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Act I-SCENE 1 Summary The play begins near a battlefield in Scotland, during a thunderstorm. Three witches meet and agree to meet again, the next time on a heath[LM1], after the storm, and there they will greet the warrior. This opening scene establishes a brooding sense of doom. Shakespeare uses a frightening spectacle to grip his audience. There is nothing perfunctory or boring about this short scene that sets the mood of the play. We see a trio of howling, shrieking ugly hags gathered in a thunderstorm, cackling greedily over their evil plans. It is worthwhile to remember that the audience in Shakespeare’s time did believe in witches, and many witches” were tried and executed. Even the skeptics, and there were some, were unsure in their disbelief. Thus these witches, while only a part of Shakespeare’s spectacular opening scene, are used by him primarily to show that for the duration of this play, ugliness, evil, and power will be united to achieve chaos and murder. A central question is addressed by one of the hags to her sisters: “When shall we three meet again/ In thunder, lightning or in rain?” (1-2). The question concerns the concept of time. Shakespeare questions all that exists in this world and possible other worlds. The question of time is a key theme of the play, from the introductory question, quoted above, to Macbeth’s despairing “to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow” (V,v,19) dirge, to Macduff’s triumphant entry with Macbeth’s severed head clutched firmly in his hand, and his cry, “The time is free” (V,viii,55). There is something conspiratorial about the opening of the play: we discover these hags as they end a cabal [LM2]and plan their next meeting, one which will include Macbeth. With the atmospheric excitement provided by thunder and lightning and the spectacle of what is possibly a hideous parody of humans in the form of witches, the play can be said to begin in the middle of chaos. One imagines the witches to be in motion, perhaps swirling, like their whirlpool of doggerel [LM3]verse, and we, the audience, are not sure of the ground we stand on. The hurly-burly of insurrection combines with the “fog and filthy air” (12) of the atmosphere; the impression is one of dark mystery. In the text of the play, the language of paradox [LM4]and the quickness of the question-and-answer format carry the sense of confusion: a battle will be “lost and won” (4) before the “set of sun” (5) on a day when the sun apparently doesn’t shine. The antithesis [LM5]suggests a metaphysical [LM6]game which is about to be played with good and evil. Events are about to transpire at a rate faster than the mind can conceive. ACT I-SCENE 2 Summary A sergeant, bleeding from wounds he has received in battle, stumbles into the camp of King Duncan. He relates how Macbeth killed the rebellious Macdonwald, then joined with Banquo and gallantly withstood a fierce attack by the Norwegian king. No sooner has the sergeant delivered his message and gone for treatment than the loyal Thane (Lord) of Ross arrives and supplements the soldier’s report with news of Macbeth and Banquo’s suppression of the combined efforts of the traitorous Thane of Cawdor and the King of Norway, forcing the Norwegian to sue for a truce and to pay an indemnity[LM7]. Duncan directs Ross to announce the execution of Caldor and to proclaim the conferring of the Thane of Cawdor’s title upon Macbeth. Commentary The scene is bright and martial and its spirit is one of heroism. The regal costumes of Duncan, his sons, and the attendants would be colorful and magnificent. There is a mood of immediacy in this scene. Both the loud alarm which we hear and the sergeant’s still bleeding wounds indicate how close we are to the actual battle site. This is a vivid contrast to the preceding scene at the witches’ haunt, with its atmosphere of chaos and thick, hot dust. Again we have a contrast between the fair and foul values mentioned in Scene 1. There are fair reports about the suppression of several foul deeds, including 1) Macdonwald’s rebellion, 2) the King of Norway’s invasion, and 3) Cawdor’s treason. In addition, the sergeant’s speech carries information about the fortunes of Macbeth and Banquo, which seem to change as rapidly as a spinning wheel, and the sergeant characterizes the men as being “two spent swimmers,” (8) a remark which is echoed later when Macbeth is “in blood/ Stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more . . .” (Ill,v, 136). This scene prepares the way for Macbeth and Banquo’s meeting with the witches in Scene 3 by relating their victories and the king’s reward for Macbeth. Note that the second bearer of news is Ross, a Scottish nobleman; he will bring good news to Macbeth in the next scene and bad news to Malcolm and Macduff near the end of the play. Note, too, that the man whom King Duncan considers the hero of this bloody battle will be his murderer later in the play. ACT I-SCENE 3 Summary On a heath, with thunder still rumbling, the three witches meet as agreed