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