so deeply. 
 
 Macbeth. But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen' ? 
 I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen ' 
 Stuck in my throat. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. These deeds must not be thought 
 
 34 After these ways : _sq,- iG^illlinakejisTnad. 
 
 Macbeth. Methought I heard a voice cry ^"Sleegjio^morel 
 Macbeth does murder sleep,' — the innocent sleep, 
 Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sl^ve of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course. 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast, — 
 40 Lady Macbeth. What do you mean? 
 
 Macbeth. Still it cried ' Sleep no more! ' to all the house: 
 ' Glamis hath murder 'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor 
 ShaU sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more! ' 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, 
 45 You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
 
 So braiusickly of things. Go get some water. 
 And wash this filthy witness from your hand. 
 Why did you bring these daggers from the place? 
 
Act II] MACBETH 345 
 
 They must lie there : go carry them, and smear 
 
 The sleepy grooms with blood. 
 50 Macbeth. I 'U go no more: 
 
 I am afraid to think -what I have done; 
 
 Look on 't again I dare not. 
 Lady Macbeth. Infirm of purpose! 
 
 Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead 
 
 Are but as pictures; 't is the eye of childhood 
 55 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 
 I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal; 
 
 For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. KnocTcing within] 
 
 Macbeth. Whence is that knocking? 
 
 How is 't with me, when every noise appals me? 
 
 "What hands are here ? ha I they pluck out mine eyes. 
 60 Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 
 Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather 
 
 The multitudinous seas incarnadine. 
 
 Making the green one red. 
 
 Se-enter Lady Macbeth 
 
 Lady Macbeth. My hands are of your colour, but I shame 
 65 To wear a heart so white. ' [Knocking within] I hear a knocking 
 
 At the south entry: retire we to our chamber. 
 A little water clears us of this deed: 
 How easy is it, then! Your constancy 
 
 Hath left you unattended. [KnocTcing within] Hark! more 
 knocking. 
 70 Get on your night-goT\'n, lest occasion call us, 
 
 And show us to be watchers. Be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 Macbeth. To know my^deed, 't were best nijJLknojrjiyself. 
 
 (■ [Knocking within] 
 
 Wake Dunca n with thy knock ing! I would thou equldgt!- 
 
 [Exeunt] 
 Scene III. The same 
 
 Enter a Pokteb. KnocTcing within 
 
 PoKTER. Here 's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of 
 hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. [KnocTcing] Knoclf, 
 knock, knock! Who 's there, i' the name of Beelzebub? Here 's a 
 farmer, that hang'd himself on the expectation of plenty. Come in 
 
346 MACBETH [Act II 
 
 time; have napkins enough about you; here you '11 sweat for 't. 
 [KnocUng] Knock, knock! Who 's there, in the other devil's 
 name? Faith, here 's an equivocator that could swear in both the 
 scales against either scale; who committed treason enough for 
 God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven. O, come in, equivo- 
 cator. [Knocking'] Knock, knock, knock! Who 's there? Faith, 
 here 's an English tailor come hither for stealing out of a French 
 hose. Come in, tailor ; here you may roast your goose. [KnocMng] 
 Knock, knock; never at quiet! What are you? But this place is 
 too cold for hell. I '11 devil-porter it no further : I had thought to 
 have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the 
 everlasting bonfire. [Knookingi Anon, anon ! I pray you, remem- 
 ber the porter. [Opens the gate] 
 
 Enter Macduff and Lennox 
 
 20 Macdufp. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
 That you do lie so late? 
 
 Porter. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock. 
 
 Macduff. I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. 
 
 Porter. That it did, sir; i' the very throat on me: but I requited 
 
 him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he 
 27 took up my legs sometime, yet I- made a shift to cast him. 
 
 Enter Macbeth 
 
 Macduff. Is thy master stirring? 
 
 Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes. 
 Lennox. Good morrow, noble sir. 
 
 Macbeth. Good morrow, both. 
 
 Macduff. Is the king stirring, worthy thane? 
 Macbeth. Not yet. 
 
 Macduff. He did command me to call timely on him: 
 
 I have almost slipp'd the hour. 
 Macbeth. I '11 bring you to him. 
 
 Macduff. I know this is a joyful trouble to you; 
 35 But yet 't is one. 
 
 Macbeth, The labour we delight in physics pain. 
 
 This is the door. 
 Macduff. I '11 make so bold to call, 
 
 For 't is my limited service. [Exit] 
 
 Lennox. Goes the king hence to-day ? 
 Macbeth. He does ; — he did appoint so. 
 
Act II] MACBETH 347 
 
 40 Lennox. The night has been unruly: where we lay, 
 
 Our chimneys were blown down ; and, as they say, 
 
 Lamentiugs heard i' the air, strange screams of death. 
 
 And, prophesying with accents terrible 
 
 Of dire combustion and confus'd events 
 45 New hatch 'd to th' woeful time, the obscure bird 
 
 Clamour 'd the livelong night : some say, the earth 
 
 Was feverous and did shake. 
 Macbeth. 'T was a rough night. 
 
 Lennox. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
 
 A fellow to it. 
 
 Be-enter Macdupp 
 
 Macduff. horror, horror, horror ! tongue nor heart 
 
 Cannot conceive nor name thee! 
 
 51 Macbeth. 1 ,_, , , , , , , « 
 
 > What 's the matter? 
 
 Lennox. J 
 
 Macduff. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! 
 
 Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
 
 The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
 
 The life o ' the building. 
 
 55 Macbeth. What is 't you say? the life? 
 
 Lennox. Mean you his majesty? 
 
 Macduff. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight 
 
 With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak ; 
 
 See, and then speak yourselves. 
 
 [Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox] 
 
 Awake, awake! 
 
 60 Eing the alarum-bell. Murder and treason! 
 
 Banquo and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake ! 
 
 Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
 
 And look on death itself ! up, up, and see 
 
 The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo! 
 
 65 As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites. 
 
 To countenance this horror. Eing the beU. [Bell rings] 
 
 Enter Ladt Macbeth 
 
 Ladt Macbeth. What 's the business, 
 
 That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
 
 The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! 
 Macduff. O gentle lady, 
 
348 MACBETH [Act II 
 
 70 'T is not for you to hear what I can speak: 
 
 The repetition, in a woman's ear, 
 Would murder as it fell. 
 
 Enter Banquo 
 
 O Banquo, Banquo, 
 Our royal master 'a murder 'd ! 
 Lady Macbeth. Woe, alas! 
 
 What, in our house? 
 Banquo. Too cruel anywhere. 
 
 75 Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself. 
 
 And say it is not so. 
 
 Be-enter Macbeth and Lennox, with Ross 
 
 Macbbih. Had I but died an hour before this chance, 
 I had liv^ a blessed time; for, from this instant, 
 There 's nothing serious in"mortality : 
 80 All is but toys; renown and grace is dead; 
 
 The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
 Is left this vault to brag of. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Donalbain 
 
 Donalbain. What is amiss? 
 
 Macbeth. You are, and do not know 't: 
 
 The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
 85 Is stopp 'd, the very source of it is stopp 'd. 
 
 MACDurr. Your royal father 's murder 'd. 
 Malcolm. O! by whom? 
 
 Lennox. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't: 
 
 Their hands and faces were all badg 'd with blood ; 
 
 So were their daggers, which unwip 'd we found 
 90 Upon their pillows : 
 
 They star'd, and were distracted; no man's life 
 
 Was to be trusted with them. 
 Macbeth. Q.j et I do repent me of m y fury, 
 
 That I did kill them. 
 Macdufi^ Wherefore did you so ? 
 
 95 Macbeth. Who can be wise, amaz 'd, temperate and furious, 
 
 Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: 
 
 The expedition of my Tiolent love 
 
Act II] MACBETH 349 
 
 Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, 
 His silver skin lac 'd with his golden blood ; 
 1 00 And his gash 'd stabs look 'd like a breach in nature 
 
 For ruin's wasteful entrance; there, the murderers, 
 Steep 'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers 
 Unmannerly breech 'd with gore : who could refrain. 
 That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
 Courage to make 's love known? 
 105 Lady Macbeth. Help me hence, ho I 
 
 Macduff. Look to the lady. 
 
 Malcolm. [Aside to Donalbain] Why do we 
 
 hold our tongues. 
 That most may claim this argument for ours? 
 Donalbain. [Aside to Malcolm] What should be spoken here, 
 !- / where our fate, 
 
 '^ vHid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? 
 110 Let 's away. 
 
 Our tears are not yet brew 'd. 
 Malcolm. [Aside to Donalbain] Nor our strong sorrow 
 
 Upon the foot of motion 
 Banquo. Look to the lady; 
 
 [Lady Macbeth is carried out] 
 And when we have our naked frailties hid. 
 That suffer in exposure, let us meet 
 115 And question this most bloody piece of work. 
 
 To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: 
 In the great hand of God I stand, and thence 
 Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
 Of treasonous malice. 
 Macduff. And so do I. 
 
 All. So alL 
 
 120 Macbeth. Let ' briefly put on manly readiness, 
 And meet i' the hall together. 
 All. Well contented. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Malcolm and Donalbain] 
 Malcolm. What will you do? Let 's not consort with them: 
 To show an unfelt sorrow is an office 
 Which the false man does easy. I '11 to England. 
 125 Donalbain. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune 
 Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 
 There 's daggers in men 's smiles : the near in blood, 
 The nearer bloody. 
 