upon in Scene 1. They chatter as they prepare their magic spells, one vowing to punish a sailor because his wife cursed her and refused to give her some chestnuts. A drum announces the arrival of Macbeth, and the witches complete their spell-making, dancing hand-in-hand, nine times in a ring. Returning from battle, Macbeth and Banquo see the weird sisters and engage them in conversation. The witches greet Macbeth with triple honors- “Thane of Glamis” (his present title), “Thane of Cawdor” (his soon-to-be announced title), and prophesy that he will be “King hereafter.” Macbeth cannot conceal his surprise from Banquo, who begs the witches to prophesy his future, too. They then hail Banquo as “lesser than Macbeth, and greater,” (66) as “not so happy, yet much happier,” (67) and tell him “thou shalt get kings, though thou be none”(68) -that is, he will not be a king himself but will be the father of kings. Ignorant of the fact that he has already succeeded to Cawdor’s title, Macbeth commands the witches to explain their greetings, but they vanish without answering him. As Macbeth and Banquo discuss the strange predictions they have heard, the Scottish noblemen Ross and Angus bring King Duncan’s greetings to his two commanders and confirm Macbeth’s accession to the title, Thane of Cawdor. Banquo is amazed that the Devil (represented by the witches) can “speak true” (108). Fascinated by the speedy proof of the witches’ foreknowledge and that the first two parts of their greetings are now true, Macbeth hides his private thoughts and ambitions by asking Banquo if he hopes that his (Banquo’s) descendants do indeed become kings. Banquo replies that such speculations might be tempting but that evil forces (the witches) often do reveal some minor truths, but that, more often, they cause trouble. In his first soliloquy, Macbeth muses on what the future may hold and he trembles when he thinks of murdering the king. Such “horrible imaginings,” (139) he says, frighten him even more than “present fears” (138). But he notes the possibility that he may become king without having to kill Duncan-that is, he may become king by chance. Deciding to allow fate to direct his destiny, he then rejoins his companions. Commentary Shakespeare is specific about this scene’s being set on a heath, Symbolically suggesting a formless waste, unproductive and deserted. Once again, we return to the witches and as they chant, one of them gloats over the fate she plans for an innocent sailor; she will drain him dry, she says, and he will sleep neither night or day; in addition, she says that “though his bark cannot be lost,” (24) it shall be “tempest-tost[LM8]” (25). These are parallel portents [LM9]of Macbeth’s own future torments, particularly the insomniac image. As another parallel to the nautical prophecy, consider the two wives: the sailor’s wife is responsible for his misfortunes and, to a great extent, Macbeth’s wife is responsible for his plight. The “bark” being not lost, a “bark” was a commonly used metaphor for a person’s soul, and here in this prophecy, if we extend its meaning to involve Macbeth, the witches alone could not cause Macbeth’s soul to be damned; this would need his complicity-which he will, in time, provide. King James I, for whom it is thought that Shakespeare wrote Macbeth, and before whom it had one of its earliest performances, would himself write at length on the supernatural, and a sentence quoted in the Arden edition of the play (p. 14) displays Shakespeare’s sensitive translation of the thought and spirit of his age into this drama. “The devil,” King James I writes in 1616, can “thicken and obscure so the aire, that it is next about them [witches] by contracting it strait together, that the beanies of any other mans eyes cannot pearce through the same, to see them.” Into this “obscure aire” of the heath, then, step Macbeth and Banquo. Macbeth’s first line in the scene, “so foul and fair a day I have not seen”, (38) while having the literal meaning of a battle lost and won on a stormy day, also immediately echoes the witches’ “fair is foul, and foul is fair” (I,i, 11-12), and places him squarely in the rhetorical pattern of antithesis: lost and won, fair and foul, sun and storm, king and crone[LM10].
When Macbeth is greeted by the witches, note how startled he is to hear his name, complete with three titles, including that of future king. This event marks the culmination of the play so far. Macbeth has reached a plateau in his life. The war is over and he has risen as far as he can reasonably expect to go. Now he hears these prophecies. He is naturally confused and understandably thrilled. When he would question the witches further, they disappear. Here, and throughout the rest of the act, the rapidity in which events culminate have the dual effect of crowding and clouding Macbeth’s judgment.
Both Macbeth and Banquo take the witches’ prophecies seriously, but notice that Banquo’s judgment is from a religious viewpoint: if the witches are indeed to be believed, they represent the Devil and may intend more harm than good.
