Macbeth had gained his throne by treachery, and he had no confidence
in the loyalty of his subjects. He feared lest they should plot
together to bring back the sons of Duncan, and he had secret spies in
the households of all the great nobles. The one he feared most, next
to Banquo, was Macduff, Thane of Fife, and when the latter refused to
obey the tyrant’s bidding to attend the great feast, Macbeth knew that
he was likely to prove a dangerous enemy, and resolved to get rid
of him without delay. But before he could lay hands on him, Macduff
fled the country, leaving his wife and children in his castle in Fife,
and going himself to the Court of the English King to beg his help in
placing Malcolm on the throne.
It was the day after the banquet at Macbeth’s palace. In a gloomy
cavern, far removed from the haunts of men, the three witches were
busy brewing a hideous compound for some dark and evil purpose. In
the middle of the cavern was a boiling cauldron, and as the witches
circled round it in a grotesque dance, each in turn flung in some
horrible ingredient. The flames crackled, clouds of hissing steam
arose from the cauldron, and as they danced the witches croaked a
discordant chant:
“Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.”
The charm was just completed to their satisfaction, when there came
a knocking at the entrance of the cavern. The second witch looked up
with a cunning gleam in her sunken eyes.
“By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks!”
The door swung open by itself, and Macbeth entered. In spite of his
curiosity, he stood almost appalled at the weird scene before him. The
darkness of the cavern was fitfully lighted by the leaping flames of
the fire, and the evil faces that peered back at him from the shadowy
gloom might well bring discomfort to a guilty soul.
“How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags? What is it you do?” he
demanded.
“A deed without a name,” answered the witches in chorus.
“I conjure you, by that which you profess, however you come to know
it, answer me to what I ask you.”
“Speak!” “Demand!” “We’ll answer,” said the witches. “Say if you would
rather hear it from our mouths or from our masters?”
“Call them; let me see them.”
The first witch flung some additional horrible charms into the
cauldron, and then the three chanted together:
“Come, high or low;
Thyself and office deftly show!”
There was a flash of light, a roll of thunder, and in the midst of a
cloud of blue steam there rose from the cauldron the Apparition of an
armed Head.
“Tell me, thou unknown power----” began Macbeth.
“He knows thy thought,” said the first witch; “hear his speech, but
say thou nought.”
“Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff;
Beware the Thane of Fife! Dismiss me. Enough.”
“Whate’er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks,” said Macbeth, as
the Apparition sank from view. “Thou hast spoken my fear aright; but
one word more----”
“He will not be commanded,” said the witch. “Here is another, more
potent than the first.”
There was another roll of thunder, and a second Apparition arose from
the cauldron, a blood-stained Child.
“Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!”
“Had I three ears, I’d hear thee.”
“Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn
The power of man, for none of woman born
Shall harm Macbeth.”
“Then live, Macduff; what need I fear of thee?” cried Macbeth. “But
yet I’ll make assurance double sure; thou shalt not live; that I may
tell pale-hearted fear it lies, and sleep in spite of thunder.”
There was a third roll of thunder, and a third Apparition rose--a
Child crowned, with a tree in its hand.
“What is this that rises like the issue of a King, and wears upon his
baby brow the round of sovereignty?”
“Listen, but do not speak to it,” commanded the witches; and the
Apparition spoke on:
“Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:
Macbeth shall never vanquished be until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him.”
“That will never be!” cried Macbeth, in delighted relief, as the
vision of the baby King sank back into the cauldron. As he truly said,
who could remove the forest, and bid the trees unfix their earth-bound
roots? All the bodements were good. Fate seemed bright before him. But
there was still one thing his heart throbbed to know.
“Tell me, if your art can tell so much,” he begged the witches, “shall
Banquo’s issue ever reign in this kingdom?”
“Seek to know no more,” came the solemn warning.
[Illustration: ‘What is this that rises like the issue of a King?’]
”I _will_ be satisfied. Deny me this, and an eternal curse fall on
you! Let me know! Why does that cauldron sink, and what noise is
that?” For there was the sound of trumpets.
”Show!... Show!... Show!...
Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart!”
Then in the dusk of the cavern shone a strange luminous glow, and
slowly in procession passed a line of eight Kings; the last carried a
mirror in his hand, and was followed by Banquo’s ghost.
Horrible sight! Then, after all, the witches had spoken truly, and
it was Banquo’s children who should fill the throne of Scotland for
untold generations. For in the mirror held by the eighth King were
reflected many more, and some of them carried twofold orbs and treble
sceptres.
“What, is this so?” demanded Macbeth, and the first witch answered:
“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’ll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antic round,
That this great King may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.”
Then a strain of weird music was heard, and in a sort of wild, mocking
dance the witches vanished, the cauldron sank into the earth, and
Macbeth was left standing alone in the gloomy cavern.