350 MACBETH [Act II 
 
 Malcolm. This murderous shaft that 's shot 
 
 Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way- 
 ISO Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; 
 And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 
 But shift away : there 's warrant in that theft 
 Which steals itself, when there 's no mercy left. [Exeunt] 
 
 Scene IV. Outside Macbeth 's castle 
 
 Enter Eoss and an Old Man 
 
 Old Man. Threescore-and-ten I can remember well: 
 Within the volume of which time I have seen 
 Hours dreadful and things strange; b ut this sore nig ht 
 Hath tiiifl^dfonneiLJiapwings. 
 Eoss. Ah, good father, 
 
 5 Thou see'st the heavens, as troubl'd with man's act, 
 
 Threatens his bloody stage: by th' clock 't is day, 
 And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp. 
 Is 't night's predominance, or the day's shame 
 That darkness does the face of earth entomb, 
 When living light should kiss it? 
 10 Old Man. ' T is unnatu ral. 
 
 Even like the deed that 's done. On Tuesday last, 
 A falcon, tow 'ring in her pride of place, 
 Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. 
 Eoss. And Duncan's horses — a thing most, strange and certain - 
 15 Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
 
 Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, 
 Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make 
 War with mankind. 
 Old Man. 'T is said they eat each other. 
 
 Eoss. They did so, to th ' amazement of mine eyes, 
 20 That look'd upon 't. 
 
 Enter Macddpf 
 
 Here comes the good Macduff. 
 How goes the world, sir, now? 
 MACDUFr. Why, see you not? 
 
 Eoss. Is 't known who did this more than bloody deed? 
 Macduff. Those that Macbeth hath slain. 
 
Act III] MACBETH 351 
 
 Eoss. Alas, the day I 
 
 What good could they pretend? 
 Macduff. They were suborn 'd: 
 
 25 Malcolm and Donalbain, the King's two sons, 
 
 Are stol n away and fled; which puts upon them 
 
 Suspicion of the deed. 
 Koss. 'Gainst nature still! 
 
 Thriftless ambition, that will ravin up 
 
 Thine own life's means I Then 't is most like 
 30 The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 
 
 Macduff. He is already nam'd; and gone to Scone. 
 
 To be invested. 
 Eoss. Where is Duncan's body? 
 
 Macduff. Carried to Colmekill, 
 
 The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, 
 35 And guardian of their bones. 
 
 Eoss. Will you to Scone? 
 
 Macduff. No, cousin, I '11 to Fife. 
 
 Eoss. Well, I will thither. 
 
 Macduff. Well, may you see things well done there, — adieu ! — 
 
 Lest our old robes sit easier than our new ! 
 Eoss. Farewell, father. 
 
 OjJ) Man. God's benison go with you; and with those 
 41 \. That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! 
 
 [Exeunt] 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Scene I. Forres. The palace 
 
 Enter Banquo 
 
 Banquo. Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all. 
 As the wei rd women promis'37 ^.nd, i^ear, ~ ' 
 
 Thou play'dst most^TouIIy for 't:^et it was said 
 It sEould not Stand-in- thy' p^erity, 
 5 But that myself should be the root and father 
 
 Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
 As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine, 
 Why, by the verities on thee made good. 
 May they not be my oracles as well, 
 10 And set me up in hope? But hush! no more. 
 
352 MACBETH [Act III 
 
 Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as king; Lady Macbeth, as 
 queen; Lennox, Boss, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants 
 
 Macbeth. Here 's our chief guest. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. If he had been forgotten, 
 
 It had been as a gap in our great feast. 
 
 And all-thing unbecoming. 
 Macbeth. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, 
 15 And I '11 request your presence. 
 
 Banquo. Let your highness 
 
 Command upon me; to the which my duties 
 
 Are with a most indissoluble tie 
 
 For ever knit. 
 Macbeth. Eide you this afternoon? 
 
 Baxquo. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macbeth. We should have else desir'd your good advice, 
 21 Which still hath been both grave and prosperous, 
 
 In this day's council; but we '11 take to-morrow. 
 
 Is 't far you ride? 
 Banquo. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 
 25 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, 
 
 I must become a borrower of the night 
 
 For a dark hour or twain. 
 Macbeth. Fail not our feast. 
 
 Banquo. My lord, I will not. 
 
 Macbeth. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow 'd 
 30 In England and in Ireland, not confessing 
 
 •Their cruel parricide, filUng their hearers 
 
 With strange invention: but of that to-morrow. 
 
 When therewithal we shall have cause of state 
 
 Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse; adieu, 
 35 Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? 
 
 Banquo. Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's. 
 Macbeth. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; 
 
 And so I do commend you to their backs. 
 
 Farewell. [Exit Banqdo] 
 
 40 Let every man be master of his time 
 
 Till seven at night; to make society 
 
 The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
 
 Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with youl 
 
 [Exeunt all but Macbeth and an Attendant] 
 
Act. Ill] MACBETH 353 
 
 Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men 
 45 Our pleasure? 
 
 Attendant. They are, my lord, without the palace-gate. 
 Macbeth. Bring them before us. lExit Attendant] 
 
 To be thus is nothing, 
 
 But to be safely thus. Our fears in Banquo 
 
 Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature 
 50 Eeigns that which would be fear'd. 'T is much he dares; 
 
 And, to that dauntless temper of his mind. 
 
 He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
 
 To act in safety. There is none but he 
 
 Whose being I do fear; and, under him, 
 55 My Genius is rebuk'd, as, it is said, 
 
 , Mark Antony's was by CEesar. He chid the sisters. 
 
 When first they put the name of king upon me. 
 
 And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like, 
 ■ They hail'd him father to a line of kings: 
 60 Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown, 
 
 And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
 
 Thence to be wrench 'd with an unlineal hand. 
 
 No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so. 
 
 For Banquo 's issue have I fll'd my mind; 
 65 Tor them the gracious Duncan have I murder 'd; 
 
 Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
 
 Only for them; and mine eternal jewel 
 
 Given to the common enemy of man. 
 
 To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings ! 
 70 Bather than so, come, fate, into the list. 
 
 And champion me to th' utterance! — Who 'a there? 
 
 Be-enter Attendant, with two Murderers 
 
 Now go to th' door, and stay there till we call. — 
 
 [Exit Attendant] 
 Was it not yesterday we spoke together? 
 
 1 MxiRDERER. It was, SO please, your highness. 
 
 Macbeth. Well then, now 
 
 75 Have you consider 'd of my speeches? Know 
 
 That it was he, in the times past, which held you 
 So under fortune; which you thought had been 
 Our innocent self: this I made good to you 
 In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you, 
 
354 MACBETH [Act III 
 
 How you were borne in hand, how cross 'd, the instruments, 
 83 Who wrought with them, and all things else that might 
 
 To half a soul and to a notion craz'd 
 Say, ' Thus did Banquo. ' 
 1 Murderer. You made it known to us. 
 
 Macbeth. I did so, and went further, which is now 
 85 Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
 
 Your patience so predominant in your nature 
 That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd. 
 To pray for this good man and for his issue, 
 Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave 
 And beggar 'd yours for ever? 
 90 1 Murderer. We are men, my liege. 
 
 Macbeth. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; 
 
 As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, 
 Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are elept 
 All by the name of dogs : the valued file 
 95 Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
 
 The housekeeper, the hunter, every one 
 According to the gift which bounteous nature 
 Hath in him clos'd; whereby he does receive 
 Particular addition, from the bill 
 100 That writes them all alike; and so of men. 
 
 Now, if you have a station in the file, 
 Not i ' the worse rank of manhood, say 't ; 
 And I will put that business in your bosoms. 
 Whose execution takes your enemy off, 
 105 Grapples you to the heart and love of us. 
 
 Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 
 Which in his death were perfect. 
 2 Murderer. I am one, my liege. 
 
 Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
 Hath so incens'd, that I am reckless what 
 I do to spite the world. 
 110 1 Murderer. And I another 
 
 So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, 
 That I would set my life on any chance, 
 To mend it, or be rid on 't. 
 Macbeth. Both of you 
 
 Know Banquo was your enemy. 
 Both Murderers. True, my lord. 
 
Act III] MACBETH 355 
 
 Macbeth. So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, 
 
 116 That every minute of his being thrusts 
 
 Against my near'st of life; and though I could 
 With barefae'd power sweep him from my sight 
 And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, 
 
 120 For certain friends that are both his and mine. 
 
 Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
 Who I myself struck down ; and thence it is. 
 That I to your assistance do make love, 
 
 i Masking the business from the common eye 
 For sundry weighty reasons. 
 0RDERER. We shall, my lord, 
 
 Perform what you command us. 
 1 Murderer. Though our lives — 
 
 Macbeth. Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most 
 I will advise you where to plant yourselves; 
 Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, 
 130 The moment on 't; for 't must be done to-night. 
 
 And something from the palace; always thought 
 That I require a clearness: and with him — 
 To leave no rubs nor botches in the work — 
 Fleance his son, that keeps him company, 
 135 Whose absence is no less material to me 
 
 Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
 Of that dark hour. Eesolve yourselves apart; 
 I '11 come to you anon. 
 Both Murderers. We are resolv'd, my lord. 
 
 Macbeth. I '11 call upon you straight: abide within. 
 
 [Exeunt Murderers] 
 140 It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight. 
 
 If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exit] 
 
 Scene II. The palace 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Is Banquo gone from court? 
 
 Servant. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure 
 
 For a few words. 
 Servant. Madam, I will. [Exit] 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Nought 's had, all 's spent. 
 