In contrast to Banquo, Macbeth is immensely pleased by the sudden reality of “the two truths” (128). He sees them as “happy prologues” (129) to his prophesied investiture. The importance of Macbeth’s aside cannot be overstated. It shows us the nature of Macbeth’s ambition for imperial power and, in addition, it shows us that his vivid imagination controls his thoughts so completely that it seems to be reality itself. Note also his statement that “present fears are less than horrible imaginings” (139); he is foretelling his own fate: no battle, not even the one he has just fought, will be as frightening as the fear he suffers after he decides to murder the king. In his subsequent, frantic struggles to regain peace of mind, he will be plagued by the torment of his mind as it conjures up what he must do next and wracks him with an ever-present punishment of conscience. Macbeth never commits a single, isolated rash act. His “single” or “whole” state, he implies, is about to be broken or destroyed in some way, an act which interestingly parallels the state of Scotland, torn by civil and military strife. When Macbeth causes a further cleft in the nation and simultaneously in himself, everything seems reduced to chaos. Ironically, the nation then can be made whole again only by his being totally annihilated. Banquo notices that Macbeth is “rapt” in thought and he offers Angus and Ross the explanation that Macbeth’s “strange garments” (146) (his new honors) are not yet resting easily on his shoulders. The obvious irony, of course, is that it is probably not the Thane of Cawdor’s mantle, but the king’s itself, which in his imagination is ill-fitting and causing him apparent distress. When prodded out of his hypnotic state, Macbeth responds in a curious manner. The lines “My dull brain was wrought/ With things forgotten” (150-51) can be taken as either a casual, evasive lie meaning that he was trying to remember something, or as an insignificant remark which reveals an unconscious truth-that is, Macbeth was saying that his mind was wracked with thoughts of being king, an ambition which he thought he had put behind him years ago.
The second interpretation is by no means farfetched, given Macbeth’s fertile imagination and given Shakespeare’s fondness for using ironic understatement.
ACT I-SCENE 4 Summary In the royal palace at Forres, Malcolm describes to Duncan how Cawdor, despite his treachery, confessed to treason and, after gallant repentance, died with dignity. Duncan soberly comments that no one can detect a man’s character by looking at his face. As he makes this statement, Macbeth and Banquo arrive. Duncan thanks his two officers for their services and promises Banquo that he will reward him as generously as he has already rewarded Macbeth. The king then proclaims his son Malcolm to be Prince of Cumberland, in effect designating him as his successor to the throne of Scotland. When Duncan adds that he will visit Macbeth at Inverness, Macbeth realizes that the time and opportunity are ready for him to take matters into his own hands if he is to implement the witches’ prophecy. Commentary In Duncan’s palace at Forres, the prevailing mood is fair and harmonious. Even Cawdor’s execution has a healing quality. The evil which seduced the once-loyal thane has been renounced; Cawdor has repented with heartfelt emotion and the description of his confession breathes a sense of virtue triumphant into the scene. This is a highly effective framework for Duncan’s reflection before he greets Macbeth. The observation that it is no easy task to detect a hypocrite and a traitor is heavily ironic, made doubly dramatic by Macbeth’s sudden arrival and Duncan’s hailing him as “worthiest cousin” (15). The welcome, which the king extends to Macbeth and Banquo, reflects his kindness and generosity. The imagery of planting and sowing and the promises of increased honors emphasize the extent of Macbeth’s later treachery, for his treason will prove far greater than Cawdor’s. The scene’s impression of harmony continues when Duncan, overcome with happiness, says that he will provide for the future of his kingdom by appointing Malcolm to be Prince of Cumberland, a dramatic announcement of his chosen successor. But the dark reality of Macbeth’s machinations ironically accompany every positive act of this scene, particularly when Duncan remarks to Banquo that Macbeth is going ahead of them to make certain that Duncan will be well cared for during his visit to Inverness. The audience is fully aware that Macbeth has already considered murdering the king. The scene ends with contemporary cliff-hanging suspense Macbeth commanding the stars to hide their fires (their lights) so that darkness will hide his dark desires, and Duncan blindly trusting his fate to one whom he considers his “peerless kinsman” (58). ACT I-SCENE 5 Summary At Inverness, Lady Macbeth is heard reading a letter from her husband, which describes his meeting with the witches. She immediately senses that she must encourage Macbeth “to catch the nearest way”(17)-that is, she must help him murder the king at the soonest opportunity. When a messenger tells her of Duncan’s proposed visit to Inverness, she invokes supernatural aid in her bloody resolutions. Macbeth’s arrival gives them a chance for a brief conversation, during which they confirm their mutual understanding of what they must do that night.
