Loe raamatut: «Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 66, No 409, November 1849», lehekülg 17
Scene III
Scene —Deeside. Time —after Dinner
NORTH – BULLER – SEWARD – TALBOYS
NORTH.
One hour more – and no more – to Shakspeare.
BULLER.
May we crack nuts?
NORTH.
By all means. And here they are for you to crack.
BULLER.
Now for some of your astounding Discoveries.
NORTH.
If you gather the Movement, scene by scene, of the Action of this Drama, you see a few weeks, or it may be months. There must be time to hear that Malcolm and his brother have reached England and Ireland – time for the King of England to interest himself in behalf of Malcolm, and muster his array. More than this seems unrequired. But the zenith of tyranny to which Macbeth has arrived, and particularly the manner of describing the desolation of Scotland by the speakers in England, conveys to you the notion of a long, long dismal reign. Of old it always used to do so with me; so that when I came to visit the question of the Time, I felt myself as if baffled and puzzled, not finding the time I had looked for, demonstrable. Samuel Johnson has had the same impression, but has not scrutinised the data. He goes probably by the old Chronicler for the actual time, and this, one would think, must have floated before Shakspeare's own mind.
TALBOYS.
Nobody can read the Scenes in England without seeing long-protracted time.
"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-fallen birthdom: Each new morn,
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."
NORTH.
Ay, Talboys, that is true Shakspeare. No Poet – before or since – has in so few words presented such a picture. No poet, before or since, has used such words. He writes like a man inspired.
TALBOYS.
And in the same dialogue Malcolm says —
"I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds."
NORTH.
Go on, my dear Talboys. Your memory is a treasury of all the highest Poetry of Shakspeare. Go on.
TALBOYS.
And hear Rosse, on his joining Malcolm and Macduff in this scene, the latest arrival from Scotland: —
"Macduff. Stands Scotland where it did?
Rosse. Alas, poor country!
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 rent the air,
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell
Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying, or ere they sicken."
NORTH.
Words known to all the world, yet coming on the ear of each individual listener with force unweaken'd by familiarity, power increased by repetition, as it will be over all Scottish breasts in secula seculorum.
TALBOYS.
By Heavens! he smiles! There is a sarcastic smile on that incomprehensible face of yours, sir – of which no man in this Tent, I am sure, may divine the reason.
NORTH.
I was not aware of it. Now, my dear Talboys, let us here endeavour to ascertain Shakspeare's Time. Here we have long time with a vengeance —and here we have short time; for this is the Picture of the State of Poor Scotland before the Murder of Macduff's Wife and Children.
BULLER.
What?
SEWARD.
Eh?
NORTH.
Macduff, moved by Rosse's words, asks him, you know, Talboys, "how does my wife?" And then ensues the affecting account of her murder, which you need not recite. Now, I ask, when was the murder of Lady Macduff perpetrated? Two days – certainly not more – after the murder of Banquo. Macbeth, incensed by the flight of Fleance, goes, the morning after the murder of Banquo, to the Weirds, to know by "the worst means, the worst." You know what they showed him – and that, as they vanished, he exclaimed —
"Where are they? Gone? – Let this pernicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar! —
Come in, without there!
Enter Lenox.
Len. What's your grace's will?
Macb. Saw you the weird sisters?
Len. No, my lord.
Macb. Came they not by you?
Len. No, indeed, my lord.
Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride;
And damn'd all those that trust them! – I did hear
The galloping of horse: Who was't came by?
Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word,
Macduff is fled to England.
Macb. Fled to England?
Len. Ay, my good lord.
Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,
Unless the deed go with it: from this moment,
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And even now
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:
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 his line. No boasting like a fool:
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool."
And his purpose does not cool – for the whole Family are murdered. When, then, took place the murder of Banquo? Why, a week or two after the Murder of Duncan. A very short time indeed, then, intervened between the first and the last of these Murders. And yet from those pictures of Scotland, painted in England for our information and horror, we have before us a long, long time, all filled up with butchery over all the land! But I say there had been no such butchery – or anything resembling it. There was, as yet, little amiss with Scotland. Look at the linking of Acts II. and III. End of Act II., Macbeth is gone to Scone – to be invested. Beginning of Act III., Banquo says, in soliloquy, in Palace of Fores, "Thou hast it now." I ask, when is this NOW? Assuredly just after the Coronation. The Court was moved from Scone to Fores, which, we may gather from finding Duncan there formerly, to be the usual Royal Residence. "Enter Macbeth as King." "Our great Feast" – our "solemn Supper" – "this day's Council" – all have the aspect of new taking on the style of Royalty. "Thou hast it NOW," is formal – weighed – and in a position that gives it authority – at the very beginning of an Act – therefore intended to mark time – a very pointing of the finger on the dial.