356 MACBETH [Act III 
 
 5 ( Where ou r desire is got wit hout content: 
 ^ "t~is~sS£eT to be_tiiar whichjre destroy 
 Ti^n^by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. 
 
 E7iter Macbeth 
 
 How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone, 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making; 
 10 Using those thoughts which should indeed have died 
 
 With them they think on? Things without all remedy 
 Should be without regard: wh at 's done is do ne. 
 Macbeth. We have scotch 'd the snake, not kill 'd it : 
 She '11 close and be herself, whilst our poor malice 
 15 Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
 
 But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams 
 ^ That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, 
 20 Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, 
 
 s Thau on the torture of the mind to lie 
 I In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; 
 "Ster life's fitful fever he sleeps well; 
 Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison, 
 25 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
 
 Can touch him further. 
 I/ADT Macbeth. Come on; 
 
 Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; 
 Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. 
 Macbeth. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, -be you: . 
 30 Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; 
 
 Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: 
 Unsafe the while, that we 
 
 Must lave our honours in these flattering streams. 
 And make our faces vizards to our hearts. 
 Disguising what they are. 
 35 Ladt Macbeth. You must leave this. 
 
 Macbeth. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! 
 
 Thou know'st that Banquo and his Fleance lives. 
 Ladt Macbeth. But in them nature's copy 's not eterne. 
 Macbeth. There 's comfort yet; they are assailable; 
 40 Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown 
 
 His cloister 'd flight; ere to black Hecate's summons 
 
Act III] MACBETH 357 
 
 The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums 
 
 Hath rung night 'a yawning peal, there shall be done 
 
 A deed of dreadful note. 
 Lady Macbeth. What 's to be done? 
 
 Macbeth. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 
 46 Till thou applaud~the--deed7— QemeT-sceting night. 
 
 Scarf up the tender'^e of pitiful day, 
 
 And with thy bloody and invisible hand 
 
 Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond 
 50 Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the crow 
 
 Makes wing to th' rooky wood: 
 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse. 
 
 Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse. 
 
 Thou marvell'st at my words, but hold thee still; 
 55 Things bad begun make strong_the3is,elves by ill. 
 
 So, prithee, go with me. ' [Exeutit] 
 
 Scene III. A parTc near the palace 
 Enter three Mukderers 
 
 1 Murderer. But who did bid thee join with us? 
 
 3 Murderer. Macbeth. 
 
 2 Murderer. He needs not our mistrust; since he delivers 
 
 Our offices, and what we have to do, 
 To the direction just. 
 
 1 Murderer. Then stand with us. 
 
 5 The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: 
 
 Now spurs the lated traveller apace 
 To gain the timely inn; and near approaches 
 The subject of our watch. 
 
 3 Murderer. Harkl I hear horses. 
 Banquo. [ Within] Give us a light there, ho ! 
 
 2 Murderer. Then 't is he : the rest 
 10 That are within the note of expectation 
 
 Already are i' the court. 
 1 Murderer. His horses go about. 
 
 3 Murderer. Almost a mile : but he does usually, 
 
 So all men do, from hence to th ' palace gate 
 15 Make it their walk. 
 
358 MACBETH [Act III 
 
 Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch 
 
 2 MuKDBRER. A light, a light! 
 
 3 MUKDEREK. 'T is he. 
 1 Murderer. Stand to 't. 
 
 Banquo. It will be rain to-night. 
 
 1 Murderer. Let it come down. 
 
 [They set upon Banquo J 
 Banquo. O, treachery! My, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! 
 
 Thou mayst revenge. O slave! [Dies. Fleance escapes] 
 
 3 Murderer. Who did strike out the Ught? 
 
 1 Murderer. Was 't not the way? 
 3 Murderer. There 's but one down; the son is fled. 
 
 2 Murderer. We have lost 
 21 Best half of our affair. 
 
 1 Murderer. Well, let 's away, and say how much is done. 
 
 [Exeunt] 
 
 Scene IV. Hall in the palace 
 
 A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Boss, 
 Lennox, Lords, and Attendants 
 
 Macbeth. You know your own degrees; sit down: at first 
 
 And last the hearty welcome. 
 Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 
 
 Macbeth. Ourself will mingle with society, 
 And play the humble host. 
 5 Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time 
 
 We will require her welcome. 
 Ladt Macbeth. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends, 
 For my heart speaks they are welcome. 
 
 [First Murderer appears at the door] 
 Macbeth. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. 
 10 Both sides are even: here I '11 sit i' the midst. 
 
 Be large in mirth; anon we '11 drink a measure 
 The table round. — [Goes to the door] There's blood upon thy 
 face. 
 Murderer. 'T is Banquo 's then. 
 Macbeth. 'T is better thee without than he within. 
 15 Is he dispatch 'd I 
 
 Murderer. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. 
 
Act III] MACBETH 359 
 
 Macbeth. Thou art the best d ' the cut-throats ; yet he 's good 
 
 That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it, 
 
 Thou art the nonpareil. 
 Murderer. Most royal sir, 
 
 20 Fleance is 'scap'd. 
 
 Macbeth. Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, 
 
 Whole as the marble, founded as the rock; 
 
 As broad and general as the casing air : 
 
 But now I am cabin 'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in 
 25 To saucy doubts and fears. 'But Banquo's safe? 
 
 Murderer. Ay, my good lord; safe in a ditch he bides. 
 
 With twenty trenched gashes on his head. 
 
 The least a death to nature. 
 Macbeth. Thanks for that. 
 
 There the grown serpent lies; the worm that 's fled 
 30 Hath nature that in time will venom breed. 
 
 No teeth for th ' present. Get thee gone : to-morrow 
 
 We '11 hear 't, ourself, again. [Exit Murderer] 
 
 Lady Macbeth. My royal lord, 
 
 You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold 
 
 That is not often vouch 'd, while 't is a-making, 
 35 'T is given with welcome: to feed were best at home; 
 
 From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; 
 
 Meeting were bare without it. 
 
 Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeth 's place 
 
 Macbeth. Sweet remembrancer! 
 
 Now, good digestion wait on appetite, 
 And health on both ! 
 Lennox. May 't please your highness sit. 
 
 Macbeth. Here had we now our country's honour roof 'd, 
 4] Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present; 
 
 Who may I rather challenge for unkindness 
 Than pity for mischance. 
 Boss. His absence, sir, 
 
 Lays blame upon his promise. Please 't your highness 
 45 To grace us with your royal company. 
 
 Macbeth. The table 's full! 
 
 Lennox. Here is a place reserv'd, sir. 
 
 Macbeth. Where? 
 Lennox. Here, my good lord. What is 't that moves your highness? 
 
360 MACBETH [Act III 
 
 Macbeth. Which of you have done this? 
 
 LOKDS. What, my good lord? 
 
 50 Macbeth. Thou canst not say I did it: never shake 
 
 Thy gory locks at me. 
 Eoss. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well. 
 Lady Macbeth. Sit, worthy friends : my lord is often thus, 
 
 And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; 
 55 The fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
 
 He will again be well: if much you note him, 
 
 You shall offend him, and extend his passion : 
 
 Feed, and regard him not. [Aside to Macbeth] Are you a man? 
 Macbeth. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
 
 Which might appal the devil. 
 60 Lady Macbeth. [Aside to Macbeth] O proper stuff! 
 
 This is the very painting of your fear: 
 
 This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, 
 
 Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, 
 
 Impostors to" true fear, would well become 
 65 A woman's story at a winter's fire, 
 
 Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself! 
 
 Why do you make such faces? When all 's done. 
 
 You look but on a stool. 
 Macbeth. Prithee, see there ! behold! look! lo! how say you? 
 70 Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. 
 
 If charnel-houses and our graves must send 
 
 Those that we bury back, our monuments 
 
 Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost vanishes'\ 
 
 Lady Macbeth. [Aside to Macbeth] What, quite unmann 'd in folly? 
 Macbeth. If I stand here, I saw him ! 
 Lady Macbeth. [Aside to Macbeth] Fie, for shame ! 
 75 Macbeth. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time. 
 
 Ere humane statute purg'd the gentle weal; 
 
 Ay, and since too, murders have been perform 'd 
 
 Too terrible for the ear. The time has been. 
 
 That, when the brains were out, the man would die, 
 80 And there an end; but now they rise again. 
 
 With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, 
 
 And push us from our stools : this is more strange 
 
 Thaasucha murder is. 
 Lady Macbeth. My worthy lord, 
 
 Your noble friends do lack you, 
 
Act III] MACBETH 361 
 
 Macbeth. I do forget. 
 
 85 Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends; 
 
 I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
 To these that know me. Come, love and health to all; 
 Then I 'U sit down. Give me some wine, fill full. 
 
 Re-enter the Ghost 
 
 I drink to th' general joy o' the whole table, 
 90 And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss; 
 
 Would he were here! to all and him we thirst, 
 And all to all. 
 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 
 
 Macbeth. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! let the earth hide thee ! 
 Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
 95 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
 
 Which thou dost glare with ! 
 Lady Macbeth. Think of this, good peers, 
 
 But as a thing of custom: 't is no other; 
 Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 
 Macbeth. What man dare, I dare: 
 100 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
 
 The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; 
 Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
 Shall never tremble: or be alive again. 
 And dare me to the desert with thy sword; 
 105 If trembling I inhabit then, protest me 
 
 The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! 
 
 Unreal moekMjj_hence ! "~^ [Ghost vanishes] 
 
 Why, so: being gone, 
 I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. 
 Lady Macbeth. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good 
 meeting, 
 110 With most admir'd disorder. 
 