Commentary In his letter to his wife, Macbeth relates his joy at being appointed Thane of Cawdor and recounts how he “burned with desire” (3) to ask the witches more about their prophecies. He addresses his wife as his “dearest partner of greatness,” (11) a revelation of his deep satisfaction with his new title and his gratitude for his wife’s part in his accomplishments. Lady Macbeth immediately launches into a soliloquy on her husband’s ambition to be great and reveals her concern about certain weaknesses in his character which, she thinks, might impede his climb to further greatness. What kind of woman does Lady Macbeth seem to be? Her first thoughts are of her ambition for her husband and of her husband’s weaknesses-his being “too full of the milk of human kindness” (16). She uses a metaphor suggesting poison, when she offers to pour her spirits into Macbeth’s ear. She also unknowingly associates herself with the weird sisters when she begs the “spirits/ That tend on mortal thoughts! [to] unsex me here” (38-39). Remember Banquo’s description of the witches, who “should be women/ And yet your beards forbid me to interpret/ That you are so” (45-47). She further solicits the powers of darkness to take milk from her breasts as gall and to thicken her blood, thereby preventing any interfering pangs of conscience. Lady Macbeth’s mention of “thick blood” recalls the “fog and filthy air” (I,i,ll) and the bleeding sergeant of a previous scene; and the incantatory [LM11]effect of the repeated phrase of invitation to the powers of evil reinforces the overall ominous tone of her soliloquy as she begs for spirits to come to her breasts and, at the same time, asks for night to be darker than hell itself. All this, before the entrance of her husband, seems to make the character of Lady Macbeth somewhat predetermined to assist in the fulfillment of the third part of the witches’ prophecy. Note that her first response to Macbeth’s letter is her absolute certainty that Macbeth shall be king: “Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be/ What thou art promised” (14-15). She will not leave her husband’s future greatness in the hands of witches or chance. She herself will decide what must be done for Macbeth to be king of Scotland. She later reacts with the same excitement to the messenger’s announcement that “the king comes here to-night” (29). Her line, “Thou’rt mad to say it” (30), reveals her own worst desires. She is so intoxicated with her imaginings of Macbeth’s being king that she is momentarily undone. Her famous speech in the form of a prayer asking evil spirits to make her monstrous is horrifying in its imagery, especially the reference to her “keen knife” (50); she speaks as if she holds the murder weapon herself. Her dreams of securing Macbeth’s future are offered to her; she must act and, if need be, she must be more decisive and more merciless than her husband. Note that when Macbeth enters, she still does not use the fateful word, “king,” but enthusiastically welcomes him as “the all-hail thereafter” (52). When she asks Macbeth when Duncan is leaving, she elicits a definite “to-morrow,” (57) which she challenges with ferocious passion: “O never,/ Shall Sun that Morrow see” (58). She then notices the expression on her husband’s face and warns him to hide his feelings more effectively, to be like his predecessor whose “mind’s construction,” (12) Duncan has said, did not show in his face. One wonders whether Lady Macbeth is noticing this for the first time here, or whether it has been a characteristic of the great warrior-that he is not very good at “dissembling[LM12].” The latter seems more likely, for Macbeth, in time to come, must gradually learn the art of the complete tyrant, including the banal, everyday hypocrisy of covering his feelings with a mask. ACT I-SCENE 6 Summary Duncan, his two sons, Banquo, and other lords enter Inverness and receive a gracious and cordial welcome from Lady Macbeth. The king finds the castle very pleasant, and Banquo agrees, saying that the place is like heaven, perhaps because nearby he sees a martlet[LM13], a bird which nests in church steeples. Duncan greets Lady Macbeth as his “fair and noble hostess,” (24) unaware, of course, of what his hostess has in mind for him. Commentary This seemingly light and socially gracious scene continues the ironic and symbolic intensity of Scene 5. There, Lady Macbeth referred to Inverness as “my battlements” (38); thus, we view this castle as a literal mantrap[LM14], baited for the unsuspecting Duncan. Among the other symbols in this scene, note that since the castle is controlled by Lady Macbeth, it can be viewed as a place of evil: she will stop at nothing-not even murder-to satisfy her driving ambition. To further emphasize the evil nature of Inverness, Shakespeare places the good king outside the castle walls where the air is sweet and where Banquo sees a martlet on its nest. Even the bird is a symbolic counterpart to the black raven in the last scene which, according to Lady Macbeth, metaphorically announced to her the “fatal entrance of Duncan/ Under my battlements” (37-38). Thus, the castle walls become symbolic boundaries between good and evil. In Lady Macbeth’s first speech, notice the excessive graciousness which masks her premeditated hypocrisy. She appears to be innocence incarnate, for she is referred to three times as a hostess-honour’d, fair, and noble. Even Macbeth is referred to as Duncan’s host, emphasizing the ironic content of this brief scene. It is no accident that the word “love” is used twice by Banquo, and three times by Duncan, but never by their charming hostess. This scene occurs at night. We are leaving the natural world, and the king, often associated symbolically with the sun, will not see another day. We are at the turning point of the plot: the stars will “hide their fires” (I,iv,50) and “thick night” (I,v,48) will be darker than “the dunnest smoke of Hell” (I,v,49). The fulfillment of these portent metaphors begins as Duncan enters the castle gates. ACT I-SCENE 7 Summary In a room in his castle, Macbeth is debating with himself whether he will kill Duncan or not. There are many arguments against the murder, but his “vaulting ambition” urges him to do it. He decides that he cannot kill the king, who is his kinsman and his guest, and when Lady Macbeth comes in, he tells her that they will proceed no further. With a series of strong appeals and reproaches, Lady Macbeth stiffens her husband’s courage and determination; at last he agrees to carry through their plan to slay Duncan in a way that will make the king’s grooms appear guilty of the murder. Commentary It is especially in this scene that we see Macbeth’s measure of goodness and loyalty as he struggles against the foulness of his ambition. He knows that Duncan has been a good ruler, and he is greatly concerned about the consequences of killing him. He reveals this in his first true soliloquy, the second of a series of crucial speeches (the long aside in Scene 3 was the first) in which he must choose a decisive course of action. Much of Macbeth’s tragic stature will hinge on these speeches. The seeming incoherence of this soliloquy reflects Macbeth’s inability to sort through his values and feelings, and one of the reasons (though minor) that he finally decides to murder Duncan is that he does not have time enough to assess his priorities. The sense we have in the play of an inevitable rush of events adds special poignancy to Macbeth’s desire to have the present deed done quickly and to have its finite consequences skirted over, ignoring any subsequent punishment.