BULLER.
Good image – short and apt.
TALBOYS.
Let me perpend.
BULLER.
Do, sir, let him perpend.
NORTH.
Banquo fears "Thou play'dst most foully for it;" he goes no farther – not a word of any tyranny done. All the style of an incipient, dangerous Rule – clouds, but no red rain yet. And I need not point out to you, Talboys, who carry Shakspeare unnecessarily in a secret pocket of that strange Sporting Jacket, which the more I look at it the greater is my wonder – that Macbeth's behaviour at the Banquet, on seeing Banquo nodding at him from his own stool, proves him to have been then young in blood.
"My strange and self-abuse
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use.
We are yet but young in deed."
He had a week or two before committed a first-rate murder, Duncan's – that night he had, by hired hands, got a second-rate job done, Banquo's – and the day following he gave orders for a bloody business on a more extended scale, the Macduffs. But nothing here the least like Rosse's, or Macduff's, or Malcolm's Picture of Scotland – during those few weeks. For Shakspeare forgot what the true time was – his own time —the short time; and introduced long time at the same time– why, he himself no doubt knew – and you no doubt, Talboys, know also – and will you have the goodness to tell the "why" to the Tent?
TALBOYS.
In ten minutes. Are you done?
NORTH.
Not quite. Meanwhile – Two Clocks are going at once – which of the two gives the true time of Day?
BULLER.
Short and apt. Go on, Sir.
NORTH.
I call that an Astounding Discovery. Macduff speaks as if he knew that Scotland had been for ever so long desolated by the Tyrant – and yet till Rosse told him, never had he heard of the Murder of his own Wife! Here Shakspeare either forgot himself wholly, and the short time he had himself assigned – or, with his eyes open, forced in the long time upon the short– in wilful violation of possibility! All silent?
TALBOYS.
After supper – you shall be answered.
NORTH.
Not by any man now sitting here – or elsewhere.
TALBOYS.
That remains to be heard.
NORTH.
Pray, Talboys, explain to me this. The Banquet scene breaks up in most admired disorder – "stand not upon the order of your going – but go at once," – quoth the Queen. The King, in a state of great excitement, says to her —
"I will to-morrow,
(Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters:
More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,
By the worst means, the worst: for mine own good,
All causes shall give way; I am in blood
Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er."
One might have thought not quite so tedious; as yet he had murdered only Duncan and his grooms, and to-night Banquo. Well, he does go "to-morrow and by times" to the Cave.
"Witch.– By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes:
Open, locks, whoever knocks.
Macbeth.– How now, you secret, Black, and midnight Hags?"
It is a "dark Cave" – dark at all times – and now "by times" of the morning! Now – observe – Lenox goes along with Macbeth – on such occasions 'tis natural to wish "one of ourselves" to be at hand. And Lenox had been at the Banquet. Had he gone to bed after that strange Supper? No doubt, for an hour or two – like the rest of "the Family." But whether he went to bed or not, then and there he and another Lord had a confidential and miraculous conversation.
TALBOYS.
Miraculous! What's miraculous about it?
NORTH.
Lenox says to the other Lord —
"My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,
Which can interpret further; only, I say,
Things have been strangely borne: the gracious Duncan
Was pitied of Macbeth – marry he was dead.
And the right valiant Banquo walked too late;
Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance killed,
For Fleance fled."
Who told him all this about Banquo and Fleance? He speaks of it quite familiarly to the "other lord," as a thing well known in all its bearings. But not a soul but Macbeth, and the Three Murderers themselves, could possibly have known anything about it! As for Banquo, "Safe in a ditch he bides," – and Fleance had fled. The body may, perhaps in a few days, be found, and, though "with twenty trenched gashes on its head," identified as Banquo's, and, in a few weeks, Fleance may turn up in Wales. Nay, the Three Murderers may confess. But now all is hush; and Lenox, unless endowed with second sight, or clairvoyance, could know nothing of the murder. Yet, from his way of speaking of it, one might imagine crowner's 'quest had sitten on the body – and the report been in the Times between supper and that after-supper confab! I am overthrown – everted – subverted – the contradiction is flagrant – the impossibility monstrous – I swoon.
BULLER.
Water – water.