 Macbeth. Can such things be, 
 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
 Without our special wonder? You make me strange 
 Even to the disposition that I owe. 
 When now I think you can behold such sights, 
 115 And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks. 
 
 When mine is blanch 'd with fear. 
 Boss, What sights, my lordf 
 
362 MACBETH [Act III 
 
 Lady Macbeth. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; 
 Question enrages him. At once, good night: 
 Stand not upon the order of your going, 
 But go at once. 
 120 Lennox. Good night; and better health 
 
 Attend his majesty! 
 Lady Macbeth. A kind good night to alll 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Macbeth and Lady Macbeth] 
 Macbeth. It will have blood they say : Blood will have blood : 
 Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; 
 Augures and understood relations have 
 125 By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth 
 
 The secret 'st man of blood. What is the night? 
 Lady Macbeth. Almost at odds with morning, which is which. 
 Macbeth. How say 'st thou, that Macduff denies his person 
 
 At our great bidding? 
 Lady Macbeth. Did you send to him, sir? 
 
 130 Macbeth. I hear it by the way, but I will send: 
 There 's not a one of them but in his house 
 I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
 And betimes T will, to the weird sisters: 
 y More shall they speak; for now _I.aiaJaent to know, 
 135 By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good 
 
 All causes shall give way: I am in blood 
 
 (Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, 
 Returning were as tedious as go o 'er : 
 / . ^^ ■ Strange things I have in head that will to hand, 
 
 140 Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. 
 
 ' kuj^~j Lady Macbeth. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. j£»./' 
 
 ' Macbeth. Come, we 'U to sleep. My strange and self-ahnae 
 
 Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: 
 
 We are yet but young in deed. [Exeimf] 
 
 :$<feA/ 
 
 t 
 
 5 -31 ' - ; 
 
 Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecate 
 
 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate I you look angerly. 
 
 Hecate. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 
 
 Saucy and overbold? How did you dare 
 To trade and traflSc with Macbeth 
 5 In riddles and affairs of death; 
 
Act HI] MACBETH 363 
 
 And I, the mistress of your charms, 
 The close contriver of all harms, 
 Was never call'd to bear my part, 
 Or show the glory of our art? 
 10 And, which is worse, all you have done 
 
 Hath been but for a wayward son, 
 Spiteful and wrathful; who, as others do, 
 Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
 But make amends now: get you gone, 
 15 And at the pit of Acheron 
 
 Meet me i' the morning: Jhither he 
 Will^ come to kno w hi p d(;stinv : 
 Your vessels and your spells provide, 
 Tour charms, and every thing beside. 
 20 I am for th' air; this night I'll spend 
 
 Unto a dismal and a fatal end: 
 Great business must be wrought ere noon: 
 Upon the corner of the moon 
 There hangs a vaporous drop profound; 
 25 I'll catch it ere it come to ground: 
 
 And that distill 'd by magic sleights 
 Shall raise such artificial sprites 
 - As by the strength of their illusion 
 / ' Shall draw him on to his confusion : 
 30 I He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 
 
 I His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and feaj- ; » b it^%)^ 
 
 \ And you all know seeuritjg 4,»v*"<i«K'|4««*>**4 **> ^»^ 
 \ Is mortals' chief est enemy. 
 
 \Miisic, and a Sony] 
 Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see,. 
 Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit\ 
 
 [Sing within: ' Come away, come away,' etc.] 
 1 Witch. Come, let 's make haste; she '11 soon be back again. 
 
 lExeunt] 
 
 ^i^jrqjw 
 
 Scene VI. Forres. The palace 
 Enter Lennox and another Lord 
 
 Lennox. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, 
 Which can interpret farther: only, I say 
 Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan 
 Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: 
 
364 MACBETH [Act III 
 
 5 And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; 
 
 Whom, you may say, if 't please you, Fleance kill'd, 
 
 For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. 
 
 Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous 
 
 It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain 
 10 To kill their gracious father? damned fact! 
 
 How did grieve Macbeth ! did he not straight, 
 
 In pious rage, the two delinquents tear, 
 
 That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? i 
 
 Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; 
 15 For 't would have. anger 'd any heart alive 
 
 To hear the men deny 't. So that, I say, 
 
 He has borne all things well: and I do think 
 
 That, had he Duncan's sons under his key — 
 
 As, and 't please heaven, he shall not — they should find 
 20 What 't were to kill a father; so should Fleance. 
 
 But, peace! for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd 
 
 His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, 
 
 Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell 
 
 Where he bestows himself? 
 LOED. The son of Duncan, 
 
 25 From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, ,^ diCBll^ 
 
 Lives in the English court ; and is reeeiv 'd / • .aMaJt ^^ 
 
 Of the most pious Edward with such grace fe*"^^ 
 
 That the malevolence ol^ortune nothing 
 
 Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff 
 30 Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid 
 
 To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward; 
 
 That by the help of these, with Him above 
 
 To ratify the work, we may again 
 
 Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ; r ^v.*-'^""'*-^ 
 
 35 Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives,' 'l m ^r»*^ "^ 
 
 Do faithful homage and receive free honours; \l^ * -jc^'^' 
 
 All which we pine for now : and this report -^ \f^-*^^ ' 
 
 Hath so exasperate the king, that he 
 
 Prepares for some attempt of war. 
 Lennox. Sent he to Macduff? 
 
 40 LOKD. He did: and with an absolute ' Sir, not I,' 
 
 The cloudy messenger turns me his back, 
 
 And hums, as who should say, ' You '11 rue the time 
 
 That clogs me with this answer.' 
 
Act IV] 
 
 MACBETH 
 
 365 
 
 Lennox. And that well might 
 
 Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
 45 His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
 
 Fly to the court of England and unfold 
 His message ere he come; that a swift blessing 
 May soon return to this our suffering country 
 Under a hand accurs 'd ! 
 Lord. I '11 send my prayers with him. 
 
 [Exeunt] 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene I. A cavern. In the middle, a ioiling cauldron. Thunder. 
 Enter the three Witches 
 
 1 Witch. 
 
 2 Witch. 
 
 3 Witch. 
 1 Witch. 
 
 10 All. 
 
 2 Witch. 
 
 15 
 
 20 All. 
 
 3 Witch. 
 
 25 
 
 Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
 Thrice, and once the hedge-pig whin'd. 
 Harpier cries; 't is time, 't is time. 
 Round about the cauldron go; 
 In the poison 'd entrails throw. 
 Toad, that under cold stone 
 Days and" nights has thirty-one 
 Swelter 'd venom sleeping got, 
 Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. 
 Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire bum and cauldron bubble. 
 Fillet of a fenny snake. 
 In the cauldron boil and bake; 
 Eye of newt and toe of frog. 
 Wool of bat and tongue of dog. 
 Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting. 
 Lizard's leg and howlet's wing. 
 For a charm of powerful trouble. 
 Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
 Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 
 Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, 
 Witches' mummy, maw and gulf 
 Of the ravin 'd salt-sea shark ; 
 Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew, 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew 
 Sliver 'd in the moon's eclipse, 
 
 % 
 
366 
 
 MACBETH 
 
 [Act IV 
 
 30 
 
 35 All. 
 
 2 Witch. 
 
 Hecate. 
 
 40 
 
 Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe 
 Ditch-deliver 'd by a drab, 
 Make the gruel thick and slab: 
 Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, 
 Por th' ingredients of our cauldron. 
 Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire bum and cauldron bubble. 
 Cool it with a baboon's blood. 
 Then the charm is firm and good. 
 
 Enter Hecate to the other three Witches 
 O, well done! I commend your pains; 
 And every one shall share i' th' gains: 
 And now about the cauldron sing, 
 Like elves and fairies in a ring. 
 Enchanting all that you put in. 
 
 [Miisie, and a Song, 
 
 2 Witch. 
 
 Black spirits,' etc.] 
 [Exit Hecate] 
 
 45 
 
 By the pricking of my thumbs. 
 Something wicked this way comes: 
 Open, locks, 
 Whoever knocks! 
 
 Enter Macbeth 
 
 Macbeth. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags I 
 What is 't you do? 
 
 All. a deed without a name. 
 
 50 Macbeth. I conjure you, by that which you profess, 
 Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: 
 Though you untie the winds and let them fight 
 Against the churches; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
 Though bladed com be lodg'd,and trees blown down; 
 Though castles topple on their warders' heads; 
 Though palaces and pyramids do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure 
 Of nature's germens tumble all together, 
 Even tiU destruction sicken; answer me 
 To what I ask you. 
 
 1 Witch. Speak. 
 
 2 Witch. Demand. 
 
 55 
 
 60 
 
Act IV] PMACBETH "^ ''"*^/-^r<867; ? 
 
 3 Witch. ^^ We '11 answer. 
 
 1 Witch. Say, if thou 'dst rather hear it from our mouths, , 
 
 Or from our masters?/ ic iu'>Aji^(!, tt • 
 
 Macbeth. Call 'em, let me see 'em. M.r»,*4-, 
 
 1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten- Jav^vcX • 
 
 65 Her nine farrow; grease that 's sweaten 
 
 From the murderer 's gibbet throw re-ti^ t '-• 
 
 Into the flame. '•^ut^t u; c 
 
 All. Come, high or low; 
 
 Thyself and office deftly show! 
 
 Thunder. First Apparition, an armed Head 
 
 Macbeth. Tell me, thou unknown power, — 
 
 1 Witch He knows thy thought : 
 
 70 Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 
 
 1 Apparition. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; 
 Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me : enough. 
 