Time is a key theme. Macbeth hesitates to murder Duncan for several reasons. First, he wishes to be sure of several factors. He wishes that the murder could be committed without any aftereffects or results; if that were possible, he would be glad to have it over with-that is, if he could be absolutely sure of success and of the end results, then he would have no qualms. But he has to consider aftereffects and consequences, one of which is a possible afterlife. “This bank and shoal of time,” (6) he says, is a mere sandbank and will soon be covered by the sea of eternity —and murder is a mortal sin. But this latter threat does not frighten him terribly. He is willing to risk the possibility of damnation, for it is just that, only a possibility. It is the earthly consequences which frighten Macbeth most. The terrors of the here-and-now weigh heavily on him. How would Macbeth’s new subjects react? Duncan is a much-loved king and his assassination would be risky; would the kingdom disrupt in chaos? Further, Macbeth cannot escape present punishment if he fails, and if he succeeds, he knows that his double offense of murdering a king and kinsman, as well as a guest, will, somehow, “return to plague” (9) him. Therefore, he has no reasons for murdering Duncan except for his “vaulting ambition,” (27) his lust for power. There is something cowardly in Macbeth’s arguing with himself, a petty sort of bargaining with his own fear and core science, a situation altogether beneath a great warrior. In the third part of the soliloquy, in which Duncan’s virtues so awe Macbeth that he can no longer contemplate the murder, Macbeth’s character rises somewhat. He realizes that it is ambition-only that-which drives him on, or so he tries to convince himself: 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-tongued, against The deep damnation of this taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. (16-25) The poetry is powerful; it embodies an agony of decision in which all the forces of nature and the supernatural seem to partake. Everything at stake in the play comes together dramatically here: Evil is pitted against Good. The witches’ world of “deep damnation” (20) is pitted against the heavenly “trumpet-tongued angels” (19); the ambiguous cry of new, bleeding life in the “naked new-born babe” (21) is in stark contrast to the implied shriek of the king’s “taking-off,” (20) (his life being severed) and the protesting trumpet blasts. One can reflect on the multiple associations in this section. Looking back, we recall the bleeding sergeant, the ominous weird sisters, the victorious trumpet flourishes, and Duncan’s tears when he sees Macbeth after the battle Looking forward, there are children, imagined with brains smashed out, or perceived in a vision, or quite real and murdered, and cries of horror, unceasing it seems, until the end of the play. Lady Macbeth enters, apparently disturbed that Macbeth has left the king’s table. She will have none of his procrastinations and excuses, and she will not accept his wishing to enjoy his new honors awhile longer before he murders the man who bestowed them on him. Thus she strikes him where he is most vulnerable. She insults Macbeth’s courage and his manhood and applies the necessary “spur” that Macbeth himself lacks. The images of innocent slaughter in Macbeth’s soliloquy are paralleled even in this brief, sharp exchange between husband and wife. Lady Macbeth swiftly shifts from an ultimatum (“From this time/ Such I account thy love,”) to a grotesque pledge of her own deep commitment to the crime: I have given suck, and know How tender ‘tis 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, and I so sworn as you Have done to this. (54-59)
Whether or not the depravity of the imagery here is explained as a bluff, calculated to shock Macbeth into action, the mind that could conceive such graphic infanticide is awesome and frightful. Macbeth is so awed by the woman that he overcomes his fear and, by implication, ironically takes his own pledge to, as it were, “unsex himself”: “I dare do all that may become a man” (46). He says “who dares do more is none” (47); he does dare to do more-to prove that he is a man-and, as a result, becomes “none.” He pronounces the words: “I am settled.” (79). Lady Macbeth’s persuasiveness has produced new courage in her husband and that courage, he says, is manly enough to perform murder. He agrees to his wife’s plan: they will offer wine to Duncan’s bodyguards and when the men have passed out, Macbeth and his wife will approach the unguarded Duncan, deeply asleep from his day’s hard journey, and after they have performed their black deed, will mark “with blood those sleepy two/ Of his own chamber” (74-75). Matters are settled. Macbeth’s looks, his bearing and his appearance, will “mock the time” and his “false face” will hide what his “false heart doth know” (81-82).