NORTH.
Thank you, Buller. That's revivifying – I see now all objects distinctly. Where was I? O, ay. The "other Lord" seems as warlock-wise as Lenox – for he looks forward to times when
"We may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives."
An allusion, beyond doubt, to the murder of Banquo! A sudden thought strikes me. Why, not only must the real, actual, spiritual, corporeal Ghost of Banquo sate on the stool, but "Lenox and the other Lord," as well as Macbeth, saw him.
BULLER.
Are you serious, sir?
NORTH.
So serious that I can scarcely hope to recover my usual spirits to-day. Have you, gentlemen, among you any more plausible solution to offer? All mum. One word more with you. Lenox tells the "other Lord"
"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?"
And the "other Lord," who is wonderfully well informed for a person "strictly anonymous," replies that Macduff —
"Is gone to pray the holy king, (Edward) on his aid
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward."
Nay, he minutely describes Macduff's surly reception of the King's messenger, sent to invite him to the Banquet, and the happy style of that official on getting the Thane of Fife's "absolute, Sir, not I," and D. I. O.! And the same nameless "Lord in waiting" says to Lenox, that
"this report
Hath so exasperate the king, that he
Prepares for some attempt of war."
I should like to know first where and when these two gifted individuals picked up all this information? The king himself had told the Queen, that same night, that he had not sent to Macduff – but that he had heard "by the way" that he was not coming to the Banquet – and he only learns the flight of Macduff after the Cauldron Scene – that is at end of it: —
"Macbeth. Come in, without there!
Enter Lenox.
Lenox. What's your Grace's will?
Macbeth. Saw you the Weird Sisters?
Lenox. No, indeed, my Lord.
Macbeth. Infected be the air whereon they ride;
And damn'd all those that trust them! – I did hear
The galloping of horse: Who was't came by?
Lenox. 'Tis two or three, my Lord, that bring you word,
Macduff is fled to England.
Macbeth. Fled to England?"
For an Usurper and Tyrant, his Majesty is singularly ill-informed about the movements of his most dangerous Thanes! But Lenox, I think, must have been not a little surprised at that moment to find that, so far from the exasperated Tyrant having "prepared for some attempt of war" with England – he had not till then positively known that Macduff had fled! I pause, as a man pauses who has no more to say – not for a reply. But to be sure, Talboys will reply to anything – and were I to say that the Moon is made of green cheese, he would say – yellow —
TALBOYS.
If of weeping Parmesan, then I – of the "cheese without a tear" – Double Gloster.
NORTH.
The whole Dialogue between Lenox and the Lord is miraculous. It abounds with knowledge of events that had not happened – and could not have happened – on the showing of Shakspeare himself; but I do not believe that there is another man now alive who knows that Lenox and the "other Lord" are caught up and strangled in that noose of Time. Did the Poet? You would think, from the way they go on, that one ground of war, one motive of Macduff's going, is the murder of Banquo – perpetrated since he is gone off!
TALBOYS.
Eh?
NORTH.
Gentlemen, I have given you a specimen or two of Shakspeare's way of dealing with Time – and I can elicit no reply. You are one and all dumbfoundered. What will you be – where will you be – when I —
BULLER.
Have announced "all my astounding discoveries!" and where, also, will be poor Shakspeare – where his Critics?
NORTH.
Friends, Countrymen, and Romans, lend me your ears! A dazzling spell is upon us that veils from our apprehension all incompatibilities – all impossibilities – for he dips the Swan-quill in Power – and Power is that which you must accept from him, and so to the utter oblivion, while we read or behold, of them all. To go to work with such inquiries is to try to articulate thunder. What do I intend? That Shakspeare is only to be thus criticised? Apollo forbid – forbid the Nine! I intend Prologomena to the Criticism of Shakspeare. I intend mowing and burning the brambles before ploughing the soil. I intend showing where we must not look for the Art and the Genius of Shakspeare, as a step to discovering where we must. I suspect – I know – that Criticism has oscillated from one extreme to another, in the mind of the country – from denying all art, to acknowledging consummated art, and no flaw. I would find the true Point. Stamped and staring upon the front of these Tragedies is a conflict. He, the Poet, beholds Life – he, the Poet, is on the Stage. The littleness of the Globe Theatre mixes with the greatness of human affairs. You think of the Green-room and the Scene-shifters. I think that when we have stripped away the disguises and incumbrances of the Power, we shall see, naked, and strong, and beautiful, the statue moulded by Jupiter.