 [Descends] 
 
 Macbeth. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; 
 Thou hast harp 'd my fear aright : but one word more, — 
 
 1 Witch. He will not be commanded: here 's another, 
 76 More potent than the first. 
 
 Thunder. Second Apparition, a Moody Child 
 
 2 Apparition. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! 
 Macbeth. Had I three ears, I 'd hear thee. 
 
 2 Apparition. Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn 
 80 j/ The power of man, for none of woman born 
 
 \ Shall harm Macbeth. [Descends] 
 
 Macbeth. Then live, MacdufE: what need I fear of thee? 
 But yet I '11 make assurance double sure. 
 And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; 
 85 That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies. 
 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. 
 
 Thunder. Third Apparition, a Child crowned, with a tree in his 
 
 hand 
 
 What is this. 
 That rises like the issue of a king. 
 And wears upon his baby brow the round 
 
368 MACBETH [Act IV 
 
 And top of sovereignty? 
 All. Listen, but speak not to 't. 
 
 3 Apparition. Be lion-mettl'd, proud; and take no care 
 91 Who chafes, who frets, or where eonspirers are: 
 
 Macbeth shall never vanquish 'd be until 
 Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against him. [Descends'] 
 
 Macbeth. That will never be: 
 
 95 Who can impress the forest; bid the tree 
 
 Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good! 
 Eebellion's head, rise never till the wood 
 Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth 
 Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
 100 To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart 
 
 Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art 
 Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever 
 Eeign in this kingdom? 
 All. Seek to know no more. 
 
 Macbeth. I will be satisfied: deny me this, 
 105 ^nd an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know : 
 
 \Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? 
 
 [Eauthoys] 
 
 1 Witch. Show! 
 
 2 Witch. Show! 
 
 3 Witch. Show! 
 
 110 All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; 
 
 Come like shadows, so depart! 
 
 A show of eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; Banquo's 
 
 Ghost following 
 Macbeth. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down! 
 Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs. And thy hair, 
 Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first: 
 115 A third is like the former. Filthy hags! 
 
 Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! 
 What, will the line stretch out to th' crack of doom? 
 Another yetl A seventh! I '11 see no more: 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass 
 120 Which shows me many more; and some I see 
 
 That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry: 
 Horrible sight ! Now I see 't is true ; 
 For the blood-bolter 'd Banquo smiles upon me, 
 
Act IV] 
 
 MACBETH 
 
 369 
 
 And points at them for him. [Apparitions vanish.l 
 
 What, is this so? 
 125 1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so; but why 
 Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? 
 Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, 
 And show the best of our delights: 
 I 'II charm the air to give a sound, 
 130 While you perform your antic round; 
 
 That this great king may kindly say 
 Our duties did his welcome pay. 
 
 [Music. The Witches dance, and vanish] 
 Macbeth. Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour 
 Stand aye accursed in the calendar I 
 13S Come in, without there ! 
 
 Enter Lennox 
 
 Lennox. What 's your grace's will? 
 
 Macbeth. Saw you the weird sisters? 
 
 Lennox. No, my lord. 
 
 Macbeth. Came they not by you? 
 
 Lennox. No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 Macbeth. Infected be the air whereon they ride, 
 
 And damn 'd all those that trust them 1 I did hear 
 140 The galloping of horse: who was 't came by? 
 
 Lennox. 'T is two or three my lord, that bring you word 
 
 Macduff is fled to England. 
 Macbeth. Fled to England! 
 
 Lennox. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macbeth. Tijne, thou anticipat 'st my dread exploits : 
 145 The flighty purpose never is o'ertook 
 
 ■Unless the deed go with it: from this moment 
 
 The ve ry firstling s of m ^_he art sh aU-be 
 
 The~flrsti^a nf my hand. Tnd even now. 
 
 To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: 
 150 The castle of Macduff I will surprise; 
 
 Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword 
 
 His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
 
 That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool ; 
 
 This deed I '11 do before this purpose cool : 
 155 But no more sights! Where are these gentlemen? 
 
 Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt] 
 
370 MACBETH [Act IV 
 
 Scene II. Fife. Macduff's castle 
 
 Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Eoss 
 
 IjADT Macduff. What had he done, to make him fly the land? 
 Eoss. You must have patience, madam. 
 Lady Macduff. He had none! 
 
 f His flight was madness : when our actions do not, 
 \ Our fears do make us traitors. 
 Boss. You know not 
 
 5 v'Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. 
 Lady Mac duff. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave hia babes, 
 His mansion, and his titles, in a place 
 From whence himself does fly ! He loves us not ; 
 He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, 
 10 The most diminutive of birds, will fight, 
 
 Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
 All is the fear and nothing is the love ; 
 As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
 So runs against all reason. 
 Eoss. My dearest coz, 
 
 15 I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband. 
 
 He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
 The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further: 
 But cruel are the times, when we are traitors 
 A^id^JlUBot ^n2H-jQmselves ; when we hold rumour 
 20 From what_vs:e_fearj_ygt_tnDw:jnot what we fear, 
 
 ^uFfloat upon a wild and violent sea 
 Each way and move. I take my leave of you; 
 Shall not be long but I '11 be here again. 
 Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 
 25 To what they were before. My pretty cousin. 
 
 Blessing upon you! 
 Lady Macduff. Father 'd he is, and yfet he 's fatherless. 
 Ross. I am so much "a fool, should I stay longer,/ j, ^ ^ .. i >' ' 
 It would be my disgrace and your discomfort : \ ,, . , ^ ; 
 I take my leave at once. [JSa;»t] 
 
 30 Lady Macduff. Sirrah, your father 's dead: 
 
 And what will you do now? How wiU you live? 
 Son. As birds do, mother. 
 
 Lady Macduff. What, with worms and flies? 
 
 Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. 
 
Act IV] MACBETH 371 
 
 Lady Macdutf. Poor bird! thou 'dst never fear the net nor limo, 
 35 The pitfall nor the gin. 
 
 Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. 
 My father is not dead, for all your saying. 
 
 Lady Macduff. Yes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for a father? 
 
 Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband? 
 
 Lady Macduff. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. 
 41 Son. Then you '11 buy 'em to sell again. 
 
 Lady ilACDUFF. Thou speak 'st with all thy wit ; and yet i ' faith, 
 With wit enough for thee. 
 
 Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? 
 45 Lady Macduff. Ay, that he was. 
 
 Son. What is a traitor? 
 
 Lady Macduff. Why, one that swears and lies. 
 
 Son. And be all traitors that do so? 
 
 Lady Macduff. Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be 
 50 hang'd. 
 
 Son. And must they all be hang'd that swear and lie? 
 
 Lady Macduff. Every one. 
 
 Son. Who must hang them? 
 54 Lady Macduff. Why, the honest men. 
 
 Sojsr. Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars and 
 swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them. 
 
 Lady Macduff. Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt 
 59 thou do for a father? 
 
 Son. If he were dead, you 'd weep for him : if you would not, it 
 were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. 
 
 Lady Macduff. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st! 
 
 Enter a Messenger 
 
 Messenger. Bless you, fair dame ! I am not to you known, 
 65 Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 
 
 I doubt some danger does approach you nearly : 
 If you will take a homely man 's advice. 
 Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones. 
 *, To fright you thus, methinks I am too savage ; 
 70 To do worse to you were fell cruelty. 
 
 Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you ! 
 I dare abide no longer. [ExW] 
 
 Lady Macduff. Whither should I fly? 
 
 I have done no harm. But I remember now 
 
372 MACBETH [Act IV 
 
 I am ia this earthly world; where to do harm 
 75 Is often laudable, to do good sometime 
 
 Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas. 
 
 Do I put up that womanly defence. 
 
 To say I have done no harm? — What are these faces 1 
 
 E7iter Murdekebb 
 
 1 Murderer. Where is your husband? 
 80 Lady Macduit. I hope, in no place so unsanctified 
 Where such as thou mayst find him. 
 1 Murderer. He 's a traitor. 
 
 Son. Thou liest, thou shag-ear 'd villain 1 
 1 Murderer. [Siaiiing him] What, you eggl 
 
 Young fry of treachery ! 
 Son. He has kUl'd me, mother: 
 
 Eun away, I pray you! [Dies] 
 
 [Exit Lady Macduff, crying ' Murder! ' 
 
 Exeunt Murderers, following her] 
 
 Scene III. England. Before the King's palace 
 Enter Malcolm and Macduff 
 
 Malcolm. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 
 
 Weep our sad bosoms empty. 
 Macduff. Let us rather 
 
 Hold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men. 
 
 Bestride our down-fall 'n birthdom. Each new morn 
 5 New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows 
 
 Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
 
 As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
 
 Like syllable of dolour. 
 Malcolm. What I believe, I '11 wail; 
 
 What know, believe; and what I can redress, 
 10 As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 
 
 What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. 
 
 Th is tyrant , whosesole name blisters our tongues, 
 
 Was-joafi e thought honest: , you have lov'd him well. 
 
 He hath not touch 'd you yet. I am young; but something 
 15 You may discern of him through me, and wisdom 
 
 To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb 
 
 T' appease an angry god. 
 
Act IV] MACBETH 373 
 
 Macduff. I am not treacherous. 
 
 Malcolm. But Macbeth is. 
 
 A good and virtuous nature may recoil 
 20 In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; 
 
 That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose: 
 
 Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell: 
 
 Though all things foul -would wear the brows of grace, 
 
 Yet grace must still look so. 
 Macduff. I have lost niy hopes. 
 