[LM1]heath (h¶th) n. 1. Any of various usually low-growing shrubs of the genus Erica and related genera, native to Europe and South Africa and having small evergreen leaves and small, colorful, urn-shaped flowers. Also called heather. 2. An extensive tract of uncultivated open land covered with herbage and low shrubs; a moor. [LM2]ca·bal (k…-b²l“) n. 1. A conspiratorial group of plotters or intriguers: “Espionage is quite precisely it—a cabal of powerful men, working secretly” (Frank Conroy). 2. A secret scheme or plot. [LM3]dog·ger·el (dô“g…r-…l, d¼g“…r-) also dog·grel (dôg“r…l, d¼g“-) --n. Crudely or irregularly fashioned verse, often of a humorous or burlesque nature. [LM4]par·a·dox (p²r“…-d¼ks”) n. 1. A seemingly contradictory statement that may nonetheless be true: the paradox that standing is more tiring than walking. 2. One exhibiting inexplicable or contradictory aspects: “You have the paradox of a Celt being the smooth Oxonian” [LM5]an·tith·e·sis (²n-t¹th“¹-s¹s) n., pl. an·tith·e·ses (-s¶z”). 1. Direct contrast; opposition. 2. The direct or exact opposite: Hope is the antithesis of despair. [LM6]met·a·phys·i·cal (mµt”…-f¹z“¹-k…l) adj. 1. Of or relating to metaphysics. 2. Based on speculative or abstract reasoning. 3. Highly abstract or theoretical; abstruse. 4.a. Immaterial; incorporeal. [LM7]in·dem·ni·ty (¹n-dµm“n¹-t¶) n., pl. in·dem·ni·ties. 1. Security against damage, loss, or injury. 2. A legal exemption from liability for damages. [LM8]Meaning Macbeth’s soul would not be lost, but it would be tortured. [LM9]por·tent (pôr“tµnt”, p½r“-) n. 1. An indication of something important or calamitous about to occur; an omen. 2. Prophetic or threatening significance: signs full of portent. [LM10]crone (kr½n) n. An ugly, withered old woman; a hag. [LM11]in·can·ta·tion (¹n”k²n-t³“sh…n) n. 1. Ritual recitation of verbal charms or spells to produce a magic effect. [LM12]dis·sem·ble (d¹-sµm“b…l) v. dis·sem·bled, dis·sem·bling, dis·sem·bles. --tr. 1. To disguise or conceal behind a false appearance. [LM13]mart·let (märt“l¹t) n. 1. See house martin. 2. Heraldry. A representation of a bird without feet, used as a crest or bearing to indicate a fourth son. [French martelet, fromMartin, Saint Martin of Tours.] [LM14]man·trap (m²n“tr²p”) n. 1. A trap set to catch trespassers or poachers. 2. Slang. A woman considered dangerously seductive and scheming. |
| Act II |
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ACT II-SCENE 1 Summary It is past midnight and Banquo and his son Fleance are talking in the courtyard of Macbeth’s castle before they retire for the night. Banquo confesses that he fears to sleep; he is struggling to suppress “cursed thoughts” (8) about the witches’ predictions for him and his heirs. When Macbeth joins them, Banquo tells him that he dreamed about the weird sisters last night and that he is troubled about the “truth” of their prophecies for Macbeth. Macbeth shrugs off Banquo’s worries, saying that he thinks “not of them” (21). After Banquo and Fleance leave, Macbeth is alone. Before him, he imagines that he sees a vision of a bloody dagger; he recoils, momentarily, from his intended crime. Then, remembering his purpose and the present opportunity, he steels himself to assassinate the king. The ringing of a bell breaks his thoughts, and he starts for Duncan’s chambers. Commentary We are reminded at the beginning of this scene that it is late, past midnight (“the moon is down”), theatrically a fitting time for murder to occur. Banquo even notes that “o’er the one-half world/ Nature seems dead” (5). He observes further that there are no stars, “their candles are out” (5), and we realize that Macbeth has been granted his wish: “Stars hide your fires . . .” (I,iv,50) and “Come thick night . . .” (I,v,49). There is no doubt in the audience that there is something ominous in the air. Again, Shakespeare places Banquo and Macbeth side by side so that their contrasting natures are evident, and yet here we see that even the noble Banquo is tempted by thoughts of what the witches have prophesied. His “cursed thoughts” (8) are like Macbeth’s “horrible imaginings” (I,iii,38); he rejects them when he is rational and awake, but he despairs that when he falls asleep, he is a victim of them. He cries out for “merciful powers” (7) to give him the strength to overcome the temptations of such thoughts, and his remarks heighten the tension and suspense, alerting the audience to the fact that important events are about to occur. Macbeth’s short speeches in this scene, prior to his soliloquy, are models of