 25 Malcolm. Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. 
 
 Why in that rawness left you wife and child, 
 
 Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, 
 
 Without leave-taking? I pray you, 
 
 Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, 
 30 But mine own safeties: you may be rightly just, 
 
 Whatever I shall think. 
 Macduff. Bleed, bleed, poor country! 
 
 Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure. 
 
 For goodness dare not check thee; wear thou thy wrongs; 
 
 The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord: 
 35 I would not be the villain that thou think 'st 
 
 For the whole space that 's in the tyrant's grasp, 
 
 And the rich East to boot. 
 Malcolm. Be not offended: 
 
 I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
 
 I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; 
 40 It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash 
 
 Is added to her wounds: I think withal 
 
 There would be hands uplifted in my right; 
 
 And here from gracious England have I offer 
 
 Of goodly thousands : but, for all this, 
 45 When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
 
 Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
 
 Shall have more vices than it had before; ' 
 
 More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, 
 
 By him that shall succeed. 
 Macduff. What should he be? 
 
 Malcolm. It is myself I mean; in whom I know 
 
 All the particulars of vice so grafted. 
 
 That when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
 
 WiU seem as pure as snow ; and the poor state 
 
374 MACBETH [Act IV 
 
 Esteem him as a lamb, being eompar'd 
 55 With my eonfiiieless harms. 
 
 tCDUFP. Not in the legions 
 
 Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn 'd 
 In evils to top Macbeth. 
 Malcolm. I grant him bloody, 
 
 Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, 
 Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
 60 That has a name : but there 's no bottom, none, 
 
 .• ' ' In my voluptuousness; your wives, your daughters, 
 
 vYour matrons, and your maids, could not fill up 
 u J c ' '"■*• |The cistern of my lust, and my desire 
 
 All continent impediments would o'erbear, 
 65 That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth 
 
 Than such an one to reign. 
 Macduff. Boundless intemperance 
 
 In nature is a tyranny; it hath been 
 Th' untimely emptyiug of the happy throne. 
 And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
 70 To take upon you what is yours: you may 
 
 Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty. 
 And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink: 
 We have willing dames enough; there cannot be 
 That vulture in you, to devour so many 
 75 As will to greatness dedicate themselves. 
 
 Finding it so inclin'd. 
 Malcolm. With this there grows. 
 
 In my ill-compos 'd affection such 
 A stanchless avarice that, were I king, 
 I should cut off the nobles for their lands. 
 Desire his jewels and this other's house: 
 And my more-having would be as a sauce 
 To make me hunger more, that I should forge 
 Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, 
 Destroying them for wealth. 
 Macduff. This avarice 
 
 85 / Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root 
 / Than summer-seemiag lust, and it hath been 
 'J The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear; 
 \ Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will 
 Of your mere own: all these are portable, 
 90 With other graces weigh 'd. 
 
Act IV] MACBETH 375 
 
 Malcolm. But I have none: the king-becoming graces, 
 
 As justice, verity, temperance, stableness. 
 
 Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, 
 
 Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
 95 I have no relish of them; but abound 
 
 In the division of each several crime, 
 
 Acting in many ways. Nay, had I power, I should 
 / Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, 
 ;' Uproar the universal peace, confound 
 100 \ All unity on earth. 
 
 MACDurF. O Scotland, Scotland! 
 
 Malcolm. If such a one be fit to govern, speak; 
 
 I am as I have spoken. 
 Macduff. Fit to govern! 
 
 No, not to live. O nation miserable. 
 
 With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter 'd, 
 105 When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, 
 
 Since that the truest issue of .thy throne 
 
 By his own interdiction stands acours'd, 
 
 And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father 
 
 Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee, 
 110 Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, 
 
 Died every day she liv'd. Fare thee well! 
 
 These evils thou repeat 'st upon thyself 
 
 Hath banish 'd me from Scotland. my breast, 
 
 Th y hog e_ends_here ! " 
 
 Malcolm. Macduff, this noble passion, 
 
 115 Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
 
 Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts 
 
 To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth 
 
 By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
 
 Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me 
 120 From over-credulous haste: but God above 
 
 Deal between thee and me I for even now 
 
 I put myself to thy direction, and 
 
 Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure 
 
 The taints and blames I laid upon myself, 
 125 For strangers to my nature. I am g et 
 
 Unkno wn Ijo w oman, never was forsworn, 
 
 Scarcely have coveted what was mine own, 
 
 At no time broke my faith, would not betray 
 
 The devil to his fellow, and delight 
 
376 MACBETH [Act IV 
 
 130 No less in truth than life: my first false speaking 
 
 Was this upon myself. What I am truly, 
 
 Is thine and my poor country's to command; 
 
 Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach. 
 
 Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, 
 135 Already at a point, was setting forth: 
 
 Now we '11 together; and the chance of goodness 
 
 Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? 
 Macduff. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once 
 
 'T is hard to reconcile. 
 
 Enter a Doctor 
 
 140 Malcolm. Well; more anon. — Comes the king forth, I pray you? 
 Doctor. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls 
 That stay his cure: their malady convinces 
 The great assay of art; but at his touch,* -.'C- - ' "^''^i 
 Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, ^"'" y-'*t'\ < /ic«_ < 
 145 They presently amend. '*"' ^^'^ i^*' 
 
 Malcolm. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor] 
 
 Macduff. What 's the disease he means? 
 
 Malcolm. 'T is call'd the evU: 
 
 A most miraculous work in this good king; 
 Which often, since my here-remain in England, 
 I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, 
 150 Himself_beEt Jhiows : buFTtrangely- visited people, 
 
 All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye. 
 The mere despair of surgery, he cures, 
 Hanging a golden stamp about their necks. 
 Put on with holy prayers: and 't is spoken, 
 155 To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
 
 The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, 
 "y^ He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy, 
 
 ' And sundry blessings hang about his throne, 
 
 / That speak him full of grace. 
 
 Enter Koss 
 
 Macduff. See, who comes here? 
 
 160 Malcolm. My countryman; but yet I know him not. 
 Macduff. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 
 Malcolm. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove 
 The means that makes us strangers I' 
 
Act IV] MACBETH 377 
 
 Ross. Sir, amen. 
 
 Macdupp. Stands Scotland where it did? 
 Boss. Alas, poor country, 
 
 165 Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
 
 Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing. 
 But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; 
 Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air. 
 Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems 
 170 A modern ecstasy : the dead man 's knell 
 
 ' IF there scarce ask 'd for who ; and good men 's lives 
 
 Expire before the flowers in their caps, 
 Dying or ere they sicken. 
 Macdufp. O, relation 
 
 Too nice, and yet too true! 
 Malcolm. "What's the newest grief? 
 
 175 Boss. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; 
 Each minute teems a new one. 
 Macduff. How does my wife? 
 
 Boss. Why, well. 
 
 Macduff. And all my children? 
 
 Boss. Well too. 
 
 Macdupp. The tyrant has not batter 'd at their peace? 
 Boss. No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em. 
 Macduff. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes 't? 
 181 Boss. When I came hither to transport the tidings 
 Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
 Of many worthy fellows that were out; 
 Which was to my belief witness 'd the rather, 
 185 For that I saw the tyrant's power a- foot: 
 
 Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland 
 Would create soldiers, make our women fight. 
 To doff their dire distresses. 
 Malcolm. Be 't their comfort 
 
 We are coming thither: gracious England hath 
 190 Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; 
 
 An older and a better soldier none 
 That Christendom gives out. 
 Boss. Would I could answer 
 
 This comfort with the like! But I have words 
 That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
 195 Where hearing should not latch them. 
 
378 MACBETH [Act IV 
 
 Macduff. What concern they? 
 
 The general cause? or is it a fee-grief 
 Due to some single breast? 
 Boss. No mind that's honest 
 
 But in it shares some woe; though the main part 
 Pertains to you alone. 
 Macduff. If it be mine, 
 
 200 Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 
 
 Boss. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, 
 Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound 
 That ever they yet heard. 
 Macduff. Hum! I guess at it. 
 
 Eoss. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and babes 
 205 Savagely slaughter 'd: to relate the manner, 
 
 Were, on the quarry of these murder 'd deer. 
 To add the death of you. 
 Malcolm. Merciful heaven! 
 
 What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; 
 Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak 
 210 Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. 
 
 Macduff. My children too? 
 Eoss. Wife, children, servants, all 
 
 That could be found. 
 Macduff. And I must be from thence! 
 
 My wife kill'd too? 
 Eoss. I have said. 
 
 Malcolm. Be comforted: 
 
 ; Let 's make us medicines of our great revenge, 
 215 To cure this deadly grief. 
 
 Macduff. He has no children. — ^AU my pretty ones? ^^' " ' 
 Did yoiTsay aU? O hell-kite! All? 
 What, all my. pretty chickens and their dam 
 At one fell swoop? 
 230 Malcolm. Dispute it like a man. 
 
 Macduff. I shall do so; 
 
 But I must also feel it as a man: 
 I cannot but remember such things were. 
 That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on, 
 -And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, 
 225 They were all struck for thee! naught that I am. 
 
 Not for their own demerits, but for mine. 
 
Act V] MACBETH 379 
 
 Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now! 
 
 Malcolm. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief 
 
 Converi,jto_anger; blunt ilot the_heart, enrage it. 
 230 MACDUFr. O, I couldpIayTEe "woman with mine eyes, 
 
 And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens, 
 
 Cut short all intermission; front to front 
 
 Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; 
 
 Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, 
 235 Heaven forgive him too! 
 
 Malcolm. This tune goes manly. 
 
 Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; 
 
 Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth 
 4„ I 1/ Is rije_fqr_shakillg, and the powers above 
 
 < Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may: 
 
 The night is long that never finds the day. [Exeunt] 
 
 ACT V * 
 
 Scene I. Dunsinane. Ante-room in the castle 
 Enter a Doctor of Physio and a Waiting-GentleVoman 
 
 DocTOk. I have two nights watch 'd with you, but can per- 
 ceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walk'd? 
 
 Gentlewoman. Since his majesty went into the field, I have 
 
 seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock 
 
 her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon 't, read it, after- 
 
 wards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most 
 
 7 fast sleep. 
 
 Doctor. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once 
 the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching! In this 
 slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual perform- 
 12 ances, what at any time, have you heard her say? 
 
 Gentlewoman. That, sir, which I will not report after her. 
 
 Doctor. You may to me; and 't is most meet you should. 
 
 Gentlewoman. Neither to you nor any one; ha,ving no wit- 
 16 ness to confirm my speech. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper 
 
 Lo you, here she comes I This is her veiy guise ; and, upon my 
 life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close. 
 .19 Doctor. How came she by that light I 
 
380 MACBETH [Act V 
 
 Gentlewoman. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her 
 continually; 't is her command. 
 
 Doctor. You see, her eyes are open. 
 Gentlewoman. Ay, but their sense are shut. 
 Doctor. What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her 
 25 hands. 
 
 Gentlewoman. It is an accustom 'd action with her, to seem 
 thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quar- 
 ter of an hour. 
 29 Ladt Macbeth. Yet here 's a spot. 
 
 Doctor. Hark! she speaks: I will set down what comes from 
 her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Out, damned spot! out, I say! — One: two: 
 
 why, then 't is time to do 't. — Hell is murky ! — Fie, my lord, fie ! 
 
 a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none 
 
 can call our power to account? — Yet who would have thought the 
 
 37 old man to have had so much blood in him? 
 
 Doctor. Do you mark that? 
 
 Lady Macbeth. The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she 
 now? — 'What, wiU these hands ne'er be clean? — No more o' that, 
 42 my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting. 
 
 Doctor. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not. 
 Gentlewoman. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure 
 of that: heaven knows what she has known. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Here 's the smell of the blood still: all the 
 49 perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh! 
 
 Doctor. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charg'd. 
 Gentlewoman. I would not have such a heart in my bosom 
 for the dignity of the whole body. 
 Doctor. Well, well, well, — 
 55 Gentlewoman. Pray God it be, sir. 
 
 DocTOK. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have 
 known those which have walk'd in their sleep who have died holily 
 58 in their beds. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Wash your hands; put on your night-gown; 
 look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo 's buried; he can- 
 nob come out on 's grave. 
 62 Doctor. Even so? 
 
 Lady Macbeth. To bed, to bed; there 's knocking at the 
 gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand: what 'a done 
 cannot be undone: to bed, to bed, to bedi [JSari*] 
 
Act V] MACBETH 381 
 
 Doctor. Will she go now to bedf 
 67 Gentlewoman. Directly. 
 
 Doctor. Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds 
 Do breed unnaturaltroubles : infected minds 
 70 To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets: 
 
 More needs she the divine than the physician. 
 God, God forgive us all! Look after her; 
 Eemove from her the means of all annoyance, 
 And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night: 
 75 My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight: 
 
 I think, but dare not speak. 
 Gentlewoman. Good night, good doctor. 
 
 [Exeunt] 
 
 Scene II. The country near Dunsinane 
 
 Drum and colours. Enter Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, 
 and Soldiers 
 
 Menteith. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, 
 His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff: 
 Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes 
 Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm 
 Excite the mortified man. 
 5 Angus. Near Birnam wood 
 
 Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming. 
 Caithness. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother? 
 Lennox. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file 
 Of all the gentry: there is Siward 's son, 
 10 And many unrough youths, that even now 
 
 Protest their first of manhood. 
 Menteith. What does the tyrant? 
 
 Caithness. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies: , , , , 
 
 Some say he 'a mqd ; others, that lesser hate him, , 
 Do calf it valiant fury : but, for certain, , 
 
 15 He cannot buckle his distemper 'd cause ' * 
 
 Within the belt of rule. i ir I ' " ' 
 
 Angus. Now does he feel 
 
 His secret murders sticking on his hands; 
 Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; 
 Those he commands move only in command, 
 20 Nothing in love: now does he feel his title 
 
 Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
 
382 MACBETH [Act V 
 
 Upon a dwarfish thief. 
 Menteith. "Who then shall blame 
 
 His pester 'd senses to reeoil and start, 
 
 When all that is within him does condemn 
 25 Itself for being there? 
 
 Caithness. Well, march we on, 
 
 ,To give obedience where 't is truly ow'd: . _ , \^s:i&<bd^ 
 
 Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal; -wfi««t**"' ■ . 
 
 And with him pour we in our country's purge Wf ' 
 
 Each drop of us. 
 Lennox. Or so much as it needs 
 
 30 To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds. 
 
 Make we our march towards Birnam. [Exeunt, marching] 
 
 Scene III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle * 
 
 Enter Macbeth, the Doctor, and Attendants J?*^^^ '; , 
 
 Macbeth. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all: j£aj^ 
 
 Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane 
 
 I 
 
 I cannot taint with fear. What 's the boy Malcolm? 
 Was he not bom of woman ? The spirits that know 
 5 All mortal consequences have pronoune'd me thus: 
 
 ' Fear not, Macbeth; no man that 's born of woman 
 Shall e 'er have power upon thee. ' Then fly, false thanes, 
 And mingle with the English epicures : 
 The mind I sway by and the heart I bear 
 10 Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. 
 
 Enter a Servant 
 
 The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon! 
 
 Where got'st thou that goose look? 
 Servant. There is ten thousand — 
 Macbeth. Geese, villain? 
 
 Servant. Soldiers, sir. 
 
 Macbeth. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, 
 15 Thou lily-liver 'd boy. What soldiers, patch? 
 
 Death of thy soul I those linen cheeks of thine 
 
 Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey -face? 
 Servant. The English force, so please you. 
 
 Macbeth. Take thy face hence. [Exit Servant] 
 
 Sey ton ! — I am sick at heart. 
 
Act V] MACBETH 383 
 
 20 When I behold — Seyton, I say I — This push^. / 
 
 Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. V/"';! '^^ '' " *' *- '' f 
 
 I have liv 'd long enough : my way of life ' i t i , . 
 
 Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf; "r 
 
 And that which should accompany old age, hi/ 
 
 25 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, ; ' 
 
 I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, | t*--^'-^ '■' i 
 
 Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, I. -.J- 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. 
 Seyton ! 
 
 Enter Seyton 
 
 Seyton. What 's your gracious pleasure? 
 Macbeth. What news more? 
 
 Seyton. All is eonfii-m'd, my lord, which was reported. 
 32 Macbeth. I 'U fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. 
 
 Give me my armour. 
 Seyton. 'T is not needed yet. 
 
 Macbeth. I '11 put it on. 
 35 Send out moe horses, skirr the country round; 
 
 Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour;_T^ ^^y 
 
 How does your patient, doctor? L. 
 
 Doctor. Not so sick, my lord, 
 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies. 
 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 Macbeth. Cure her of that. 
 
 40 Can.st-±]loujiot_niinister-4o-a-mind diseas'd. 
 
 Pluck from the mempry_a^ropted sorrow, 
 
 Baze out the written troubles of the brain. 
 
 And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
 
 Cleanse the stuff 'd bosom of that perilous stuff 
 45 Which weighs upon the heart? 
 
 Doctor. Therein the patient 
 
 Must minister to h imse lf. ./ ^ ' - . i , .. 
 MACBETHr~^Throw physics to the dogs, I '11 none of it. 
 
 Come, put mine armour on ; give me my staff. • / , / 
 
 Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me. 
 50 Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast 
 
 The water of my land, find her disease, 
 
 And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
 
 I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
 
384 MACBETH [Act V 
 
 That should applaud again. Pull 't off, 1 say. 
 55 What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, 
 
 Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of themf 
 DocTOK. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation 
 
 Makes us hear something. 
 Macbeth. Bring it after me. 
 
 I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
 60 Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. 
 
 Doctor. lAside] Were I from Dunsinane away and clear. 
 
 Profit again should hardly draw jne here. , [Exeunt] 
 
 Scene IV. Country near Birnam wood 
 
 Drum and colours. Enter Malcolm, old Siwaed and his Son, Mac- 
 duff, Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Boss, and 
 Soldiers, marching 
 
 Malcolm. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand 
 
 That chambers will be safe. 
 Menteith. We doubt it nothing. 
 
 Siwaed. What wood is this before us? 
 
 Menteith. The wood of Birnam. 
 
 Malcolm. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, 
 5 And bear 't before him: thereby shall we shadow 
 
 The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
 
 Err in report of us. 
 Soldiers. It shall be done. 
 
 SiWARD. We learn no other but the confident tyrant 
 
 Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
 10 Our sitting down before 't. 
 
 Malcolm. 'T is his main hope: 
 
 For, where there is advantage to be given. 
 
 Both more and less have given him the revolt. 
 
 And none serve with him but constrained things. 
 