hypocrisy. When Banquo compliments him on how pleased the king is with Macbeth’s hospitality, Macbeth says, in effect, that he and his wife would have done more for him had they been sufficiently prepared for his visit. His irony is arrogant: they would certainly have plotted a fool-proof murder had circumstances been different, But because Lady Macbeth realized that she and her husband would have “to catch the nearest way” (I,v,17), they have had to devise a spur-of-the-moment solution to their dreams of greatness. A few lines later, responding to Banquo’s clear agony of conscience concerning his thoughts about the witches, Macbeth says that he “thinks not of them” (21). This is an outright lie. Before they part, Macbeth asks for reassurance —if ever he needs it—that he will have Banquo’s support, but Banquo answers his friend cautiously; he promises his support, but only if no compromise of integrity is involved.
Movement seems to be the key to Macbeth’s soliloquy in this scene, both in gesture and imagery Macbeth clutches at his vision of a dagger, then halts: “I have thee not” (35). Yet his eyes fasten hypnotically on the vision: “I see thee still . . .” (35) and ten lines later, he says again, “I see thee still . . .” (45); this time there is blood on the dagger. He is terrorized momentarily, until he turns away in rejection with a sweep of his hand and the words, “there’s no such thing” (47). In this famous speech, he suppresses his imagination and seizes his resolve. He casts himself into the role of a “withered murder[er]” (52), in league with the forces of night. The dagger is only a hallucination, produced by his imagination and intensified by his emotional exhaustion and strain, but for awhile its vision certainly seems real enough to Macbeth. The hallucinatory effect of his dagger vision is central to the shifting vision in the play as a whole, as indeed it is in numerous other plays in the period: things are not what they seem, and here specifically; although the crown remains in sight, it will never truly be attained.
In the first part of this soliloquy, we see a troubled Macbeth engaged in a grotesque dance with an elusive vision suggested to him by his own frightened imagination; in the second part, its imagery suggests the pacing of a ravenous wolf; later in his speech he speaks of setting out for Duncan’s chamber and he bids the “firm-set earth” (56) not to hear his steps.
When he utters this, we know that he has regained his sense of purpose. He does not need Lady Macbeth’s commanding encouragement any longer; he needs only to hear her bell, a signal that all is in readiness. The bell, incidentally, is an interesting metaphor: ostensibly, it will be a reminder for Macbeth that a bedtime drink awaits him —this is a convenient explanation for the servant—but the audience realizes that when they hear it that it is Lady Macbeth’s signal that they must act. Like the symbolic raven that “croaked” to Lady Macbeth of King Duncan’s entrance into Inverness (I,v,37), this bell also announces; it is like a bell at mass, evoking blood; here are the contents of Macbeth’s “poisoned chalice” (I,vii,ll), a reversal of the religious mystery, for his chalice contains not the wine of life, but that of death. ACT II-SCENE 2 Summary Lady Macbeth is visibly excited; she has been drinking and, stimulated by the wine, she enters the courtyard and confides that she has drugged the two grooms who are supposedly guarding Duncan. Hearing Macbeth’s voice, she fears their plans have miscarried, but her husband joins her and tells her that he has killed the king: Duncan is dead.
Both are tense and nervous. Macbeth laments the blood on his hands and asks why he was unable to say “Amen” when he overheard a guest in an adjoining room say “God bless us!” (30). He also imagined that a voice cried, “Macbeth does murder sleep . . . Macbeth shall sleep no more!” (43).[LM1] Partly to steady her husband and partly to destroy evidence of guilt, Lady Macbeth advises him to wash his hands. In dismay, she then sees that he has brought the groom’s daggers with him. She tells him to return, leave the weapons with the sleeping grooms and smear the men with blood, but Macbeth refuses to go back to the scene of the murder.
Mocking his fears, Lady Macbeth herself undertakes the task. As she goes, a loud knocking resounds through the castle. Macbeth ruefully reflects that not all the water in the ocean can wash the blood from his hands. Lady Macbeth then rejoins him and tries to calm him while the repeated knocking drives him near the point of panic.
Commentary Lady Macbeth’s nerves are on edge. Anxious for Macbeth to return, she is startled by an owl shrieking- “a fatal Bell-man” (4), she calls it, Shakespeare’s reference to a bell near Newgate Prison that tolled before a prisoner was executed. She hears yet another noise, a cry from within Duncan’s chamber, where Macbeth’s bloody work has been briefly interrupted. But she is more concerned lest Macbeth fail to kill the king than the possibility that they have exposed their plan. An unsuccessful attempt would be ruinous.
Macbeth’s entry, fresh from butchering the king, and his first quick exchange with his wife, is a classic in dramatic conciseness. Their fast-paced dialogue sets an irregular pace, like a racing heartbeat, connoting anxiety and confusion, and is strikingly dramatic during these first moments following the murder. Momentarily, Shakespeare elevates the central characters into two satanic figures, who pledge themselves to wickedness in monumental poetry, then shrinks them into two frightened and bickering conspirators.
Colossal and awe-inspiring though they may be, Shakespeare seems to be saying that evil is also banal [LM2]and petty. Note the way that Lady Macbeth, always more practical than her husband, attempts to calm him almost as a mother would calm a frightened child; she reassures him that it is merely the dwelling on the deed that so disturbs him: “Consider it not so deeply” (30), she says. But Macbeth is overwhelmed with fear, guilt, and remorse: “I am afraid to think what I have done;/ Look on’t again I dare not” (50-51), he says. He knows that he will no longer enjoy peaceful nights of “innocent sleep,/ Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care” (36-37)—that is, calm, uninterrupted sleep that straightens out (the Elizabethan definition of “knits up”) the tangled threads of worry and care. Once, he asked for darkness; now he must live in it. Sleep is denied him, as is the light of heavenly grace; his inability to pray marks the finality of his separation from God. In contrast, throughout most of this scene Lady Macbeth exhibits full self-control and immediate practicality. “A little water clears us of this deed” (67), she reassures her husband, comparing her bloody hands with his, after having herself smeared the grooms with blood. Her advice to the “worthy thane,” her husband, is to wash his hands, as if that could help a man who has “murder’d sleep” (36). But the washing of their hands, a practical necessity as Lady Macbeth insists, is a symbolic impossibility, as Macbeth sees.
Lady Macbeth tells her husband that everything is simple. There was no reason to lose his firmness. Control yourself, she urges, and do not lose yourself in thoughts about the crime. To which Macbeth replies that it would be better to lose himself in thought and lose all sense of who he is rather than realize and brood about what he has done. Macbeth’s reward for killing his kinsman is remorse and self-loathing; he seems more afraid of himself than of discovery.
The nervous tension of the scene is remarkable, stretched between fear of discovery and failure, Macbeth’s horror of the deed, the flickering evidence of supernatural presences, and Lady Macbeth’s bloodless resolve. It is a study in masterly construction. It is perhaps because Lady Macbeth is a person less prone to wild imaginings that she seems relatively dispassionate in these circumstances and, for this very reason, even more horrifying than her husband. Remember at the beginning of the scene the stimulus for her being startled was not internal anxiety-that is, an owl shrieked; it was no hallucination suggested to her imagination, as was the dagger to her husband. And when she was confronted with the sleeping king, she says that she could not kill him “only because he resembled/ My father as he slept” (13-14). But she can coolly and clinically take up the daggers and, if need be, further butcher Duncan’s corpse and smear his blood on the groom’s faces. Her own hands drenched in blood, she reiterates her advice to Macbeth not to be “lost/ So poorly in your thoughts” (71-72). Against Macbeth’s shaken state, his wife imposes her hard-boiled intelligence with its rejection of the imagination as illusion. But even as she speaks, there is a clamorous knocking from the south gate, disturbing any chance of peace and signaling the torment of the rest of their days. She charges Macbeth with some sound precaution: someone is at the gates; get on your night-gown lest we are called on, she says; after all, we are hosts. ACT II-SCENE 3 Summary The knocking which Macbeth heard with such agitation in the previous scene grows more insistent, until a drunken porter rouses himself to open the castle gate. He imagines that he is at “hell-gate” and that various sinners are knocking for admission, but the disturbers of his sleep are only Macduff and Lennox, two of Duncan’s noblemen, who have come to waken the king. While Macbeth and Lennox converse, Macduff goes to Duncan’s chamber. In a few moments, Macduff returns, horrified at the assassination of the king. In mounting confusion, the king’s sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, and the loyal lords learn of Duncan’s fate.
Macbeth assumes an air of grief and indignation. In the excitement he manages to kill the two grooms to “cover up” his crime, saying that rage impelled him to slay them. Lady Macbeth fain |