 Whose hearts are absent too. 
 Macduff. Let our just censures 
 
 15 Attend the true event, and put we on 
 
 Industrious soldiership. 
 SiWARD. The time approaches 
 
 That will with due decision make us know 
 
 What we shall say we have and what we owe. 
 
Act V] MACBETH 385 
 
 Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, 
 20 But certain issue strokes must arbitrate; 
 
 Towards which advance the war. [Exeunl, marching] 
 
 Scene V. Dunsinane. The castle 
 
 Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, uith drum and colours 
 
 Macbeth. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; 
 The cry is still, ' They come. ' Our castle 's strength 
 Will laugh a siege to scorn; here let them lie 
 Till famine and the ague eat them up. 
 5 Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, 
 
 We might have met them dareful, beard to beard. 
 And beat them backward home. [A cry of women within] 
 
 What is that noise? 
 Setton. It is the cry of women, my good lord. [Exit] 
 
 Macbeth. I have almost forgot the taste of fears: 
 10 The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
 
 To hear a night-shriek, and my fell of hair 
 Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir 
 As life were in 't: I have supp'd full with horrors; 
 Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, 
 15 Cannot once start me. 
 
 Ee-enter Setton 
 
 Wherefore was that cry? 
 Setton. The queen, my lord, is dead. 
 Macbeth. She should have died hereafter ; 
 
 There would have been a time for such a word. 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 20 Creeps in this petty pace fromjjay to day, 
 
 To the last syllable of recorded time; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! ' 
 Life 's but a walking shadow; a poor player 
 25 That struts andjrets his hour upon the stage i^"-' 
 
 And then is heard no more. It is a tale i 
 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing. 
 
386 MACBETH [Act V 
 
 Enter a Messenger 
 
 Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. 
 .10 Messenger. Gracious my lord, 
 
 I should report that which I say I saw, 
 But know not how to do 't. 
 Macbeth. Well, say, sir. 
 
 Messenger. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
 • I look'd toward Bimam, and anon, methought, 
 .io The wood began to move. 
 
 Macbeth. Liar and slave! 
 
 Messenger. Let me endure your"wrath, if 't be not so : 
 Within this three mile may you see it coming; 
 I say, a moving grove. 
 Maqpeth. If thou speak 'st false. 
 
 Upon the next tree shall thou hang alive, 
 40 Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, 
 
 I care not if thou dost for me as much. 
 I pull in resolution, and begin 
 To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend 
 That lies like Truth: ' Fear not, till Bimam wood 
 45 I Do come to Dunsinane'; and now a wood 
 
 Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out! 
 If this which he avouches does appear, 
 There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. 
 I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, 
 50 And wish th ' estate o ' the world were now undone. 
 
 Eing the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! 
 At least we '11 die with harness on our back. [Exeunt] 
 
 Scene VI. Dunsinane. Before the castle 
 
 Drnm and colours. Enter Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff, and 
 their Army, with houghs 
 
 Malcolm. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down, 
 And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle, 
 Shall, with my cousin, your right noble son. 
 Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff and we 
 5 Shall take upon 's what else remains to do. 
 
 According to our order. 
 
 Sn\'ARD. Pare you well. 
 
 Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night. 
 
Act V] MACBETH 387 
 
 Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. 
 9 Macduff. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, 
 
 Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt] 
 
 [Alarums continued] 
 
 Scene VII. Another part of the field 
 
 Enter Macbeth 
 
 Macbeth. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, 
 / But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What 's he 
 I That was not born of woman? Such a one 
 Am I to fear, or none. 
 
 Enter young Siward 
 
 Young Siward. What is thy name? 
 
 Macbeth. Thou 'It be afraid to hear it. 
 
 6 Young Siward. No; though thou call 'st thyself a hotter name 
 Than any is in hell. 
 Macbeth. My name 's Macbeth. 
 
 Young Siward. The devil himself could not pronounce a title 
 
 More hateful to mine ear. 
 Macbeth. No, nor more fearful. 
 
 10 Young Siward. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword 
 I'll prove the lie thou speak 'st. 
 
 [They fight, and young Siward is slain] 
 Macbeth. Thou wast born of woman. 
 
 But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, '^i'-'^t^-^^'i^ cj-yo- 
 Brandish'd by man that 's of a woman born. [Exit] 
 
 Alarums. Enter Macduff 
 
 Macduit. That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face! 
 15 If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine. 
 
 My wife and children 's ghosts will haunt me still. 
 
 I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms 
 
 Are hir'd to bear their staves: either thou, Macbeth, 
 
 Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, 
 20 I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be ; 
 
 By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
 
 Seems bruited. Let me find him, (ortTO?! 
 
 ^nd more I beg noK ~ [S(ri<, 
 
 Ci-l-, 
 
388 MACBETH [Act V 
 
 Enter Malcolm and old Siwaed 
 
 SiWAKD. This way, my lord. The castle 's gently render 'd: 
 25 The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; 
 
 The noble thanes do bravely in the war; 
 
 The day almost itself professes yours, 
 
 And little is to do. 
 Malcolm. We have met with foes. 
 
 29 That strike beside us. 
 
 SiWAKD. Enter, sir, the castle. 
 
 [Exeunt. Alarum] 
 
 Scene Till. Another part of the feld 
 
 Enter Macbeth 
 
 Macbeth. Why should. I_play the Roman fool, and die 
 On mine own_sgprd'? whiles I see lives, the gashes 
 Do better upon them. 
 
 Enter Macduff 
 
 Macduff. Turn, hell-hound, turn! 
 
 Macbeth. Of all men else I have avoided thee: 
 5 But get thee back; my soul is too much charg'd 
 
 With blood of thine already. 
 Macduff, I have no words, 
 
 My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain 
 
 Than terms can give thee out! {They fight] 
 
 Macbeth. Thou losest labour: 
 
 As easy mayst thou the intrenehant air 
 10 With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed: 
 
 Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; 
 
 I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
 
 To one of woman born. 
 Macduff. Despair thy charm; 
 
 And let the angel whom thou still hast serv 'd 
 15 Tell thee, Macduff was Jrom his mothe r ' ^ ^ ty^ jnh 
 
 Un^mely ripp'd. 
 Macbeth." Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, „ 
 
 For it hath cow'd my better part of man! %jyvk^tAj^ 
 
 And be thgge juggling fiends no more believ 'd, I! MIX ^<^ * 
 
 30 Tiat palter \yith us in a double sense; 
 
Act V] MACBETH 389 
 
 That keep the word of promise to our ear, 
 
 And break it to our hope. I '11 not fight with thee. 
 Macduff. Then yield thee, coward. 
 
 And live to be the show and gaze o' the time: 
 25 We '11 have thee, as our rarer monsters are. 
 
 Painted upon a pole, and underwrit, 
 
 ' Here may you see the tyrant. ' 
 Macbeth. I will not yield, . 
 
 To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet. 
 
 And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
 30 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
 
 And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born. 
 
 Y et I will try the las t: before my body 
 
 I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff ; 
 
 And damn'd be him that first cries, ' Hold, enough! ' 
 
 [Exeunt, fighting. Alarums] 
 
 Eetrtai. Flourisli. Enter ivitli drum and colours, Malcolm, old 
 SiwARD, Eoss, the other Thanes, and Soldiers 
 
 Malcolii. I would the friends we miss were safe arriv'd. 
 36 SiwARD. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see. 
 
 So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 
 MALgoLii. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. 
 Eoss. Your son, my- lord, has paid a soldier's debt: 
 40 He only liv'd but till he was a man; 
 
 The which no sooner had his prowess confirm 'd 
 
 In the unshrinking station where he fought. 
 
 But like a man he died. 
 SiWAED."" Then he is dead? 
 
 Eoss. Ay, and brought off the field : your cause of sorrow 
 45 Must not be measur 'd by his worth, for then 
 
 It hath no end. 
 SiWARD. Had he his hurts before? 
 
 Ross. Ay, on the front. 
 SiwAKD. Why then, God's soldier be he! 
 
 Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 
 
 Ijwiiuld not wish them to a fairer death : 
 50 And so hiT^neiHs-kaoilr'a. 
 
 Malcolm. He 's worth more sorrow, 
 
 And that I '11 spend for him. 
 SrwABD. He 's worth no more; 
 
390 MACBETH [Act V 
 
 / 
 
 : They say he parted well, and paid his score; 
 
 And so God be with him! Here conies newer comfort. 
 
 Se-enter Macduff, with Macbeth 's head 
 
 Macduff. Hail, king ! for so thou art : behold, where stands 
 55 Th' usurper 's cursed head: the time is free. 
 
 I see thee compass 'd with thy kingdom's pearl, 
 That speak my salutation in their minds; 
 Whose voices I desire aloud with mine: 
 Hail, King of Scotland! 
 All. Hail, King of Scotland! [Flourish] 
 
 Malcolm. We shall not spend a large expense of time 
 61 Before we reckon with your several loves, 
 
 And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen. 
 Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
 In such an honour nam'd. What 's more to do, 
 65 Which would be planted newly with the time. 
 
 As calling home our exil'd friends abroad 
 That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; 
 Producing forth the cruel ministers 
 
 Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen, f^ a. '%j^^j,,1 I 
 
 70 Who, as 't is thought, by self and violent hands **<»^ /HA^ 
 
 Took off her life ; this, and what needful else ^«T< a.t«XA.A4. 
 That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, tt-vc^t^^, ^^. 
 
 We will perform in measure, time, and place: ' 
 
 I So, thanks to all at once and to each one, 
 75 ( Whom we invite to see us crown 'd at Scone. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt]